Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Haunting Whispers: 9-Hour Horror Journey

Episode Date: January 3, 2026

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #paranormalstories #hauntedtales #spookystories #9hourshorror #creepyjourney Embark on a 9-hour journey into terror with Haunting Whispers. From eerie paranormal encounters to chilling true stories, this compilation is packed with suspense, fear, and spine-tingling moments that will haunt you long after it ends. Perfect for lovers of horror, supernatural tales, and late-night scares horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrorortales, haunted, paranormal, spooky, terrifying, darktales, ghoststories, chilling, suspense, creepy, horrorcommunity, nightmarish, supernatural, horrorcompilation, scarevideosThis episode includes AI-generated content.

For the past two and a half years now, I have been living in the north of the Scottish Highlands, and when I say north, I mean as far north as you can possibly go. I live in a region called Caithness, in the small coastal town of Thurso, which is actually the northernmost town on the British mainland. I had always wanted to live in the Scottish Highlands, which seemed a far cry from my gloomy hometown in Yorkshire, England, and when my dad and his partner told me they'd bought an old house up here, I jumped at the opportunity. From what they told me, Kaithna sounded like the perfect destination.

There were seals and otters in the town's river, dolphins and orcas in the sea, and at certain times of the year, you could see the northern lights in the night sky. But despite my initial excitement of finally getting to live in the Scottish highlands, full of beautiful mountains, amazing wildlife and vibrant culture. I would soon learn the region I had just moved to, was far from the idyllic destination I had dreamed of. So many tourists flood here each summer, but when you actually change. choose to live here, in a harsh and freezing coastal climate, this place feels more like a purgatory. More than that, this place actually feels cursed. This probably just sounds like superstition

on my part, but what almost convinces me of this belief, more so than anything else here, is that disturbing things have washed up on shore, each one supposedly worse than the last, and they all have to do with death. They were littered everywhere. The first thing I discovered here happened maybe a couple of months after I first moved to Kaithness. In my spare time, I took to exploring the coastline around the Thirso area. It was on one of these days that I started to explore what was east of Thirso. On the right-hand side of the mouth of the river, there's an old ruin of a castle, but past that leads to a cliff trail around the eastern coastline. I first started exploring this trail with my dog, Maisie, on a very windy, rainy day.

We trekked down the cliff trail and onto the bedrocks by the sea, and making our way around the curve of a cliff base, we then found something. Littered all over the bedrock floor, were what seemed like dozens of dead seabirds. They were everywhere. It was as though they had just fallen out of the sky and washed ashore. I just assumed they either crashed into the rocks or were swept into the sea due to the stormy weather. Feeling like this was almost a warning, I decided to make my way back home, rather than risk being blown off the cliff trail.

It wasn't until a day or so after, when I went back there to explore further down the coast, that a woman with her young daughter stopped me, shouting across the other side of the road through the heavy rain, the woman told me she had just come from that direction, but that there was a warning sign for dog walkers, warning them the area was infested with dead seabirds that had died from bird flu. She said the warning had told dog walkers to keep their dogs on a leash at all times, as bird flu was contagious to them. This instantly concerned me, as the day before, my dog Maisie had gotten close to the dead

seabirds to sniff them. But there was something else. Something about meeting this woman had struck me as weird. she was just a normal woman with her young daughter, they were walking a dog that was completely identical to Maisie, a small black and white border collie. Maybe that's why the woman was so adamant to warn me, because in my dog, she saw her own, heading in the direction of danger. But why this detail was so weird to me, was because it almost felt like an omen of some kind. She was leading with her dog, identical to mine, away from the contagious dead birds,

as though I should have been doing the same. It almost felt as though it wasn't just the woman who was warning me, but something else, something disguised as a coincidence. Curious as to what this warning sign was, I thanked the woman for letting me know, before continuing with Maisie towards the trail. We reached the entrance of the castle ruins, and on the entrance gate, I saw the sign she had warned me about. The sign was bright yellow and outlined with contagion symbols. If the woman's warning wasn't enough to make me turn around, this sign definitely was,

and so I head back into town, all the while worrying that my dog might now be contagious. Thankfully, Maisie would be absolutely fine. Although I would later learn that bird flu was common to the region, and so dead seabirds wasn't anything new, what I would stumble upon a year later, washed up on the town's beach, would definitely be far more sinister. It looked like the devil. In the summer of the following year, like most days,

I walked with Maisie along the town's beach, which stretched from one end of Thurso Bay to the other. I never really liked this beach, because it was always covered in stacks of seaweed, which not only stunk of sulfur, but attracted swarms of flies and midges. Even if they weren't on you, you couldn't help but feel like you were being bitten all over your body.

The one thing I did love about this beach was that on a clear enough day, you could see in the distance one of the islands of Orpney. On a more cloudy or foggy day, it was as if this particular island was never there to begin with, and all you instead see is the ocean and a false horizon. On one particular summer's day, I was walking with Maisie along this beach. I had let her off her lead as she loved exploring. and finding new smells from the ocean. She was rummaging through the stacks of seaweed when suddenly,

Maisie had found something. I went to see what it was, and I realized it was something I'd never seen before. What we found, lying on top of a layer of seaweed, was an animal skeleton. I wasn't sure what animal it belonged to exactly, but it was either a sheep or a goat. There were many farms in Caithness and across the sea in Orkney. My best guess was that an animal on one of Orkney's coastal farms must have fallen off a ledge or cliff, drown and its remains eventually washed up here. Although I was initially taken back by this skeleton, grinning up at me with its molar-like teeth, something else about this

animal quickly caught my eye. The upper body was indeed skeletal remains, completely picked white clean, but the lower body was all still there. It still had its hoofs and all its wet fur. The fur was dark gray and as far as I could see, all the meat underneath was still intact. Although disturbed by this carcass, I was also very confused. What I didn't that was understand was, why had the upper body of this animal been completely picked off, whereas the lower part hadn't even been touched? What was weirder, the lower body hadn't even decomposed yet. It still looked fresh. I can still recollect the image of this dead animal in my mind's eye. At the time, one of the first impressions I had of it, was that it seemed almost satanic.

It reminded me of the image of Baphomet, a goat's head on a man's body. What made me think this was not only the dark goat-like legs, but also the position the carcass was in. Although the carcass belonged to a goat or sheep, the way the skeleton was positioned almost made it appear hominid. The skeleton was laid on its back, with an arm and leg on each side of its body. However, what I also have to mention about this incident, is that, like the dead sea birds and the warnings of the concerned woman, this skeleton also felt like an omen. A bad omen. I thought it might have been at the time, and to tell you the truth, it was. Not long after finding this skeleton washed up on the town's beach, my personal life suddenly

takes a very dark and somewhat tragic downward spiral. I almost wish I could go into the details of what happened, as it would only support the idea of how much of a bad omen this skeleton would turn out to be, but it's all rather personal. While I've still lived in this god-forsaken place, I have come across one more thing that has washed ashore, and although I can't say whether it was more, or less disturbing than the baffamette-like skeleton I had found, it was definitely bone-chilling. What happened to the skulls?

Six or so months later and into the Christmas season, I was still recovering from what personal thing had happened to me, almost foreshadowed by the Baphomet skeleton. It was also around this time that I'd just gotten out of a long-distance relationship, and was only now finding closure from it. Feeling as though I had finally gotten over it, I decided I wanted to go on a long hike by myself along the cliff trail east of Thurso.

And so, the day after Christmas, Boxing Day, I got my backpack together, packed a lunch for myself and headed out at 6 a.m. The hike along the trail had taken me all day, and by the evening, I had walked so far that I actually discovered what I first thought was a ghost town. What I found was an abandoned port settlement, which had the creepiest-looking disperse of old stone houses, as well as what looked like the ruins of an ancient round tower. As it turned out, this was actually the Castletown Heritage Center, a tourist spot. It seemed I had walked so far around the rugged terrain, that I was now ten miles outside of Thurso. On the other side of this settlement, when

the distant cliffs of Dunnett Bay, which compared to the cliffs I had already trekked along, were far grander. Although I could feel my legs finally begin to give way, and already anticipating a long journey back along the trail, I decided that I was going to cross the bay and reach the cliffs, and then make my way back home. Considering what I would find there, this is the point in the journey where I should have stopped. By the time I was making my way around the bay, it had become very dark. I had already walked past more than half of the bay, but the cliffs didn't feel any closer.

It was at this point when I decided I really needed to turn around, as at night, walking back along the cliff trail was going to be dangerous, and for the parts of the trail that led down to the base of the cliffs, I really couldn't afford for the tide to cut off my route. I made my way back through the abandoned settlement of the Heritage Center, and at night, this settlement definitely felt more like a ghost town. Shining my phone flashlight in the windows of the old stone houses, I was expecting to see a face or something peer out at me.

What surprisingly made these houses scarier at night were a handful of old fishing boats that had been left outside them. The wood they were made from looked very old and the paint had mostly been weathered off. But what was more concerning was that in this abandoned ghost town of a settlement, I wasn't alone. A van had pulled up, with three or four young men getting out. I wasn't sure what they were doing exactly, but they were burning things into a trash can. What it was they were burning, I didn't know, but as I made my way out of the abandoned settlement,

time I looked back at the men by the van, at least one of them were watching me. The abandoned settlement. The creepy men burning things by their van. That wasn't even the creepiest thing I came across on that hike. The creepiest thing I found actually came as soon as I decided to head back home, before I was even back at the Heritage Center. Finally making my way back, I tried retracing my own footprints along the beach. It was so dark by now that I needed to use my phone flashlight to find them.

As I wandered through the darkness, with only the dim brightness of the flashlight to guide me. I came across something. Ahead of me, I could see a dark silhouette of something in the sand. It was too far away for my flashlight to reach, but it seemed to me that it was just a big rock, so I wasn't all too concerned. But for some reason, I wasn't a hundred percent convinced either. The closer I get to it, the more I think it could possibly be something else. I was right on top of it now, and the silhouette didn't look as much like a rock as I thought it did.

If anything, it looked more like a very big fish, almost like a tuna fish. I didn't even realize fish could get that big in and around these waters. Still unsure whether this was just a rock or a dead fish of sorts, but too afraid to shine my light on it, I decided I was going to touch it with my foot. My first thought was that I was going to feel hard rock beneath me, only to realize the darkness had played a trick on me. I lift up my foot and press it on the dark silhouette, but what I felt wasn't hard rock. It was squidgey.

My first reaction was a little bit of shock, because if this wasn't a rock like I originally thought, then it was something else, and had probably once been alive. Almost afraid to shine my light on whatever this was, I finally work up the courage to do it. Hoping this really is just a very big fish, I reluctantly shine my light on the dark squidgey thing. But what the light reveals is something else. It was a seal. A dead seal pup.

Seal carcasses do occasionally wash up in this region, and it wasn't even the first time I saw one. But as I studied this dead seal with my flashlight, feeling my own skin crawl as I did it, I suddenly noticed something, something alarming. This seal pup had a chunk of flesh bitten out of it. For all I knew, this poor seal pup could have been hit by a boat, and that's what caused the wound. But the wound was round and basically a perfect bite shape. Depending on the time of year, there are orcas around these waters, which obviously hunt seals, but this bite mark was no bigger than what a fully grown seal could make. Did another seal do this? I know other animals will sometimes eat their young,

but I never heard of seals doing this. But what was even worse than the idea that this pup was potentially killed by its own species, was that this pup, this poor little seal pup, was missing its skull. Not its head. It's skull. The skin was all still there, but it was empty, lying flat down against the sand. Just when I think it can't get any worse than this, I leave the seal to continue making my way back, when I come across another dark silhouette in the sand ahead. I go towards it, and what I find is another dead seal pup. But once more, this one also had an identical wound, a fatal bite mark. And just like the other one, the skull was missing. I could accept that they'd been killed by either a boat, or more likely

from the evidence, an attack from another animal, but how did both of these seals, with the exact same wounds in the exact same place, also have both of their skulls missing. I didn't understand it. These seals hadn't been ripped apart, they only had one bite mark each. Would the seal, or seals that killed them really remove their skulls? I didn't know. I still don't, but what I do know is that both of these carcasses were identical. Completely identical, which was strange.

They had clearly died the same way. I more than likely knew how they died, but what happened to their skulls. As it happens, it's actually common for seal carcasses to be found headless. Apparently, if they have been tumbling around in the surf for a while, the head can detach from the body before washing ashore. The only other answer I could find was scavengers. Sometimes other animals will scavenge the body and remove the head. What other animals that was, I wasn't sure, but at least now, I had more than one explanation

as to why these seal pups were missing their skulls, even if I didn't know which answer that was. I had now reasoned out the cause of these missing skulls, it still struck me as weird as to how these seal pups were almost identical to each other in their demise. Maybe one of them could lose their skulls, but could they really both? I suppose so. Unlike the other things I found washed ashore, these dead seals thankfully didn't feel like much of an omen. This was just a common occurrence to the region.

But growing up most of my life in Yorkshire, England, where nothing ever happens, and suddenly moving to what seemed like the edge of the world, and finding mutilated remains of animals you only ever saw in zoos, it definitely stays with you. For the past two and a half years that I've been here, I almost do feel as though this region is cursed. Not only because of what I found washed ashore, after all, dead things wash up here all the time. I almost feel like this place is cursed for a number of reasons. Despite the natural beauty all around, this place does somewhat feel like a purgatory. A depressive place that attracts lost souls from all around the UK. Many of the locals leave this place, migrating far down south to places like

Glasgow. On the contrary, it seems a fair number of people, like me, have come from afar to live here, mostly retired English couples, who for some reason choose this place above all others to live comfortably before the day they die. Perhaps like me, they thought this place would be idyllic, only to find out they were wrong. For the rest of the population, they're either junkies or convicted criminals, relocated here from all around the country. If any you could even say that Kaithness is the UK's Alaska, where people come to get far away from their past lives or even themselves, but instead, amongst the natural beauty, are harassed by a cold, dark, depressing climate. Maybe this place isn't actually cursed. Maybe it really is

just a remote area in the far north of Scotland, that has, for UK standards, a very unforgiving climate. Regardless, I won't be here for much longer. Maybe the ghosts that followed me here will follow wherever I may end up next. A fair bit of warning, if you do choose to come here, make sure you only come in the summer. But whatever you do, if you have your own personal demons of any kind, whatever you do, just don't move here. Bang, bang, bang. It's about 11.30 p.m. on Saturday, November 25, 23. My wife was sitting on the couch next to me, and we locked eyes on one another. When I say I live in the bad part of town, I mean I live in the kind of place where you seldom hear sirens after obvious gunfire.

N.E. Salem, Oregon, where once we had a Bergerville, and now we have meth. Bang, bang, bang. Couldn't ignore this one, it seems. My wife looks at me and whispers, what do we do? She looks petrified. I can't blame her, as my body is still trying to decide between fight or flight. I know the door we have is pretty sturdy, but sturdy only goes so far in the face of the determined. Last week, I saw someone on a bike with a pry bar and bolt cutter crossed over their backpack like some sort of fucked-up witcher. School of the rat, maybe. Just wait a second longer, I tell her. So we did. Bang, bang, bang, bang. Not only louder, but more

determined. Fight has been chosen, given no other option. I hop over to the door, quiet as can be. I look through the people, only to be met with a thumb. The knocking assailant was covering my one avenue of information. For whatever reason, this is the moment that the panic decided to set in, especially when there were two more loud bangs on the door right in my face. Either they had heard me, or it was lucky timing on their part. Call 911, right now. I walked to the kitchen and grabbed two sturdy kitchen knives. Thankfully, they had just been sharpened. She grabs her phone. Head into the back, close the door. She looks back at me, and asks, what do they look like? I'm already standing at the door and need to be silent.

Bang, bang, bang. I look through again, and still can't see anything. I try some sort of idiot sign language to tell her this, but I'm not thinking clearly. Not only do I almost stab myself in the eye, but I'm also sure the motions I made weren't completely representative of, I can't see a thing. She asks again. I almost stab myself again. This system isn't working.

I try to motion her to the back room as I slip some shoes. on for some reason that made sense in the moment. Bang, bang, bang, bang. This had come to a place where I was now in the realization that a confrontation was going to happen, no matter what. This conflict would not resolve itself, but I still wasn't going to open that door. It could be more than one person. It could be a whole troop of people, for all I could tell.

Still nothing through the peephole. What do you mean they're already here? My wife walks out from the back. I look through the peephole one last time, still covered. They're at our door. I pipe up. Salem Police Department. A moment passes.

Yes, sir, please open the door. Mama didn't raise a fool. Could you step away from the door and show some identification through the people? The glass is uncovered, and there's two young police officers, tack vests and flashlights, one holding up a badge of some sort, the glass hadn't been cleaned, so it was a bit blurry. I'm going to open the door now. For self-defense, I've grabbed some knives, which I'm going to set on the floor.

You're more than welcome to come inside and stand over them. I unlock the door. I'm fond of the German one, please try not to step on it. Humor is a defense mechanism. The officers enter the apartment. Everything, uh, everything all right in here. He looks around. The apartment is decorated in the most offensively cheery Christmas decor one could find.

There's stockings next to the fake fireplace, a fake tree with a crooked star, and a haphazardly hung string of multicolored lights leading back into the hallway that's been hung with pushpins. This wasn't the interior of a home he was expecting. We're good. You. You good. I ask.

My wife is standing next to me, both shivering from the cold of the open door, and the adrenaline drop of the situation. Yeah, we got a call about possible domestic violence. My wife laughs out loud, then covers her mouth. We've been together for several years at this point, and are completely inseparable. I've found my soulmate, and I've never once done anything more than bopped the back of her hand with a wooden spoon if she's trying to sneak a peek at a surprise dinner I'm cooking. Someone in the area called, said they heard some threats coming from this apartment.

Any truth to that? Another laugh. Yes, officer. My wife replied. They looked a little confused. This was a lot of conflicting information and scenery, and the twinkling lights on the ballot are causing some mild disorientation. She looks to me.

I gesture to the television screen. We're playing trivial pursuit, and it sometimes gets a bit heated. I look down to make sure my knives aren't being stepped on. They're not. This is good. We specifically got a complaint about someone yelling, oh, you little bitch. My wife and I look at each other. She says, that was a final round question where the category was music.

I stood no chance. We weren't really that loud, though. The cop nearest my knives gestured downward, indicating the possibility of our downstairs neighbor. Oh no, not again, thought the bowl of petunias. We thanked the officers for checking on us, but assured them that everything was okay. We've never had an interaction with these neighbors, but given the choice decor on their balcony of a futon with N.O. smoking, sign and proudly displayed bomb, were willing to chalk this up to over-imagination. There's nothing wrong with partaking in the election.

electric lettuce, especially since it's legal in Oregon, we had just wished they didn't partake to the point of our entire apartment smelling like a Aztec style sacrifice of a family of skunks every afternoon between the times of 4 p.m. and 4.30 p.m. We've learned to close our windows. The officers left, and we resumed our game. With the windows closed. So, that's the story about how Steve Winwood and Trivial Pursuit made my downstairs call the police on us for domestic violence. Bang, bang, bang. It's about 11.30 p.m. on Saturday, November 25th, 23. My wife was sitting on the couch next to me, and we locked eyes on one another. When I say I live in the bad part of town, I mean I live in the kind

of place where you seldom hear sirens after obvious gunfire. Any Salem, Oregon, where once we had a Bergerville, and now we have meth. Bang, bang, bang. Couldn't ignore this one, it seems. My wife looks at me and whispers, what do we do? She looks petrified. I can't blame her, as my body is still trying to decide between fight or flight. I know the door we have is pretty sturdy, but sturdy only goes so far in the face of the determined. Last week, I saw someone on a bike with a pry bar and bolt cutter crossed over their backpack like some sort of fucked-up witcher. School of the rat, maybe. Just wait a second longer, I tell her. So we did. Bang, bang, bang, bang. Not only louder, but more determined. Fight has been chosen, given no other option.

I hop over to the door, quiet as can be. I look through the people, only to be met with a thumb. The knocking assailant was covering my one avenue of information. For whatever reason, this is the moment that the panic decided to set in. Especially when there were two more loud bangs on the door right in my face. Either they had heard me, or it was lucky timing on their part. Call 911, right now. I walked to the kitchen and grab two sturdy kitchen knives.

Thankfully, they had just been sharpened. She grabs her phone. Head into the back, close the door. She looks back at me and asks, what do they look like? I'm already standing at the door and need to be silent. Bang, bang, bang. I look through again and still can't see anything. I try some sort of idiot sign language to tell her this, but I'm not thinking clearly.

Not only do I almost stab myself in the eye, but I'm also sure the motions I made weren't completely representative of I can't see a thing. thing. She asks again. I almost stab myself again. This system isn't working. I try to motion her to the back room as I slipped some shoes on for some reason that made sense in the moment. Bang, bang, bang, bang. This had come to a place where I was now in the realization that a confrontation was going to happen, no matter what. This conflict would not resolve itself, but I still wasn't going to open that door. It could be more than one person. It could be a whole troop of people, for all I could tell.

Still nothing through the peephole. What do you mean they're already here? My wife walks out from the back. I look through the peephole one last time, still covered. They're at our door. I pipe up. Salem Police Department. A moment passes.

Yes, sir, please open the door. Mama didn't raise a fool. Could you step away from the door and show some identification through the people? The glass is uncovered, and there's two young police officers, tack vests and flashlights, one holding up a badge of some sort, the glass hadn't been cleaned, so it was a bit blurry. I'm going to open the door now. For self-defense, I've grabbed some knives, which I'm going to set on the floor. You're more than welcome to come inside and stand over them.

I unlock the door. I'm fond of the German one, please try not to step on it. Humor is a defense mechanism. The officers enter the apartment. Everything, uh, everything all right in here. He looks around. The apartment is decorated in the most offensively cheery Christmas decor one could find. There's stockings next to the fake fireplace, a fake tree with a crooked star, and a haphazardly

hung string of multicolored lights leading back into the hallway that's been hung with pushpins. This wasn't the interior of a home he was expecting. We're good. You. You good. I ask. My wife is standing next to me, both shivering from the cold of the open door, and the adrenaline drop of the situation.

Yeah, we got a call about possible domestic violence. My wife laughs out loud, then covers her mouth. We've been together for several years at this point, and are completely inseparable. I've found my soulmate, and I've never once done anything more than bopped the back of her hand with a wooden spoon if she's trying to sneak a peek at a surprise dinner I'm cooking. Someone in the area called, said they heard some threats coming from this. apartment. Any truth to that?

Another laugh. Yes, officer. My wife replied. They looked a little confused. This was a lot of conflicting information and scenery, and the twinkling lights on the balcony are causing some mild disorientation. She looks to me. I gesture to the television screen.

We're. Playing trivial pursuit, and it sometimes gets a bit heated. I look down to make sure my knives aren't being stepped on. They're not. This is good. We specifically got a complaint about someone yelling, Oh, you little bitch. My wife and I look at each other.

She says, that was a final round question where the category was music. I stood no chance. We weren't really that loud, though. The cop nearest my knives gestured downward, indicating the possibility of our downstairs neighbor. Oh no, not again, thought the bowl of petunias. We thanked the officers for checking on us, but assured them that everything was okay. We've never had an interaction with these neighbors, but given the choice decor on their balcony

of a futon with N.O. smoking, sign and proudly displayed bomb, were willing to chalk this up to over-imagination. There's nothing wrong with partaking in the electric lettuce, especially since it's legal in Oregon, we had just wished they didn't partake to the point of our entire apartment smelling like a Aztec style sacrifice of a family of skunks every afternoon between the times of 4 p.m. and 4.30 p.m. We've learned to close our windows. The officers left, and we resumed our game. With the windows closed. So, that's the story about how Steve Winwood and Trivial Pursuit made my downstairs call the police on us for domestic violence. Hey, I want to share something with you guys and maybe help me think more positive about this

because it really torments me every time I think about it. A quick background of this story it's about a couple, the woman was childhood friends with my mom and the man childhood friends with my dad, they met God in a relationship, got married, and my father was the best man of their wedding and in the same wedding he got closer to my mom. The couple had two kids, a boy 16 years old and a girl 13 years old, which my dad was the godfather of the boy. I knew this people since I remember myself, I'm 17 currently and for the last eight years we lived one a parent above them. They had a lot of problems in their marriage like toxicity, manipulation, control, cheating from both sides but they always ended up back together despite the times they almost broke up.

Many incidents happened throughout the years, but the main one was in May 2024 where the man beat up the woman up at 4 a.m. after a night out, the beating took place outside and kind of far from home, the boy called his mother to ask her where they were because it was late and his mother replied with, call the police. The boy run to us for help and both kids stayed with us that night because both parents were arrested and filled a lawsuit against each other. OFC, the man's lawsuit was pointless. Long story short, the woman dropped the charges against the man cause of the kids, with the deal that they will get a divorce and leave her alone. OFC, that never happened the man was obsessed with her he couldn't accept rejection, so after two months of fights and many more things, the man killed the woman with a haunting rifle outside their home, and OFC as a neighbor I saw and heard a lot of things. To give you a bit more details, the man basically broke into the house because he wasn't living there no more with the gun, the girl was alone in the house because the boy was with his grandparents at that time, the man called the woman who was on a night out and said, you either come home or I'm killing the child.

The girl panicking called my mother and explained the situation. My parents woke up and my dad went down to calm things down while my mom took the girl to our house. Me at the time was half at sleep and awake because I don't really sleep early in the summer. When the man heard the car of the woman coming, he tried to go downstairs outside the building, but my dad was blocking his way. He got frustrated and he jumped off the balcony to the roof of the car. The balcony was five to six meters, around 10 to 11 feet, so not that high of a jump.

my dad went outside tried to stop him, but he didn't succeed. The man shot the woman through the window of the car and later committed suicide with that same gun. BTW, the police never showed up while all this was happening. My mom called them 46 times and no one answered. After that only chaos was happening, my dad drove to the police station to get help. My sister and mom was in a state of shock and I was trying to comfort the girl that just lost her mother.

Personally, I was also in a state of shock, but I had a feeling these last two months that things ain't going to end good so I had the strength to call the boy who's also. so by best friend, tell him the news and try to comfort everyone. I didn't attend the man's funeral, only the women's which was two days later and only after that my shock was over and I managed to cry, till this day I haven't forgiven him, I still have dreams with these two and the most important thing is the kids which me and my sister are best friends with don't live here anymore. They went with the sister of the man, a really good woman and financially set for life so it's the best for the kids, but they still miss being here with us and not five hours away.

You probably asking why the woman didn't call the police during those three months, well she thought she could handle it, we used to joke about the situation as well, but we never thought it would go this far. The man was saying he will do it and my dad was trying to calm him down even though no one took him seriously. Such a mess and a lot of things happened afterwards that I can't cover right now, maybe another time. Sorry for my bad English and I probably forgot some details, but it doesn't really matter.

My adrenaline went to the sky writing this so if anyone could help that would be appreciated. I'm sorry but today will be the last time I talk about this, now I'm going to talk more about the things I wanted to have and do. Where I live there is a house for sale, a house that if everything had gone well could have been mine, a house with sea views, a garden and large rooms to surprise the people I know, but most importantly my parents and family. I could have a big, expensive Volvo in the garage, eat expensive meat for dinner, go on vacation on a cruise in Norway, have a giant TV in all sorts of luxuries, and, most importantly, not having to worry about not being able to pay the bills.

But now that I've sent my application to McDonald's, I'll never be able to pay the 1.5 million euros, $1.6 million, that the house costs with a salary of $800 euros per month or $5.00 per hour, $870 per month or $5.4 per hour. Maybe my friend who's going to KPMG will make it, or my other friend who's going to a Fortune 500 company,

or my brother, who studies at the best university in Portugal and thinks I'm a real idiot. What's worse is that my parents are going to, to kick me out of my house, and I'll be homeless and without money to pay rent. I can't think of anything else, I've lost something that you can't lose, going to the place that guarantees you a good life in Europe, University. Now I'm going to have to watch as my friends who are going to study at university live in the new buildings that are being built in the hills of Lisbon, while I have to sleep on the ground. Now I'm going to see my friends traveling

around the world while I'm just going to travel around my city looking for places to sleep and beg for food. I'll see how my friends are laughing as they chat and drink coffee in their offices while I'll be in a kitchen working too hard to earn a pittance while having to put up with a grumpy boss. I'm going to see how my friends live without worries while I have to go to church to ask for soup while I go dressed in old clothes, smelling awful as people walk away from me. I just wanted to apologize to my family for doing this. I was stupid and I had more ability, but I didn't have the ambition and ability to get to the top. And I'd like to to tell my friends to be happy because they won't have to be like me."

Part 1. It has been a weird couple of days for me and I need to get this off my chest. This all started on Friday when I got a Facebook message from an old colleague telling me my daughter was trying to get in contact with me, I hadn't heard from this person in years so I was skeptical at first, but I decided to hear them out. The girl in question has recently lost her mother to cancer and the man who she though was her father turned around and told her she wasn't his and kicked her out, she moved in with her uncle thankfully but ever since she's been looking for her real dad. Anyways, around fifteen years ago I was a naive young man barely in my twenties working in a

supermarket, when I started I was buddied up with a 37-year-old woman who was dropped dead gorgeous. Like I said I was rather naive so obviously I instantly became infatuated with her easygoing and tactile demeanor, sadly only a month after I started that job she handed in her notice and that spurred me to go for it and ask her out on a date. She laughed and agreed, and so started the wildest three months of my life. I won't go into details, but we were intimate on a handful of occasions and I even stupidly confessed my love to her, but it was then she told me she was moving away to be with

her fiancée which left me absolutely heartbroken. Later a colleague would tell me that she was also seeing a guy who worked on the checkouts at the same time she was seeing me. Back to the present day and I had all but forgot about it, I have two kids and a very pregnant wife to think about after all, so this has somewhat knocked me sideways. I feel for the kid having her whole world torn apart so abruptly but the thing is I don't think I'm her father. Though I was young and foolish, I always used protection, but there is a part of me that hopes I am, as I can provide the loving family that she is so desperately looking for.

I haven't told my wife yet because she is eight months pregnant with our third child and has enough to worry about, but I have arranged a paternity test. Another thought that crossed my mind that she is contacting me first because I am the better prospect, as I went on to bigger and better things while the other guy still works on the checkouts at the same store 15 years later and from what I've been told has a bit of a problem with alcohol. I'm also angry at the man who raised her, playing Dad all those years only to callously abandon her when she needed him the most. I'm also angry and sad that I might have missed out on so much of my potential daughter's childhood. The wife knows something's up so I think I'm going to bite the bullet and tell her, I just had to get this off my chest. Edit, update, wow, I didn't expect this to blow up so much. I have an update on the situation, so I sat my wife down and told her everything this morning like most of you have been suggesting. After

a severe tongue lashing for not telling her sooner my wife said probably the most sensible thing I've heard which is I should try and contact the girl's uncle to verify her story, and boy am I glad I did. You see I had made one fatal assumption, which was that the stepfather was the same person as the fiancé. Turns out, Checkout Guy found out about the baby and claimed she was his, the fiancé broke things off after finding out about her infidelity and decided to move abroad. Checkout Guy got a paternity test when the girl was born and he wasn't the father, but he only did it to try and get back together with her, which obviously failed miserably. The stepfather didn't come along until a year or two later after the girl was born.

He's been having a hard time dealing with the death of his wife and after a particularly bad argument decided the best thing was for the girl to go and stay with her uncle who is an absolutely lovely guy and actually remembered me even though I had only met him, briefly in the past. Anyway, she is happy and safe at her uncles, it's close to her school and she gets on well with her cousins. the crazy thing is that they weren't actually looking for me, I just happened to have the same first name as the fiancé. The young lady jumped the gun in getting in contact with me, but they are 99% sure that the fiancé is her father.

This is when my wife made another sensible suggestion, God I love that woman so much, and ask for the girl's birthday so we can match up the dates and they don't quite match up, but I'm still going through with the paternity test just. In case. The thing is now I have to put up with the odd rendition of Billy Jean for my beloved, which is probably going to last a few weeks before it gets old. I should explain why I didn't immediately tell my wife about this, you see I was just panicking about the whole situation and though she is a caring and understanding woman, she can be rather ferocious. Needless to say, I try

not to find myself on the sharp end of her tongue. Also she is eight months pregnant and it has been a difficult pregnancy for her and I didn't want to add any extra stress, but as many of you have pointed out it would have only been worse if I had not said anything. Part two, though I'd do a fresh post since the other one was getting quite long. For those who haven't read my first one, the title pretty much sums it up and I left it waiting for the results of the paternity test, but it didn't look very likely, while the results are in. First, though, I want to tell you guys about something that happened on Thursday. I was minding my own business cooking the kids dinner when my wife starts calling my name and telling me to come quick, I rush into the living room and she's flapping her arms like a madwoman and pointing at her phone. Your story's on TikTok. She yells excitedly.

FML that woman nearly gave me a heart attack, I was shitting a brick thinking that her waters had broken early, so thanks for that. Right, so back to the results and I am not the father. I know some of you have said I should adopt her anyway, but personally I think that would be highly inappropriate. Also one critical point I forgot to mention is that I actually live in Norway and she is in the UK so it wouldn't be practical. However that isn't the end of the story, far from it in fact because even though I am not

her father, we have enough common DNA to be fairly close cousin. This was when it hit me, Cousin Jeff, not his real name. Cousin Jeff I the son of my dad's oldest brother and is 12 years my senior, and incidentally my wife's stepbrother, he had found out about me and the ex after bumping into us on a night out and promptly told my entire family just to embarrass me, needless to say he is a massive dick. Anyway around the time I was moping around after getting my heart broken, Jeff was making lots of cryptic remarks about sloppy seconds, his words, not mine.

I didn't think anything of it at the time because he always enjoyed. enjoyed winding me up and had only been married to his now ex-wife for around 18 months, but now I'm not sure. Jeff has twin daughters in their early 20s who are on good terms with my wife so we reached out to them first since they know how to handle him. They said they would get him to do a DNA test even if they had to resort to bully him into it, but as of this moment that's as far as we know. As for the young lady who contacted me, my wife has been in contact with her every day and

has been super supportive. We get on really well with her uncle and his wife so she may not have found a father she was expecting, but she has found a load of cousins that will welcome her into the family with open arms. I just want to thank everyone who has taken the time to read my posts and send me such supportive messages. Also I want to apologize if anything sounded a bit odd since despite being from the UK I've lived in Norway for nearly ten years now and I sometimes forget how to speak English, which

is weird. And finally I think everyone is being a bit harsh on the stepfather, and to be honest I was in my initial post, for sending the girl to live with her uncle, he isn't coping after the death of his wife but saw that he was just hurting his stepdaughter so he sent her away so she didn't have to be around it. From what I've been told they're going to therapy and hope to mend their relationship, and I wish him all the best because even though he isn't her dad by blood, he's the only dad she's ever known. I'm 22 years old, and for the past three years, gambling has consumed my life like a fire I couldn't control. It's terrifying to even type this out, but I've lost

over $100,000. Money I didn't even have to lose, dash. To casinos and CS go gambling sites. Loans, credit cards, money meant for bills, it's all gone. At first, I told myself it was just for fun, a harmless game to pass the time. But now, it's destroyed almost every part of me, and I can barely look in the mirror without feeling disgusted by the person staring back. I'm crying as I write this, my hands shaking over the keyboard, because saying all of this out loud, even in text, feels like a confession I've been avoiding for far too long. The tears just keep coming, and I'm sure OTS shame, or the overwhelming sense of being completely lost. Maybe it's all of it at once.

I don't even know anymore. I'm writing this because I've watched a lot of Reddit stories on YouTube, and reading about other people's struggles has made me realize that maybe, just maybe, sharing my story could help someone else. Maybe it will stop someone from making the same mistakes I did, from getting lost in this mess. Story starts like this. It started small, like a flickering spark that seemed manageable. I'd make small bets and feel the rush when I won, like I had figured out a secret to beating the system.

I'd convince myself that if I could win $10, I could win $100. And if I could win $100, why not $1,000? But it didn't stop there. The losses came fast and hard, and every time I lost, I told myself the same lie, I'll win it back. Just one more bet. Having ADHD made it worse. My brain is constantly seeking stimulation, constantly looking for some. something to latch onto. Gambling provided that, an endless roller coaster of highs and lows,

wins and losses. My impulsivity made it impossible to stop when I knew I should. Even when my gut screamed at me to walk away, my hands would place another bet. It felt like I was watching myself from the outside, powerless to stop the chaos. At first, it didn't seem like a big deal. I was in, control, at least, I thought I was. I still went to work, saw my friends, and paid my bills. But the crack started showing sooner than I realized. I missed payments here and there, brushing them off as minor slip-ups. I avoided my bank statements because I didn't want to face the numbers. And when my friend started noticing I was always short on cash, I'd laugh it off and blame it on an expensive weekend or some unexpected expense. But the truth was, I was drowning.

I can't even tell you when it crossed the line from a hobby to an all-consuming addiction. One day, I was making small bets on harmless games, and the next, I was lying to people I love to cover my losses. Borrowing money I couldn't pay back. Promising to quit but secretly staying up all night gambling. Hiding credit card statements. Watching as my bank balance dipped lower and lower until it hit zero, and then went into the negative. The lies came so easily at first. I just need a little help to get through this month. I'll pay you back as soon as I get paid. I convinced myself that I wasn't really hurting anyone, that I'd fix everything once I had a big win. But the winds never came, only losses that dragged me deeper into the hole. And with

every lie I told, the guilt and shame grew heavier. I've heard people I care about, lied to friends and family, and isolated myself because I'm too afraid to face what I've done. I can't sleep. Most nights, I just stare at the ceiling, replaying every stupid decision I've ever made. The worst part. I feel like I've ruined my future before it even started. At 22, I should be building my life, planning for my dreams. Instead, I'm stuck in this nightmare of my own making. And some nights, when the guilt gets too heavy, I wonder if the world would be better off without me. And here I am now, sobbing while writing this, because even getting these words out feels like a battle I'm barely winning. My chest feels tight, my throat is raw, and the tears blur the

screen in front of me. I hate the person I've become, and it's so hard to hold on to hope when every part of me feels broken. But I'm still here. Somehow, I'm still holding on. And a part of me, no matter how small, still believes that I can claw my way out of this. I just don't know how. I've thought about therapy, but the idea of sitting in front of someone and admitting all of this? It feels impossible. I'm scared of being judged. I'm scared of being seen as a failure. But most of all, I'm scared of being told that there's no hope for me. It's not just the financial wreckage I'm dealing with. It's the relationships I've damaged along the way.

My girlfriend, God, I can't even look her in the eyes anymore. She's always been my biggest supporters, but how could I tell her about the mess I've made of my life? My friends, the ones who've loaned me money or stuck by me even when I didn't deserve it, they're starting to pull away. And who could blame them? I'd become a black hole, sucking in everything good around me. Some days, I try to imagine what it would feel like to be free of this. To wake up and not have my first thought be about money I owe or bets I've lost.

To live without the constant, the constant, crushing anxiety that's always with me feels like it never lets go. It's there no matter where I am or what I'm doing, always reminding me of everything I've lost, never giving me a moment's peace, like a shadow I can't shake. I want to be that person again, the one who laughed without guilt, who dreamed without fear, who believed they were capable of something more. But there's more. It's not just gambling that has a hold on me. Dash.

It's alcohol. In my attempts to escape the weight of my failures and anxiety, I've turned to drinking. I'm not proud of it. I'm ashamed to admit it, but the alcohol has become a way to numb myself, to quiet the relentless guilt and sadness. It doesn't fix anything, though. It only makes things worse. The alcohol fogs my mind, blurs my judgment, and makes everything feel like it's slipping further and further out of control.

I know I need help. I know I can't do this alone. But every time I try to take a step forward, the weight of my mistakes pulls me back. If anyone out there has been through this, if anyone has found a way out of this darkness, I need to know it's possible. I need to know that I'm not alone in this fight. Please, if you're reading this, tell me it's not too late. to change. Tell me there's still a chance for me to find my way back. I don't want to keep

destroying myself. I don't want to keep hurting the people I love. I just want to feel like myself again. Like a person worth saving. Please, if you're reading this, take it from someone who's been burned, stay away from casinos and gambling, no matter how small the bet might seem. Not even ten dollars, not even a penny. Don't start, don't play around, don't convince yourself it's harmless fun. It might seem innocent at first, like it did for me, but it can spiral into something far darker and more destructive than you could ever imagine. Gambling has destroyed me in ways I didn't think possible. It's taken my money, my peace, my relationships, and almost my hope. It consumes you, eats away at your life, and leaves you with nothing

but regret and pain. And the worst part? It happens so slowly that you don't even realize it until you're in too deep. Please, don't make the same mistake I did. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. If you've never gambled, don't start. If you're thinking about it, stop now. And if you're already caught in its grip, try to help yourself and stop. The first step is to walk away. I'm trying to recover.

It's hard, and the road ahead feels impossible some days, but I'm holding on to the hope that I can rebuild my life. If you're struggling too, reach out for help. You are worth saving, and it's never too late to take your life back. stay strong, stay safe, and please, stay away from gambling. It's not worth it. It never will be. The pain, the loss, the destruction, it's all so much more than you think it will be when you first star. You can change. I'm still holding on to that hope. You should too. Five years ago I, Walt 28M, made a choice that royally fucked up my life. I had a lot going for me. At the time I was the new guy at my firm. I was an architect, mostly subdivisions, and really enjoying it.

I had a long-term girlfriend of three years, Emily 29F now, 24 then, that I had recently become engaged to. I really thought nothing could derail me. After Emily said yes, we began to plan the wedding. We were not up for the big wedding thing. We agreed we would have an elopement to a coastal city, San Diego became the plan, parents slash siblings were welcome to come if they wanted, but basically we were just booking a honeymoon and getting married while we were there. Since this whole trip was going to be, relatively speaking, inexpensive. We decided to splurge on pre-wedding activities. Now, neither of us want a traditional bachelor-slash-bachelorette parties.

We agreed we would scratch off bucket list items. Emily wanted to swim with sharks, and booked herself one of those cage dive excursions. Her and her best friend Maggie went to Florida for a long weekend and did just that. Mine was quite a bit more. I had always wanted to visit Thailand. It was one of those dumb things I got fascinated with as a 10-year-old and swore I was going to go. Emily actually encouraged me, pointing out that I literally brought up Thailand on our first date. We were six months into our engagement when the time came for me and my best friend, Jorge, to leave on the trip.

For the first three days everything was great. We were enjoying beaches, visiting temples, and a lot of drinking. On that third night, though, Jorge got absolutely smashed drunk. I was a little pissed about this and tried to slow him down. The next day we were supposed to go on a jungle excursion. It was one of the things I was most looking forward to so I had been pacing myself so I could enjoy the trek. The next morning Jorge has a world-class hangover, refused to get up at all, and says we can book an excursion tomorrow. My thought was, fuck that, I'm going today.

I had seen ads for a few places that did these. I went out to get some breakfast and spotted a guy on the side of road offering the jungle excursion cheap. He had a jeep and when he noticed me looking at his sign, moved in with the hard sell. Honestly, it did look a little shady, but the guy spoke English so well it gave me a false sense of security. I decided to go with this guy. I get in and for a while it's actually pretty fun. He pulls off the main road on these off-road paths. I have no idea where we are going.

We end up deep down these roads. I'm enjoying it for the most part, though. Then everything went sideways. We stopped in this small clearing, and I was checking some things out, when out of nowhere local law enforcement pulls up. I don't know what's being said, I can only pick out a word here and a word there. They start going through the guy's jeep and find a rather large quantity of methamphetamine. I am shitting a brick at this point.

These cops take us both into their small, middle of nowhere station. This is when I come to realization that this motherfucker has taken me into Cambodon. I don't have my ID or passport on me, they are back in the room. These cops are not listening to anything and I have no idea what my guide is telling them. I was freaking out but also thought, it'll be okay, Jorge will realize I'm gone, look into where I am. I'm not going to go into what the next four and a half years were like, but hell is an easy comparison. I'll just leave it at a Cambodian jail isn't the most hospitable environment. It took five months of sitting in that cell before I even saw a judge.

The judicial system there is so backlogged, and the few public defenders that exist are basically in the large cities only. During this whole time I was never allowed to contact anyone on the outside. My first time in front the judge they didn't have an interpreter and it got postponed another five months. I finally had that pretrial hearing, entered a plea, then it was another 14 months before my actual hearing. When I finally had me hearing, the judge was very fair and dismissed my charges on time served,

only for the prosecutor to appeal the dismissal. This put me back into custody for another 28 months. This was the most devastating moment of my life, to think I was out and end up still in for that long. During this time, after no one came for me, I realized they all thought I was dead. I had gone missing. Jorge had no idea where I was, I had called back home the morning I was arrested and left messages, but they only knew I was going on a jungle excursion.

My parents, my fiancé, I missed them so much. There were plenty of days I was hoping one of the other inmates or a rough guard would just take me out already, especially after the first year when I became more tolerant of the food and water. Finally after 52 months in captivity I was released. I had nothing to my name and was in a country I wasn't supposed to be in. I contacted the embassy, and they did have a missing person's file for me. They helped me contact home.

I attempted to contact my fiancé, but a guy named Mitch answered and he did not know an Emily, so I figured she must have changed her number at some point. I called my mother. She was absolutely frantic. She grabbed my father and I told her my entire tale. I kept asking about Emily and my mother kept deflecting. She wanted to get started immediately getting me home, and said we would talk about everything when I got back to the U.S. It took a little while to make this happen. My parents luckily had my original passport and ID, which made the process somewhat faster. During that time they sent me money and I was able to get a hotel. My parents were very, very adamant I not try to contact Emily during this time and

to wait until we got back. I obviously started to assume she had moved on and was with someone else. Which was heartbreaking. I had held out hope during my imprisonment that she would not, but with the way my parents were acting I assumed that was the case. Even so I wanted to contact her immediately, before anything else. I didn't want to talk about my time there, I didn't to talk about what they did trying to find me, or know anything about anyone else. I just wanted my fiancé. My parents sat me down and handed me a save-the-date card. It was Emily and some tall, handsome guy I'd never seen before.

She was engaged. I broke down, it wasn't unexpected, but the feelings were still there. I asked my parents if they had kept in touch with her beyond just being wedding guestworthy. They said yes, they've actually been a huge part of each other's lives these last few years. I was a little shocked, I know they liked Emily, but with me gone I had somewhat expected them to drift apart not get closer. I decided to ask, so how close are you guys now? My mother responded, Very, her father passed a year ago and your dad, has agreed to walk

her down the aisle. That hurt, it shouldn't, but it did. Why you? Was all I could say. My mom got emotional, started going on about how they all thought I was gone, that a cartel or something got me, that they looked so hard and so long. They had a whole memorial service for me. I snapped a little, I don't care about that right now, what are you not telling me?

My mother took that tablet and flipped a few photos. She then handed it back to me. There was a whole group photo. My parents, Emily, her fiancé, her mom, my sister, my brother, Emily's brother, Jorge, other friends and kids. But at the center of the table was a boy sitting behind a birthday cake. The decorations read, Happy Fourth Birthday, He was smiling big. I just looked at my parents. My mother looked at me and said,

That's your son, Paul, my dad's name, Walter, my name, Rhine, our last name. In the two weeks since I got back home it simultaneously feels like so much has happened, and that virtually nothing has happened. I have been largely brought up to speed on all that has happened on this side of the world. When Jorge finally got up out of bed that day five years ago he tried to call me. After having no success, the officers confiscated my phone immediately upon arrest. I never saw it again. He decided to just go about his day, assuming I was enjoying my excursion.

It wasn't until it was well past dark that he started to get concerned. He called back home to see if anyone else had heard from me. The next morning my family and fiancé were blowing up his phone wondering if I had come back yet. That's when he began venturing out to all the excursion places. They all reported that they had not seen me. He began to panic and alerted everyone back home. He went to the authorities at this point. My parents, brother and fiancé all made the trip to join him.

They spent a month canvassing the area before they had to go back. My parents made another trip to Thailand to try and find me, but again turned up nothing. Over the next year and half they were a constant reminder to the Thai officials of my disappearance, unfortunately, no one thought to look in Cambodia. Meanwhile, my fiancée Emily came to the realization she was pregnant. On the day I left for Thailand, she was unknowingly around ten weeks. I can only imagine how hard it was on her. I'm missing, she's pregnant with my child.

I wish I had never gone. My parents told me Emily really leaned on them, and they were happy to help. Over the years they've just grown closer and closer. Her parents were there and supportive, but they are much older than mine and not in as good of health. My mom ended up taking Emily to a lot of her OB appointments. She was there in the delivery room along with Emily's mom. It was apparently very stressful as Paul was born at just 34 weeks.

Luckily he showed no signs of health problems and they just kept him under heightened observation initially. My parents tell me they needed this. The anguish of not knowing what happened to me was very hard, and the birth of their grandson provided a much needed respite from the grief. They keep telling me how sorry they are, but they didn't do anything wrong. I guess it's just guilt now that they know I was out there, and they failed to find me. Jorge has been by to see me. He has apologized far too many times. He's gotten

married since the trip, and has two kids now. He seems nervous around me, and I guess that's fair, I do hold some resentment towards him. It's not his fault, but the feeling is there anyway. My brother and sister have marched on with life. My brother has kids now, and my sister is married. I missed all of this. I could probably get over all of that, but losing my fiancé and missing out on four years with my son, it's been too much. My parents have set me up with a therapist. I went to the first session but have no idea what to talk about. I was wrongfully incarcerated for five years, beaten at times, starved at times. Plenty of PTSD. My whole family thought I was dead, so much so they had a memorial service for me three years to the day of my

disappearance. I was supposed to marry the love of my life, and she is now engaged to someone else. Then to top it all off, I have a four-year-old son, who has been raised by my replacement since he was 18 months old. Paul only knows this guy as dad, he calls him dad, and now here I am, back from the dead to fuck up everyone else's perfect little lives. I'm ranting, though. It's just too much to unpack. I still haven't directly spoken to Emily. My father went to her house the day after my return. He sat her and her fiancé, Kevin 34M, down, told that. I had been found. She began to tear up, she thought he was saying my body had been recovered. When he corrected her, she had a complete breakdown. Her fiancé comforted her, my dad said

she was just silent afterwards. I tried texting her, I got no response for a whole day, then just a, I'm so sorry, I just can't right now. I haven't asked anyone about her fiancé, other than I know she's been engaged for about two months, and the wedding is supposed to be in six. No one has just volunteered any information at this point. We were supposed to all meet at the park this past weekend. My resurgence has thrown the harmony out of whack and I can tell everyone is a little off. My mother typically watches Paul while Emily and Kevin are at work. A lot of time it's at her house, but since I showed up it's been exclusively over at Emily's.

I hear they are prepping him to meet me. He is aware I'm his father. My pictures are all over at my parents' house. Emily has apparently always had a picture of me up in Paul's room. I'm a shell of the guy in the picture, but I guess at least I kind of look like that still. He won't be totally blind-sighted. My parents and I arrived at the park first. When we saw their car pull up, only Kevin and Paul got out.

Emily was not with them. Paul ran up to my dad first and gave him a big hug. He saw me and kind of retreated to my mom, then over to Kevin. I could tell he was nervous, I mean shit. so was I and I'm not four years old. The other adults tried to say something to get us to talk or embrace or something. I told them to let it go, let him go play. He perked up and ran off to the playground.

Kevin came up and stuck his hand out. We shook, and he said, sorry, Emily, couldn't today. We were about out the door and she broke down, told me she wasn't ready. I just said, I understand. I went over to the playground to try and bond in some way. Turns out Paul is big into superheroes. He pretended to be Spider-Man and I had to be Rhino. I chased him all over the playground, and let his webbed me up.

He laughed and smiled. When the food was ready I was happy to see he liked his hot dogs the same as me. Ketchup on one side, mustard on the other, relish on top. I thought maybe this won't be so hard. Then he called Kevin, Dad. I shouldn't have surprised by this, he's been in this kid's life for 2.5 years, he marrying his mom, they all live in the same house. That all said, it was like a knife in the heart, I began to actually tear up.

I excused myself for a moment, and said I was going over to the Gross Park bathroom. When I came out after a minute Kevin was waiting. I could see my parents across the way watching Paul. I felt instantly awkward, the last thing I wanted right now was a heart-to-heart with Kevin. He was taller than me, more built than me, and had gotten to have the life I was supposed to have. He just said, can we talk? I said, yeah, man, what's on your mind? Kevin began, look, I'm sorry for what happened to you, it's a bad deal all around.

I just wanted to talk because I'm worried about Emily and Paul. Emily more than him. She hasn't been herself, which I can appreciate to some degree, it took a long time for her to get over you. I'm the first person she dated after your incident. She cried the first time we kissed because, it was different. I want you to have a relationship with your son, he's little, he's resilient. I had two dads growing up, I know he will be fine. I don't know how fine her or you will be if this goes too fast,

and from a selfish standpoint I don't want anything disrupting our life or our engagement. I love her, and want what's best. I'd like you two to take it slow and process everything before you meet. I made an appointment for her to see a counselor. I'd appreciate it if you could respect that and not push her or reach out to her. Let her figure things out on her own first. I was pissed listening to him, pretentious ass, but fuck he had some points. I don't want to rip open all these old wounds.

I ended up just saying, yeah, man, I can do that. And walked off to join my parents and Paul. Kevin went into the gross bathroom. When he came back over he said him and Paul were going to head out. Paul gave everyone hugs, including me, I was surprised, but pleasantly. Then he called me Rhino, and ran off to Kevin. As they left I heard him say, Dad, can we get a cookie cake on the way home?

Ugh, he's Dad, I'm Rhino, and this just fucking sucks. Part 3, we finally met. We started by texting a bit, but it felt so impersonal the conversation stayed at a surface level. The deepest we really got was talking about Paul and me briefly divulging what Cambodian prison was like. Over the three weeks between our first text exchange and our meetup we only texted maybe five times, and each time it started to get into heavy subjects one of us would end the conversation. During that time though I did spend more time with Paul. My mother began watching him at her house again and that gave us time to bond.

I even had someone on one time with him when we went to get ice cream together one day. It's amazing how resilient kids are, he just goes with the flow of everything. He still calls me Rhino, but maybe I'll get the Dad title soon. One day this past week, when Kevin came by to pick up Paul, he asked to talk again. This time he had a job offer for me, which had me getting pissed. Then he elaborated that it wasn't really an offer but more of a lead. His brother owns a construction company and is looking for an estimator. Kevin told his brother I was once an architect and his brother said he'd give me an interview

if I was interested. He left his brother's card with me. I really want to hate Kevin, but he does actually seem to be a genuinely nice person, which also pisses me off. His self-deprecating sense of humor grows on you fast, and this is just in five times. to ten-minute interactions with him. But at the same time, fuck that guy. I talked to Emily via text this past Friday.

We agreed to meet the next day for lunch. I suggested this Italian place that had been our place, but she got a little upset about this and I thought she was going to cancel. Instead we pivoted to Applebee's. Seeing her in person I can't even describe. She was just as beautiful as ever. The hello hug caused a shiver through my spine, I didn't want to let go, and may have lingered for just a second, but also didn't want to make it weird. We exchanged pleasantries and small

talk through the ordering, and at that point the conversation took the first serious turn since my return, and it stayed that way for the next hour as we talked. She told me how hard it was to deal with my death. She was pregnant and grieving, and a lot of days didn't want to carry on. It hurt so bad to listen to what she was going through. She told me she felt so alone any time she was in our apartment that she spent most nights staying at her parents or mine. She kept hoping that every time the phone rang it would be someone with news about me, and then began to hope it wasn't, because as time went on it became more likely that it would be a call that they found my body.

She told me about how great my parents, and to a lesser degree my siblings had been to her. Myisiel and her even had slightly overlapping pregnancies so it was fun to have someone to talk to about it. It was after Paul's first birthday, that my parents of all people, talked to her about getting back out there. She admitted she was really only spending time with her parents, my parents, or my Sial, and by extension, my brother. She said she even fell off hanging out with her best friend.

Emily told me it was fear. She never wanted to be away from Paul, if I could disappear in an instant, then that means anyone could. She wouldn't be able to live without him. after this intervention, she realized she was living like a widow and not a 25-year-old woman. She began hanging out with her friends again, let others watch Paul occasionally so she could go out. It was two months into her attempts at living life that she ran into Kevin.

They were in a Starbucks, she was fumbling trying to get her phone out while holding Paul. When suddenly this tall handsome fucker, my words, comes up and scans his phone, buying her coffee and muffin. They strike up a conversation while waiting. When her order gets called, he grabs it and hands it to her along with a business card with his cell number on it, Kevin owns a screen printing shop. Tells her, no pressure, but I'd like to get to know you better. Then they part ways.

She called him the next day. Four months later she introduced Paul to him. A year later they moved in with him and a few months ago they got engaged. This is where I said my piece. I told her I still loved her, that it's impossibly hard to see her with someone else. The idea of getting back to her was one of the few things that kept me going when I was locked away. She began to cry, and I reached out and took her hand.

I asked if she was sure, or if there was any way we could try again, in hindsight I feel like this was a dick move, but at the time I needed to know. She shook her head. Looked up at me and said, I love you, I never stopped, but I love Kevin too, and I'm marrying him. It's not fair, I know it's not fair, you didn't do anything wrong, but I had to move on. I spent years thinking you had died. When you came back I was so happy, but also so guilty.

I cut her off there, you have nothing to feel guilty about, I fucked up and cost myself everything. I always knew you'd likely moved on, and I don't fault you for that, I was gone, there was no reason for you to believe I was coming back, but I did dream that I'd find my way back and you'd be there when I returned. I realized that was unrealistic. I'm sorry for putting you in this position now. She said, it's okay, I knew this was coming a very. We just kind of stopped talking at that point.

Sat there just drinking our drinks. After a few minutes that seemed like eternity, she said, How do you want to move forward when it comes to Paul? I told her, I love him already and want to be in his life. She replied, I'm so happy for that, I always told him about you, I didn't want him to think he was abandoned. I said, he is the one bright spot in this whole situation. From there she told me that Kevin had planned to adopt him once they were married,

married but wouldn't now that I have returned. I am listed on the birth certificate as the father, although I think I'll meet with a lawyer just to make sure everything is in place from a legal standpoint. We made some plans to meet together later in the week with Paul. Let him have fun with all of his parents at the same time. She also encouraged me to do more one-on-ones with him. At the end we hugged one more time and parted ways. When I got back to my parents' house and in my room, I broke down. The finality of it all was just too much. After I recovered, I decided I was not going to wallow in my grief anymore. I needed to swallow some pride, and get on track to do something with myself.

The next day I called Kevin's brother and did an interview that day. He hired me. This is the first step towards moving on. Part 4. Holy shit, you are not going to believe what I'm about to tell you. These last six months have been nothing short of absolutely fucking crazy, but in a good way. After my first initial face-to-face with Emily, I decided I need to-a-law. to move on with my life, and I ended up getting hired to be an estimator for Kevin's brother

Kyle's, 36M, construction company. It was going well and at about the two-month mark Kyle, knowing I was an architect, started asking me to design some of his custom builds and would compare them to the usual architect he was using. He was liking mine better, and while I still work as an estimator still, I am now solely designing the custom homes for Kyle and he gave me a huge raise. This allowed me to get my own apartment and I'm thankful to say I am no longer living in my parents' house. Emily and Kevin's wedding plans progressed with only one major change. My father was no longer walking her down the aisle, as everyone felt it was inappropriate given my return. Her much, much older brother was going to take that role now, Emily was an oops

baby, so her brother is 16 years older than her. After our initial lunch, I saw Emily a lot more often. We were making it a point to do something all together with Paul at least once a week. Kevin was there as well, but they kept that couple behavior to a minimum. It was fun. I especially enjoyed getting to talk to Emily and just be around her. After a month of this back to school season hit. I guess in the screen printing industry this is the busy season. Which I guess makes sense with fall sports, staff shirts, clubs, Greek life.

Kevin has contracts with all the school districts and is used heavily by the local colleges in the area. He became swamped at this time. which led to Emily, Paul, and I spending a lot more time just the three of us. Over the months of this we became a lot closer. Hello side hugs became lingering full-front hugs. Emily and I would talk about all sorts of things. It kind of reminded of me when we were first dating. After a couple of months Kevin began joining us all again.

This didn't dissuade Emily and I from rebuilding our friendship. And then the most amazing thing happened. Paul started calling me dad. I literally teared up like the first ten times he did this. Life went on for the next couple of months. It was a week before the wedding. I was not going to attend, my parents were as guests only. That weekend they decided to have semi-combined bachelor-slash-bachelorette parties.

Each was going out to dinner with friends, then friends' activity, her karaoke him top golf, then they'd all meet up at a bar or club around 11 p.m. I wasn't involved in any of this and had no idea which place they were going to end at. I decided I was going out that night instead of just sitting in my apartment being a dud. It was a hard night for me as it was another reminder that I had lost her to someone else, no matter how good of a dude he was, I still hated it. It was around 10.30 that night, I had a good buzz, and was planning on getting an Uber home when Emily and her Bachelorette crew walked in.

I kind of hid in the crowd at first, not wanting to but into her night but she spotted me. Emily came over and we began to talk. It was a little bit flirty. A song she loved came on and she began to dance, then dance on me. I joined in and we were laughing and having fun. As the song ended she kind of stumbled into me, I caught her and we looked at each other. Our lips moved in close and we almost kissed when she pulled back. We laughed it off and moved to the bar to get a drink.

It was probably a good thing we didn't kiss because about two minutes later Kevin came walking up. He was trying to be his usual self but seemed a little off. They kissed, and I began to feel like the third wheel so I went ahead and ordered that Uber and headed home. The next day I'm a little hungover and slept in pretty heavy on my lazy Sunday. It was midday and I hear someone try and open my door. It was locked and they began knocking heavily.

I ran over and opened the door. It was Emily, she lunged into my arms and kissed me. It was the sweetest feeling I have ever felt. Confusing, but sweet. I asked her what was going on. She said, Kevin came to me this morning and started asking some hard questions. I don't want to go into it, I promise I'll tell you everything one day, but I'm in no place to do so now.

We decided to end things, I admitted my feelings were still strong for you, he said he understood that it hurt but that he knew. He said we both deserve to be happy, and he is going to step away. I called your parents, they are good keeping Paul a bit longer. I love you and want to be with you, and I'm suspecting you feel the same way. I told her that was all I ever wanted. It's been a whirlwind. She had two bags packed for her and Paul,

and they moved in with me that same day. The next day my father went to visit Kevin. He told me Kevin looked a little hungover and had taken the day off. They had a talk and my dad tried to be as empathetic as he could. He just wanted to check on him as Kevin had been a large part of their lives over the past few years. He asked Kevin what he was going to do. He said, beyond trying to get some deposits back, he had no idea. My father offered to refund him his money and take over the reservations.

He didn't ask why, my father thinks he knew. While this was going on I had to go into work and face Kyle. He called me into he office upon my arrival. Kyle had me sit and began, just let me say my business. I'm angry, my brother tells me to let it go and I will. I want to take that anger out on you, but I'm not going to, my brother and I learned the hard lesson back in high school when it comes to revenge and swore we'd always be the bigger men going forward, but that's not a tale for now. I think it's best we part ways, my family

needs time to heal. I won't leave you high and dry, though. You get one week paid off here, in that time I want you to speak to an acquaintance of mine Lee. Lee runs a construction company as well, and he says he will take you on at your current salary. It's commercial instead of residential, but you'll do fine. I stood up and started to thank him, but he cut me off, this isn't for you, it's for Kev. Now go get your things and get up out of here. I contacted Lee the same day. He told me I could start in two weeks. Once my father came back and said he now had control of the wedding accommodations Emily and

I just looked at each other and knew we each wanted this. It wasn't the wedding we always wanted, we planned on getting married on a beach. It was Kevin that wanted the traditional wedding. In the end he was right though, we had an amazing time. Jorge was my best man. She looked stunning in her dress. me a tux rental on short notice was probably the biggest headache but that worked out too. Neither of us had huge friend or family groups, but it was nice to enjoy celebrating with

those that had supported us through all these dark times. It's been a month now since our wedding. I still can't believe it. Paul had a little trouble adjusting, he does miss Kevin, but he has seemed happier the last week. To be where I once was and be where I am now, I consider myself beyond lucky. So, me and my sister were heading out yesterday to buy stuff for a Valentine's. Day Party. Nothing special, just some decorations, snacks, the usual. The store was kind

of busy, people rushing around, last-minute shopping, but overall, nothing weird. We checked out, headed back to the car, and as we were settling in, I realized I forgot something inside. Told my sister to wait while I ran back in real quick. Maybe a minute, tops. But when I got back to the car, something felt off. There was a man standing next to my sister's window. Mid-40s, scruffy-looking, just talking to her. She wasn't engaging, just sitting stiffly, her hands gripping the wheel. I could tell something was wrong. I walked up, played it cool, but immediately asked, can I help you with something?

The guy turned around so slow asterisk asterisk dot asterisk, and when he looked at me, his face changed, like he wasn't expecting me to show up. He looked angry. Not annoyed, not embarrassed, angry. He didn't say much. Just, no thank you, then turned back to my sister and thanked her before walking off. That's what stuck with me. thanked her.

I asked her what that was about. She looked shaken. Said he had just walked up, knocked on her window, and started talking, asking her if she was alone, if she had a boyfriend, where she was headed next. I asked if he tried anything else. She said no. He was just, persistent asterisk asterisk-da-a-asturiske like he was testing the waters. Now, here's the part that keeps messing with me. As we pulled out, I spotted him again.

This time, he wasn't alone. He had walked up to another car, a black SUV parked further down. The passenger window rolled down just slightly, and he leaned in, talking to whoever was inside. We didn't stick around to watch. But the second I turned on to the main road, my sister burst into tears. Said she didn't know why, but she felt like if I hadn't come back at that exact moment, something bad would have happened. And I believe her. Maybe I'm overthinking it. Maybe he was just a lonely guy looking to chat. But something tells me, he wasn't just talking. Part one. Oh crap, I think

we have a flat. I said to my wife Shannon. Let me look on my phone and see if there is a place to fix the tire anywhere around here. Dad, what's wrong? My 11-year-old daughter, Grace says to me, don't worry honey we just have a flat i say to grace are we going to miss my dance competition grace says we still have a couple of hours before you have to be there so we should be all right i respond mitch there's a tire repair place about a mile away that's not bad we should be able to make that distance how do you have cell phone service because i have zero bars it's spotty but i was able to get service for a minute shannon looks really stressed out which i'm a tribut to Grace possibly missing her dance competition, which is for nationals. We woke up early this

morning for the six-hour drive to Farmington, West Virginia, so Grace could make her late afternoon performance. I continue to slowly drive, as I don't want to destroy the rim on my car from having the flat tire. The car makes it to the tire repair shop, which looks really busy. Come on, Shannon, let's go inside and see how long it will take to get a new tire. Why don't you just go in and I'll stay here with Grace? Okay, that's fine. I respond. I try to walk as quickly as possible so a new customer doesn't get in front of me. I open the door and go to the front counter. How can I help you, sir?

The man behind the counter says to me, I have a flat tire and we need to get to my daughter's dance competition as quickly as possible. We're a little backed up right now, but we'll change your tire as quickly as we can. Can you give a rough time estimate? Well, we have ten people in front of you, so I would say anywhere from two to two point five hours. Oh gosh, that'll be too late. It could be a little sooner, but I can't guarantee that. Oh, okay, but if there is anything that you could do, then please try.

Okay, sir, the waiting area is filled with people, who look like they would rather be anywhere else than waiting to get their tire fixed. I walk out to the car and Shannon is sitting in the car with her head down, where she looks really nervous. The guy said that it might take up to 2.5 hours for the car to be fixed. Oh, whatever. Shannon responds. Shannon seems disconnected with everything that's going on, where I'm about to have a hundred, heart attack. I look at my phone and see that I still have zero service, so I can't even call one of the other parents to see if the dance competition is running late. Dad, what happens if I'm

late? Don't worry, honey, everything should be okay. But deep down, I know that things aren't looking that great, as far as making it to the dance competition on time. Because this is nationals, they're really strict and she won't be able to compete if she's late. I decide to pace back and forth outside the car, while Shannon sits in the car with her head down and Grace looks more and more anxious. About 15 minutes goes by and the guy at the front desk, whose name tag says Ron, comes out to look at my car. I'm going to try to get your tire fixed as quickly as possible. Is it just the rear passenger? Yeah, just that one. I would greatly appreciate it if you could change it sooner than later. You see our garage is filled with cars already, so let me get

go and get the jack and I'll change it out here. Oh gosh, thank you so much. Ron goes and gets the car jack and I open the door to tell Shannon and Grace to get out of the car. Shannon, come on get out, so the guy can change the tire, he can do it while I'm in a car. She says to me in a forceful manner. I ignore Shannon and figure, the guy will tell her that she has to get out, if that's necessary. Ron comes over to the car and is about to set up the jack and looks inside the car and sees Shannon with her head down and says, she has to get out. Come on, Mom, get out of the car, so the guy can change the tire.

For whatever reason, Shannon seems like she's glued to the seat and she refuses to move. Ron is starting to look really irritated because he's really doing us a favor by changing the tire. Ron looks into the car and says, Kim is that you? With a look of surprise on his face. It's a really odd set of circumstances that is taking place, where Shannon won't put her head up to acknowledge the man. Kim, it's me Ron. Shannon continues to sit with her head down. Her name is Shannon and that's my wife. Sir, that's Kim Greer in your car.

No, that's Shannon, my wife. Sir, tell her to put her head up. She has a dimple above her lip, right? She does, but how do you know that? Because that woman is Kim Greer, how do you know her? I haven't seen her in about eight years. Well, we've been married for 14 years, and unless you came to see her where we live, then chances are you have never seen her before and you got her confused with someone else.

That ain't your wife. A myriad of emotions are going through my head from the anxiety of potentially missing Grace's competition to anger, of what this guy is saying. Shannon continues to keep her head down in the car. Look, I don't know what's wrong with my wife Shannon, but I'll give you an extra $50, if you just change the tire with her in the car. That's fine, but I'm telling you her name is Kim Greer and she's not who you think she is. I try to ignore his comments, so he would just fix the tire, where he first jacks up the car, then he removes the lug nuts. He changes the tire and I give him the extra $50 as promised.

I go to get back into my car and Ron says, Make sure you sleep with one eye open and lock your daughter's door at night. Why would you say that? I say in a confused, angry tone. Do you really want to know, hey Ron, you need to get back in here. We have a bunch of customers waiting to check out. A man yells out from the tire store. Ron walks back to the tire store without telling me anything more.

Anxious to get my daughter to her dance competition, I drive as fast as I can. While I'm driving, I can't help. but think about what that employee, Ron was saying about Shannon. Up until 10 minutes ago, I would say that we live a pretty mundane life, where both Shannon and I, avoid any type of conflict with other parents and we both work and come home and do nothing more than eat dinner and watch television. Hey Shannon, why do you think that man was accusing you of being Kim Greer? Probably because he's crazy.

He seemed like he was pretty adamant that you were that person. Well, it doesn't take much to change tires, so he probably has some type of mental illness. I guess so. I respond. We got to the dance competition on time and Grace did her first set and we had an hour to spare until she did her final dance. I finally have cell phone reception, so I decide to look up Kim Greer out of curiosity. I'm seeing that it is a common name where there's even a Facebook page for a Kim Greer that lives in Australia. Then something catches my eye about a, Kimberly Greer, that was posted online over a decade ago.

The online newspaper article stated, former daycare worker, Kimberly Greer won't be facing jail time for her role in the death. of three children, because the judge found her to be not guilty by reason of insanity. She will go to the state-run mental institution, where she will be committed for an undetermined amount of time. Ha! I blurted out to myself as I separate myself from everyone else at the dance competition. I can't help but also blurt out, that's odd. As my mind filters itself, knowing that I'm at a kid's function or else I would have cursed. That Kinre was from that same town as where we got the tire changed, so that Ron Guy was actually referring to in real-life person and not someone he made up. However, as I had told him in person, I have been married

to Shannon for over 14 years, so my Shannon couldn't possibly be Kim. I tried to find photos of Kim Greer and the only ones that I could find were from her court appearances, which were a bit grainy. Ha! I naturally blurted out again, as I looked at the photographs that were available. Well, this Kim Greer had short brown hair and Shannon has long blonde hair. The dimple, I blurt out loud, as I do see that it's in the exact same spot as Shannon's. Those brown eyes. As I recall that for the longest time Shannon's eyes were blue. Then years later, she had constant eye infections from wearing contact lenses, so she had to give up wearing the contacts and then her natural brown eyes were revealed. I think that

everyone has a celebrity that kind of resembles themselves or maybe some random person at a grocery store that looks like them, so for someone to make a leap of faith that my wife Shannon is a murderer is quite a stretch of the imagination. Grace is starting to get ready for her next dance, where I can tell that she is having pre-dance jitters by the way that she is constantly moving around. However, Shannon can't shake off the funk that she's still in when we were at the tire place, so much so that Grace's dance instructor is doing her hair, which is something that Shannon has always done. Why wouldn't Shannon put her head up in the car? And why wouldn't she get out of the car? I keep asking myself. That was definitely odd behavior for her as the

both of us have always been typical suburbanites who have near heart attacks if we're five minutes late for work. But why am I even entertaining these thoughts, if I've been married to Shannon well before that Kim person was in a mental institution? We met some time in 2008, at six flags when we both worked there together. We dated for a while then we had a short engagement and then we got married by the Justice of the Peace. After we got married, I finished getting my bachelor's degree, where I became a manager at a non-profit organization. We had grace shortly afterwards and we had our typical marital hiccups, but nothing that is even worth mentioning. The only unexpected thing that had occurred since we were married was the stroke that I had when Grace was around three years old.

I had a family history of strokes, but mine came 30 years too early compared to my grandparents. I just kind of went into a trance one day at work, then I woke up in a physical rehabilitation hospital. It took me months before I regained my mobility and I considered it a wake-up call, where I changed my diet and lifestyle. I even cut out coffee because of the increase in stroke risk. For the most part, I feel okay, but I did experience a bit of brain damage, where parts of my past, before the stroke had been erased or my memory gets skewed, where I fill in the blanks. Grace finishes her last dance and we drive back home. I give Grace encouragement in the car and Shannon falls asleep minutes after I start driving.

I was kind of hoping that Shannon would drive halfway home, but I decide not to wake her up. My mind was kept occupied with listening to AM talk radio and that, Ron, guy who put that crazy thought in my head about Kim Greer being Shannon. I somehow make it home without falling asleep at the wheel and the three of us walk like zombies into the house. Grace has school in the morning so it was imperative that she goes to bed as quickly as possible. Shannon was getting ready for bed and when my head hit the pillow I was lights out. I woke up the next morning to my phone's alarm clock waking me up. I walked downstairs to the bathroom and I see that Grace is a little out of sorts because her mother isn't helping her with her hair before her bus comes.

Dad, where's mom? I thought she was downstairs with you. Have you seen her this morning? No, Dad, I need her to help me with my hair. I look on the kitchen counter and her phone is there, where it looks like her SIM card was removed. Now I feel that something really strange is going on, so I look in the driveway and I see that her car is gone. Dad, I'm going to miss the bus. Where's mommy? Don't worry, honey, I'll drive you, I say in a nervous voice as I realize that Shannon is gone. I look around and there isn't a note anywhere. I decide the best thing to do is to wait until after 8 a.m. and call her work to see if she's there. In the meantime, I drive

Grace to school. I tell her that her mother must have went into work early and not to worry, even though that was a flat-out lie. I decide to work from home today, so I can figure out where Shannon went. I still have a few minutes before it's 8 a.m. so I casually look around the house to see if there is anything out of place or if there's anything that looks out of the ordinary. I walk through the kitchen, then through the dining room and into the living room. There's a picture of the three of us when Grace was an infant on the wall. I take the picture down and sit on the couch and look at the photograph. I look at Shannon's neck and realize that her neck isn't completely midline with her shoulders.

Holy shit. She superimposed her face on Shannon's. She's not Shannon. I sit stunned on the couch as it sinks in that the guy at the tire repair shop was probably right. Was that woman an impersonator? If so, then for how long? Then, what happened to my real wife? She must have slipped up when we didn't have cell phone service and she guided me to that

tire repair store. She just got caught up in the moment with Grace being stressed out and she probably didn't realize the extent of her mistake till it was too late. Oh my God. What happened to my real wife and what am I going to tell Grace? I don't know if I should lock the doors or look for whoever that woman was, who was impersonating as my wife. It's after 8 a.m. and I call her job.

where they tell me that, Shannon left a voice message early this morning, where she resigned from her position. I probably should call the police, but something tells me to wait until I have more questions answered, like if that woman was Kim Greer, then why isn't she in the mental institution? More importantly, what happened to the real Shannon? Was that woman, Kimberly Greer masquerading as my wife? Part two, she's my wife not some psychopath who killed three kids, I keep telling myself. Grace has always called her mom or mommy, and to the best of my knowledge, she has never harmed Grace or any of Grace's friends. However, I can't dismiss the obvious fact that Shannon has a strong resemblance to that

Kimberly person, who was identified by that wrong guy at the tire repair shop. I also can't dismiss the photo in the living room that was obviously doctored, which I have no explanation for. I look around the house to see if I can find any other photos of Shannon and each one I'm finding in the house was taken after I had the stroke. I can't dismiss the fact that the use of camera phones has rapidly advanced, so not having a large amount of photos before 2014 wouldn't be overly surprising. But where are our wedding photos? I think to myself. That darn stroke has skewed my memory so much that sometimes I confuse what happened in a movie to my real life. I try to think about our wedding and I'm not sure if we even had a wedding

ceremony or we just eloped somewhere. Shannon always told me that we just eloped, so without any other information, I guess I have to go with that. As I continue to look around the house, I really can't find anything distinguishable before I had the stroke, not even my own birth certificate or even graces. For all these years, I learned to cope with my head injury, where some of my coworkers would even joke, I wish I could forget my childhood. I learned just to accept that my brain hasn't healed itself, but instead it just taped over old memories, like a VHS tape, and brand new memories were formed.

The more I think about it, the more evidence points to Shannon, probably not being the real Shannon, because why would she have left this morning so abruptly? I can't seem to calm down as I have these constant thoughts rushing through my head. I just wish I had more information. Shannon always said that we lost a lot of our stuff in the move, but where did we even from? I do remember being in the hospital, so the best thing for me to do would be to get my hospital records and see if there's any information in the record. So I drive downtown to the hospital and go to the medical records department.

I only have a few hours before Grace gets home from school, so I left the door unlocked just in case, I don't get home in time. But what if, Shannon, is there when Grace gets home? Will she try to harm Grace? I would hope not and based on the years that I've known, Shannon, she hasn't harmed Grace, so I would hope that Grace would be okay. I'm handed the medical record and I look at the discharge summary, where it states I was brought to the emergency department by my wife, Shannon after blacking out at work.

Hospital personnel had to assist me out of the car because I was semi-unconscious. I have a young daughter and nothing else is really mentioned about my personal history. The record also said that I presented to the hospital with a large bump on my head from blacking out and hitting my head. The odd thing is, how did Shannon get me from work to the car? Why didn't my coworkers just call 911? Where did I even work before I had the stroke? I was in the hospital for so long, where Shannon felt that it was probably best that I didn't return to the warehouse job. But what warehouse did I actually work in? The same problem reveals itself where my mind will take images from going to the Home Depot and watching the TV

show, the office, and I kind of picture myself working in a warehouse, but are those memories actually real or did my mind just fill in the blanks? I always thought of Shannon as my savior, who had helped me through the most difficult times of literally getting me back on my feet. It's becoming more obvious to me now that not only do I have to figure out if Shannon is really Shannon, but also who am I? I have a driver's license that says I'm Mitchell Smith and I have seen Shannon's driver's license that says she's Shannon Smith. I also saw a marriage certificate from December of 2008 that was issued in Philadelphia to Mitchell and Shannon Smith. Besides that I really don't have too much to go on. I really have no idea where to go to try to help unravel my

past. I passed a police station on the way to the hospital, so I decide to drive there, with the hope that they can assist me. I have a bunch of emotions going through my head as I get out of my car and walk into the police station. Like what do I say and is it a really good idea talking to the police? I get really nervous walking into the police barracks where I feel a bit intimidated. I open the door and there's a police officer behind a counter that says, Why are you here? In the most unwelcoming way.

Well, I have a real convoluted story where I'm not really sure if my wife is who she says she is and I'm also not sure if I'm who I think I am. What are you talking about? The middle-aged black man says to me, who gives off every indication that he's working working desk duty because of an untoward event that happened in the line of duty. I'll try my best to summarize. I was driving with my wife and daughter yesterday to my daughter's dance recital. Wait, you have a daughter. If you don't know who you are then, is your daughter who she says she is? The police officer says to me in a condescending tone. Well, she knows

she is Grace Smith and I know that her name is Grace Smith, who has been in the Sunnydale School District, at a minimum, since I had my stroke. So she is your daughter. Yes, I'm fairly certain, whose name is listed on her birth certificate. Well, I don't know because there was a lot of things that went missing after we moved. Where did you move from? I'm not really sure because the move happened before my stroke. So how do you know you even moved? Because my wife said we did, but you're not even sure if she is who she says she is. So, how do you know you actually moved? You're right, I really don't know and up until yesterday. I really never doubted anything my wife, Shannon told me. What's your name? Mitchell Smith, I think. You know there's every

kind of scum that walks through these doors from child abusers to men who rape old ladies, but I never had a guy come in here who doesn't know who he is. Do you have a driver's license? Yes, do you want to see it? Yes. I reluctantly hand over my driver's license because I have no idea what is going to happen. Well, the license says you're Mitchell Smith and it was issued in 2013. That's right, shortly after I had the stroke. Can you do a check on it to see if there's any other information? Yeah, give me a minute. The police officer puts my information into his computer and after a few minutes of me nervously waiting, he says, well, there's nothing prior to 2013 associated with your driver's license listed in our system. How did you get this license card?

I remember when I was in the hospital, my wife was working with the social worker to help me obtain the license. Why did you need a new license? Well, Shannon told me it got lost at work somewhere when I had the stroke. Where did you work? I think in a warehouse somewhere. Whatever. Are you on any medications? The police officer says in tone where he seems like he's fed up with me. No, I was able to stop taking my anti-hypertension drugs a couple years back. How about any psychiatric medications? No, I never thought I needed them, but with everything that is going on, I wouldn't be against taking them. I sarcastically say without any reaction from the police officer.

It doesn't look like you're in any type of distress, so I would suggest going on ancestry.com or something. I can tell that he's trying to get rid of me, so I take my driver's license and give him a snide thank you. After leaving the police station, I have no idea how to unravel this mess. I hurry back home to ensure I get there when Grace's bus arrives. I have no idea if my wife will be there which makes me feel a great deal of angst. As I pull into my driveway, I don't see her car which actually saddens me because not only is she the person that I referred to as my wife, she is also probably the only person that can unlock my past as well as Grace's, who will always be my daughter no matter what I eventually

find out. Hi, Dad, is Mommy home? No, she's not, honey. When is she coming back? I really don't know, honey, where did she go? I'm sorry, honey, I'm really not sure. I get a quick idea after hearing Grace ask about her whereabouts, her credit cards. That's it I'll see if she used any of her credit cards.

Grace and I have been driving on I, 95 north up to Bangor, Maine, for the last four hours, hopefully to meet my wife at the Hotel Bixby in the middle of nowhere. Dad, why do we have to drive eight hours to see Mom? Honey, I'm not really sure, but there is something I probably should tell you, about me and your mother. What? grace says with intrigue and skepticism well for me i had a stroke some years back when you were a little girl so my memory is really skewed to the point where i don't remember when you were born or when me and mommy got married dad that's really not a surprise to me you and mom have been talking about your hospitalization and your brain injury for years you're right honey we have but the only thing is i'm not really sure that i'm really mitch dot Dad, everyone we know calls you Mitch, even mommy, who sometimes calls you Mitchell.

I know they do, honey, because after I came home from the hospital, we moved into a new area and I assumed the identity of Mitch. You can just do that as an adult. Do what, honey? Pick a new name when you get older. What was your old name? Well, yes, you can go by a new name, if you do it legally and pay money, but I don't think that was done in my situation.

I rather not tell you my real name right now. I'm confused. You didn't change your name the way you are supposed to. What is your old name scary or something? Yes, you can say my old name is scary. Is it Frankenstein or something? Well, not that kind of scary, but it is scary. Come on, Dad, just tell me.

When you get older, I will. Also, honey, I'm not sure if Mommy's name is really Shannon. Is her real name scary too? Yes, her old name, I think is scary too, but I'm not 100% sure. You're not sure if you know Mommy's real name or even your real name. Basically, yes, and if the real names are who I think they are, then they're scary. How long did you know this? whether if I'm really Mitchell

yesterday and whether if your mother is really Shannon well that was when we drove to your dance competition are you talking about the guy who changed our tire who was calling mommy Kimberly I didn't realize that you heard that yes I did and even if Kimberly is mom's real name then that's not scary well you're right honey the name Kimberly really isn't scary so what did you mean then nothing honey dad you better tell me or I'll make a TikTok video about the weird riddle you just told me grace the only thing that I'm mostly certain about right now is that you can

never tell anyone what I just told you. Then you better tell me something, right now. Okay, do you remember that old VHS tape I got at the flea market? Of that, children of the corned movie? Yes, and just by looking at the tape itself, nothing really seemed scary, right? The tape just had someone's handwriting with the name of the movie on it. Exactly, so say that video with just the name written on it was Mommy and Me. Okay, then when we played the tape, then it got really scary. Yes, I couldn't watch more than a few minutes. That's right. Now let's say that I had erased that movie, So when you put the movie in the VHS player after being erased, there was nothing but a gray screen. Okay, so, that's me. You were once scary and now you're not. I think so. Did that also happen with Mommy? I'm pretty sure Mommy is like that old VHS tape as well. That got erased. I'm not sure. Why? Because she didn't hurt her head. That's a good conclusion. Dad, I'm confused. I know, honey, so am I. Does that mean you or mom might hurt me? Honey, I would never harm you. Then, what about mom? She has never hurt you in the past.

She? I don't think so. Neither, do I. Does that mean that you and Mommy have hurt other people? I don't remember ever hurting anyone. Because you're like the VHS tape that got erased, but Mommy's VHS tape didn't get erased. It sounds like you did a good job of understanding my analogy. Thanks, Dad, but I'm really confused. So am I, honey. I continue to drive on I, 95, where I would look at Grace in the rearview mirror and see nothing more than a look of confusion on her face. However, I don't think she realizes that what I told her is just the tip of the iceberg, where me and her mother are not her real parents. But if Grace thought about what I told her long enough, then she would probably come to that question or conclusion. As far as right now, I'm just hoping that

she doesn't ask me that question of who's her real parents. We finally get to Bangor, where Grace has been sleeping for the past couple of hours. I see my wife's car parked in the parking lot of the hotel Bixby. There's only a few cars parked in the parking lot, so I assume her room is the one with the light on in front of her car. Honey, it's time to wake up. Grace looks really groggy and says, Dad, where are we, with a confused look on her face? We're at the hotel, where your mother is staying. We both get out of the car and walk towards the hotel room together. I have a million thoughts and emotions going through my mind, as I have no idea what will await us on the other side of the hotel door. I take a deep breath and knock

on the door. Shannon answers the door. Baby, I missed you so much. Shannon says as she answers the door and gives Grace a hug. I'm looking at my wife differently now, since I've learned that she's probably been impersonating my original wife, Shannon, however, I don't think I was ever married to a Shannon. Regardless, I look at my wife as I looked at a rerun of Bill Cosby, the other day, on the Bill Cosby show, where like Bill Cosby, that wholesome image of my wife is no longer there. After looking at Shannon, I look around the room and I see a handgun on the nightstand between the two twin beds. I'm already wound up not knowing what to expect and after seeing the gun, just makes me ten times more nervous. I'm not sure if I should make

a mad dash for the gun or not, and ultimately I decide not to. After, Grace and her mother exchange pleasantries, the two of them sit down on one of the beds, where Grace sits the closest to the gun. I think Grace was so overwhelmed with seeing her mother, that she doesn't even notice a gun is within two feet of her. I sit on the adjacent bed, where I'm continuing to survey the scene. To me, it looks like Shannon Stills has some type of maternal instinct towards Grace. Mom, Dad told me something really strange in the car, when we were driving here. What's that Grace? What did your father tell you?

Shannon responds. He said that you're really not Shannon and he's really not Mitchell. I'm sorry to tell you this, honey, but he's right. So who are you, Mom? And whose dad? When I was a little girl, many people did bad things to me and I never learned to cope with stress in an appropriate manner, so when I got older I turned to using drugs and alcohol to try to make my bad memories go away.

I didn't go to college and the only jobs I could get. was working at fast food places, which didn't last long, because I was always hung over on the job. So, I decided to work in daycare with little kids. How did that job go? Part of me said that I should never work with little kids and I should have listened to that part of me. So, what happened? One day when I was working at the daycare, I wasn't in the right state of mind and I saw those little kids as being me when I was a little girl. What did you do? Baby, I hurt those little kids and I feel so awful that I did that. Grace does nothing more than look completely shocked. She really has no idea how to respond.

Shannon who just confessed to being Kimberly looked like she was about to cry, but sucked it up and maintains a stoic look on her face. Grace, with very little emotion, asks, what about that? Well, honey, I didn't want to spend the rest of my life in some mental institution or some prison, so I escaped and ran away, but before I ran away, I visited this woman, who I used to buy illegal drugs from. When I went into the woman's house, she was passed out from doing too much drugs and I saw you walking around the house crying. So on a whim I took you. Why did you take me? Because, I thought by taking you, I would stop taking drugs and drinking alcohol, which actually did work, where when I assumed the role of being your mother, I stopped drinking and doing drugs. So, you're not my real mom. No, you're kind of adopted. How about dad? I took you and put you in the car and I drove and drove as far as I could.

When we got to this really remote area in West Virginia, I saw that this car had collided with a telephone pole. When I inspected the car further, I saw that your father was unconscious behind the wheel. Did you call 911? Grace asked. I didn't, honey, because I didn't want to get turned into the police, and when I inspected your father's car further, I saw that there was a newspaper clipping that read Josiah Smith is still on the run, and when I checked your father's wallet, I saw that his name was Josiah Smith. So, what did you do? I dragged him into our car and I drove very far away to where we live now and brought him to the hospital. What did you tell the people at the hospital? I told them that your father, was zoning out

at work and he banged his head, which the hospital's doctors wrongly diagnosed him as having a stroke, but truthfully, telling them that your father had zoned out already put the idea in their heads, that he must have had a stroke. He just had a head injury from the car accident that mirrored a stroke on a MRI, where he probably intentionally harmed himself by driving into the telephone pole. What did the newspaper in Dad's car say that he did? Your father did bad things to older people, so you did bad things to kids and Dad did bad things to older people, Correct, Grace has a really horrified look on her face like both me and, her mother, are ghosts. I want you to pick up that gun, Grace. Shannon, I mean Kimberly, I try to interject.

Grace picks up the gun. Honey, I want you to shoot me and dad, if you want to. I'm left completely tongue-tied, where I'm not sure if killing me and Kimberly is the wrong thing to do. Grace looks at me and Kimberly with a poker face, where I can't really read what she's thinking, but as her assumed father, I feel really bad for her, knowing that she just found out that we're not her real parents and that we are both nothing more than psychotic degenerates. My mind braces itself that I might get shot, where the tension is becoming really overwhelming with watching Grace with the gun in her hand. Knock, knock, I hear at the door. Housekeeping, I have the extra towels that you requested, a female voice says. Kimberly and I look at each other not knowing what to

say. Come in. Grace unexpectedly says, The female housekeeper, comes into the room and looks absolutely startled as she sees Grace holding a gun. What's going on? Are you all right? The housekeeper asks Grace. Grace, without hesitation, points the gun at the housekeeper and shoots her in the head. Oh my God! I yell out loud. Now, unlike you, mom and dad, I rush towards the housekeeper and see that she's dead. What do we do? I frantically say. Kimberly looks over at Grace and says, how do you like the name Mary? I'm okay with that. name, but I always liked the name Ariel. Kimberly looks over at Grace and says, fine, Ariel it is

and now I'm Mary. How about you, Mitchell? I guess I always liked the name Ivan. I say while nervously shaking. I don't know about that, it sounds too ethnic, my wife responds. We can discuss it more in the car. Come on mom and dad, let's get out of here. I'm a 911 operator. I work the graveyard shift, 11 p.m. to 7 a.m. You hear a lot of things. in this job. A lot of pain, a lot of fear, a lot of just, weirdness. But usually, there's an explanation. Usually, it fits into a box, however grim that box might be. This one, this one doesn't fit in any box I know. And it's been eating at me for weeks. I need to get it out. I've changed some minor details to protect privacy, but the core of it, the part that keeps me up

when I finally get home, that's all here. It was a Tuesday, or technically Wednesday morning, around 2.30 a.m. The witching hour, some call it. For us, it's usually just the quiet before the post-bar closing storm, or the time when the truly desperate calls come in. The air in the dispatch center was stale, smelling faintly of lukewarm coffee and the ozone hum of too many electronics. My screen glowed with the CAD, computer-aided dispatch, system, mostly green, all quiet. I was idly tracing the condensation ring my water bottle left on the desk, trying to stay alert. Then a call dropped into my cue. Standard ring. I clicked to answer. 9-1-1, what is the address of your emergency? Standard opening. My voice was calm, practiced. The other end was quiet for a beat, just a ragged.

shallow breath. Then, a woman's voice, tight and trembling. I. I don't know if this is an emergency. I think. I think I'm going crazy, not an uncommon start, especially at this hour. Loneliness, paranoia, sometimes undiagnosed mental health issues. Okay, ma'am, can you tell me what's happening? And I still need your address so I know where you are. Yes, yes, of course. It's 1427, Hawthorne Lane Her voice was thin My name is, well, that doesn't matter right now, does it?

I typed the address into the system Popped up clean Residential Okay, 1427, Hawthorne Lane Got it Tell me what's going on, ma'am, there's, there's someone in my wardrobe, My internal, check-a-box system clicked. possible home invasion or again paranoia someone in your wardrobe are you sure have you seen them no not not seen heard she took a shaky breath

it started about an hour ago a knocking sound from inside my bedroom wardrobe a knocking sound i prompted keeping my tone even could it be pipes An animal in the walls. The usual rationalizations. No, no, it's not like that. It's, deliberate. Like someone tapping to get out. I thought. I thought I was dreaming, or just hearing things.

You know, old house sounds. But it kept happening. Tap, tap, tap, tap. She mimicked it, and even through the phone line, the distinct rhythm was unsettling. Are you alone in the house, ma'am? Yes. Completely alone. My husband, he passed away last year. Her voice hitched a little on that. I made a mental note. Grief can do strange things to the mind. I'm very sorry for your loss, ma'am. I said, genuinely. This knocking, did you try to investigate it, I. I was too scared at first. I just lay in. I just lay in. in bed, pulling the covers up. But it wouldn't stop. It just kept going. So, eventually, I got up. I turned on the light. I went to the wardrobe. Her breathing was getting faster. I could hear

the faint rustle of fabric, like she was wringing her hands or clutching her clothes. And what happened when you got to the wardrobe, ma'am? The knocking stopped when I got close. And then, then I heard a voice. her voice dropped to a whisper a little boy's voice it said help me please help me i'm trapped a chill faint but definite traced its way down my spine this was different a boy's voice from inside the wardrobe yes he sounded so scared he said he said his daddy put him in there and he can't get out okay This was escalating. A child's voice claiming to be trapped by his father. This had moved past Oldhouse sounds. But still, the details were, odd.

A child just appearing in a wardrobe? Ma'am, did you open the wardrobe door? Yes. As soon as he said that, I threw it open. I was expecting. I don't know what I was expecting. But there was nothing there. Her voice cracked with a mixture of fear and confusion.

Just my clothes. Shoes on the floor. Nothing. And the voice, it was gone. Silence. Nothing at all. I clarified. No sign of anyone, no way a child could be hiding.

No. It's not a deep wardrobe. You'd see. I even pushed clothes aside. It was empty. I thought. I must have imagined it. The stress, being alone, and what happened then? I asked, leaning forward slightly.

My other hand was hovering over the dispatch button, but I needed more. This felt off. Not like a prank. Prank callers usually have a different energy, a smugness, or a forced panic. This woman sounded genuinely terrified and bewildered. I I was so relieved, but also so confused. I stood there for a minute, trying to catch my breath.

Then I closed the wardrobe door. She paused, and I could hear a sharp intake of air. And the second it latched, the knocking started again. Louder this time. And the little boy's voice. Please. Don't leave me in here. He'll be angry if he finds out I was talking.

Her voice broke into a sob. I don't know what to do. I'm so scared. Is it a ghost? Am I losing my mind? But it sounds so real, I took a slow breath myself. My skepticism was warring with a growing sense of unease. The sequence of events was bizarre, but her terror felt authentic.

Okay, ma'am. Stay on the line with me. You're in your bedroom now. No, I ran out. I'm in the living room. I locked the bedroom door. But I can still... I can still faintly hear it.

The knocking, is the wardrobe in your master bedroom? Yes, the big one. Oh God, he's talking again. Her voice was hushed, urgent. He's saying, he's saying his dad locked him in because he was a bad boy. He said his dad gets really mad and, and hurts him sometimes. That was it. That specific detail, the abuse allegation.

Whether this was a delusion, a ghost, or something else entirely, if there was even a fraction of a chance a child was in danger, we had to act. My fingers flew across the keyboard, initiating a dispatch for a welfare check, possibly a child endangerment situation. I coded it at high priority. Ma'am, I'm sending officers to your location right now, okay? They're going to check this out. I need you to stay on the phone with me.

They're coming. Oh, thank God. Thank you. Relief flooded her voice, but the undercurrent of terror remained. He's, he's crying now. The little boy. He's saying his dad told him if he made any noise, he'd be in for it. He says he's scared of the dark.

I relayed the additional information to the responding units. Caller states she can hear a child's voice from a wardrobe, claiming his father locked him in and abuses him. Child is reportedly scared and crying. The dispatcher on the radio acknowledged. Units on route. ETA's six minutes. Six minutes can feel like an eternity on a call like this.

I tried to keep her talking, to keep her grounded. Ma'am, what's your name? It's, it's Eleanor. Eleanor Vance. Okay, Eleanor. The officers are on their way. Are you somewhere you feel safe right now? I'm in the living room, like I said.

I have the door locked. But the sound, it's like it's getting clearer, even from here. Or maybe I'm just listening harder. She paused. He's saying, Daddy says I shouldn't talk to strangers. But you're not a stranger if you're helping, are you? My blood ran cold.

The innocence of that, juxtaposed with the implied threat, it was deeply disturbing. Are you talking to him? I asked her, no, it's just, I can hear him so clearly, I don't know how he is talking to me from upstairs, it's just like he can hear me talking to you. Maybe I shouldn't have came down, maybe I should go back to the room. No, Eleanor stay where you are. You're helping.

And we're helping too. Wait for the dispatch, please. I could hear her quiet, fearful breathing. I focused on the CAD screen, watching the little car icons representing the patrol units crawl across the map towards Hawthorne Lane. Each tick of the clock in the dispatch center sounded unnaturally loud. Eleanor, I said, trying to keep my voice steady, when the officers arrive, they'll knock. Let them know it's you, okay, yes, yes, I will. She was quiet for a moment, then, he's saying thank you.

The little boy. He says he hopes they come soon because it's hard to breathe in here, hard to breathe. My stomach clenched. That detail was chillingly specific. Ventilation in a closed wardrobe wouldn't be great. They're almost there, Eleanor. Just a couple more minutes. Unit 214, show us on scene at 1427 Hawthorne. The voice of Officer Miller crackled through my headset. Copy that, 214.

Caller is Eleanor Vance, should be expecting you. She's in the living room, reports hearing a child in a wardrobe in the master bedroom. 10 to 4, Central. I relayed this to Eleanor. There there, Eleanor. They're at your door. Oh, thank heavens. I heard a faint shuffling sound, as if she was getting up.

Then, nothing for a few seconds. I expected to hear her talking to the officers, the sound of a door opening. Instead, Officer Miller's voice came back on the radio, sounding puzzled. Central, we have a male subject at the door. Advises he's the homeowner, my brow furrowed. A male subject? Ask him if Eleanor Vance is present. Or if there's any female resident, a brief pause.

Central, negative. Male states he lives here alone with his son. Says there's no Eleanor Vance here, no female resident at all, a cold dread, far deeper than before, began to spread through me. I looked at the address on my screen. 1427, Hawthorne Lane. Confirmed. Eleanor. I said into the phone. Eleanor, are you there? The officers are saying a man answered the door. They say there's no woman there, her voice came back, faint and laced with utter confusion. What? No, that's impossible.

I'm here. This is my house. I'm... I'm looking out the living room window. I can see the patrol car. Unit 214, I said, my voice tight, call her on the line insists she is inside the residence, states she can see your vehicle. This was getting stranger by the second. Central, the male subject is adamant.

He's looking pretty confused himself, says no one. else should be here. Miller sounded wary. Says his name is Arthur Collins. He's got I.D. Eleanor, I pressed, what does this man look like? The one at the door, I. I can't see him clearly from here. Just, just his shape. Her voice was trembling violently now. But this is my house. I've lived here for 20 years. My husband, Robert, we bought it together. 214, the caller's name is Eleanor Vance. She says her late husband was Robert. Does the name Vance mean anything to Mr. Collins?

I waited, listening to the silence on Eleanor's end, then Miller's response. Central, Mr. Collins says he bought this house three years ago. From an estate sale. Previous owner was deceased. A Robert Vance, my heart hammered against my ribs. Estate sale. previous owner deceased Robert Vance That meant

Eleanor Vance Eleanor I said softly The officer said Mr. Collins bought the house three years ago From the estate of a Robert Vance Eleanor, your husband's name was Robert, you said There was a long, drawn out silence on her end Just the sound of her breathing, growing more ragged, more panicked

It sounded like she was hyperventilating. Eleanor, can you hear me, then, a choked sound. No, no, that can't be right. Robert, he passed last year. Not, not three years ago. I. I was with him. Her voice was dissolving into confusion and fear.

This is, this is my home, this was spiraling out of my control, out of any recognizable scenario. But the child, the child was still the priority. Unit 2.14, I said, pushing down my own disorientation. Regardless of the caller's status, the initial report was a child trapped in a wardrobe, possibly abused. Mr. Collins states he has a son. You need to verify the welfare of that child, 10 to 4, central. Mr. Collins confirms he has a 7-year-old son, says his name is Leo. says he's asleep upstairs. Ask him if you can see the boy, just to confirm he's okay,

given the nature of the call we received. There was a pause. I could hear Miller talking to Collins, muffled. Then Miller came back on. Central, subject is refusing. Says the boy is fine, doesn't want him woken up. He's getting a bit agitated. Eleanor, I whispered into my phone, are you still there? A faint, broken sound, like a gasp. I. I don't understand what's happening. 214, reiterate that due to the specifics of the call, we need to see the child. It's a welfare check. My training kicked in. We had cause. More muffled conversation, then Miller's voice, sharper now. Central, subject is becoming uncooperative. Denying access. He's raising his voice. Then, a sudden change in his tone. Hold on. Central, did you hear

that? Hear what? 214. A sound. From upstairs. Faint, like a cry. Or a thump, my gut twisted. Eleanor, I said quickly, the wardrobe you heard the knocking from, which room is it in? The, the master bedroom, she whispered. Upstairs. At the end of the hall, 214, the original report specified the master bedroom wardrobe, upstairs. Did you hear the sound from that direction? Affirmative, central. Definitely from upstairs. Subject is now trying to block the doorway.

Partner is moving to restrain. The line with Eleanor was still open. I could hear her ragged, panicked gasps. It was like listening to someone drowning. Then, chaos erupted on the radio. Shouting. Sir, step aside. Police.

Don't resist. Sounds of a struggle. My own pulse was roaring in my ears. I gripped the phone tighter. Central, we're making entry to check on the child. Officer Miller's voice, strained. Subject is noncompliant. heard footsteps pounding on the radio feed, officers moving quickly.

Upstairs. Check the bedrooms. Eleanor was making soft, whimpering sounds now. They're in my house, but they can't see me. Robert, what's happening to me, Robert, 214, status. I demanded. Checking rooms. Master bedroom at the end of the hall.

Doors closed, a pause, then, it's locked. Elinor, was your bedroom door locked when you left it? Yes, yes, I locked it, she stammered. 214, caller states she locked that door. Okay, central. We're announcing, then forcing if no response. I heard them call out, police. Occupant, open the door.

Silence. Then a thud, another. The sound of a door splintering. We're in. Miller shouting. wardrobe, it's closed. Oh God. Central, we found him. Child in the wardrobe. He's alive. Conscious, but terrified. Small boy matches the description. A wave of dizzying relief washed over me, so strong it almost buckled me. He was real. The boy was real. They got to him.

Arthur Collins was now in deep, deep trouble. But then the other part of it crashed back in. Eleanor. I said, my voice horse. They found him. The little boy, Leo. He's safe. They have him.

Her response was a broken whisper, almost inaudible. Leo, his name is Leo. He was, he was real. Yes, Eleanor, he was real. But, the officers, they still don't see him. you. Mr. Collins says you're not there. Eleanor, where are you in the house right now? A long, shaky sigh. I'm. I was in the living room. By the window. But, when they came in, they walked right past me. Right through where I was standing. Her voice was filled with a dawning, unutterable

horror. They didn't, they didn't see me. He didn't see me, Eleanor, I didn't know what to say. I didn't What could I possibly say? The wardrobe, the master bedroom, that's where I heard him so clearly. I spent so much time in that room, after Robert, her voice trailed off. Then, a new note of terror, colder than before. If, if Mr. Collins bought the house three years ago, from Robert's estate, and Robert died, then, when did I die? The question hung in the air, chilling me to the bone.

I had no answer. My dispatcher's manual had no protocol for this. I don't feel anything, she whispered, her voice sounding distant now, fraid. It's, it's like I'm fading. I can't. I can't see the room clearly anymore. It's, cold, Eleanor. Eleanor, stay with me.

Can you tell me anything else? Can you describe what you see around you now? My professional instincts were useless, grasping at straws. Her voice was barely a breath. Just, dark, and wind, so much whined. Then, a click. The line went dead. Eleanor.

I yelled into the receiver. Eleanor, static. My hand was shaking as I hit the redial button for the incoming number. It rang. Once. Twice. Then it connected. But there was no voice.

Just a sound. A faint, hollow, whistling sound, like wind blowing through a cracked window pane, or across the mouth of an empty bottle. It was a sound I'd heard before, sometimes on bad connections, but this was different. This felt, empty. Desolate. I listened for a full minute, my heart pounding, a cold sweat on my brow. The sound didn't change. Just that soft, sighing wind.

I hung up. The officers were dealing with Collins, getting medics for Leo. The immediate crisis was over. The boy was safe. That's what mattered. That's what I told myself. But Eleanor, I ran the number through our system again. It was a landline, registered to 1427, Hawthorne Lane.

It had been for over 20 years. Registered to Robert and Eleanor Vance. It was probably disconnected after the estate sale, but somehow, somehow she had called from it. Or through it. The report I filed was, complex. I focused on the tangible, the call, the child endangerment, the successful rescue. I omitted the parts about Eleanor's apparent non-existence, her dawning realization. Who would believe it?

They'd send me for Psyche Val. Maybe I should go, but I know what I heard. I know how real her fear was. And I know that, whatever she was, she saved that little boy's life. She reached across, whatever barrier separates us from whatever she is, and she made us listen. I still work the midnight shift. The calls still come in. But now, sometimes, when there's a strange silence on the line, or a whisper I can't quite make out,

I feel a different kind of chill. I think of Eleanor Vance, and the hollow wind on the other end of the line. The end. Ten years ago I, Seth 37M, met my now good friend Leland, 37M, under not-so-ideal circumstances. I was married to a controlling and manipulative woman named Madison. Madison and Leland were co-workers, and she got the hots for him. Instead of divorcing me, or just cheating behind my back, she decided it would be easiest on her conscience to force me. into an open relationship and swinging.

We ended up swinging with Leland and his then-girlfriend Kara, 31F now. It went badly and all the relationships ended in turmoil. What happened after was I began a relationship with Kara that lasted about eight months. At the same time Leland and Madison forced a toxic relationship with each other for about two years. During that two years Leland came to realize that he was his own worst enemy, and not a good person at all. He has spent years since becoming a better person and truly has changed to. be someone I think everyone he now meets admires. We ended up working at the same place about a year into his transformation. I was his boss. It was tense and awkward at first,

and he has told me more than once he wanted to run away and quit. He didn't though and stuck it out because he wanted to prove that he was a person of good character, especially to someone he wronged to the level he had wronged me. This all came to a head when Madison resurfaced and tried to get me fired for my job. I'm not sure she would have succeeded anyway, Leland stood up for me and proved that Madison was being vindictive. This made my dealings with HR quick and painless. We continued to work together for another five years. We had begun to become friendly with each other prior to Madison's stunt.

After that it was a slow process but we began to converse more and more at the office. Got beers after work together. This just grew until we became good friends. Before long Sundays were spent together watching the Browns Luz, I was a groomsman in his wedding three years ago, and this past June we both made the trip to the Chase Center to watch the Goat's final game at the age of 49. This past year I got a huge promotion and am now a VP. This one came with a relocation to Phoenix, Arizona. Leland, who had been promoted to director of a different department two years ago, was moved back to replace me much to the delight of the staff.

We have kept in touch and he is actually going to come visit me when the Browns play at the cards next month. We figure we got to get this in as his wife Kinley, 34. F. is three months pregnant now with their first child and road trips are probably going to be few and far between once that baby comes. Last week, I was out for a run through the local park near my house. I spot this hot mom in the distance running towards me pushing a jogging stroller. Nike pros, sports bra, I'm not joking, I literally have the thought that I haven't seen anyone make sportswear look that good since Kara. As we get closer I come to realize that the universe really is trolling me. Hot mom is Kara.

We both stop running and stare at each other dumbfounded. She says, Seth. Oh my God, what are you doing here, as she walks up and gives me a hug? I can't believe it. We strike up a conversation. We had kind of fallen out of touch. I am still on social media and had noticed a few years earlier that she disappeared from everything. When I asked about that she said, I just felt like it was too much of a distraction,

I was wasting a lot of time doom scrolling, so dropped all of them. I started a Facebook, I don't have FB, just a kind of chronicle Jacob's life, but I don't do much on socials otherwise. It was mostly a quick checkup. She is a single mom, I moved here for work, etc., etc. We exchanged phone numbers and each went back to our respective runs. We have been talking all week, almost non-stop. I have those butterflies all over again just like I did all those years ago.

After she graduated and we broke up she got a job in a hospital around Cleveland. When she started a new relationship we became more distant, which is to be expected. I knew that relationship ended thanks to social media, and that the one with Jacob's father, Brad 34M, began. It was shortly after she started dating Brad that she dropped her socials. Brad was a young surgeon then. They dated for two years. Brad was not someone who enjoyed Cleveland.

He was born and raised there, but was tired of being there. He began applying for positions around the country. He got the offer to come to Phoenix he asked Kara to move with him. They would be moving in together and the plan was to take their relationship on to the next level ultimately marrying. Kara said the issues started almost immediately upon moving in together. It wasn't any one thing that either was doing, they just were not compatible cohabitating. There were more fights, she said all his little things were magnified, and she knows all her

little annoyances were the same for him. After a little more than a year they decided to call it quits. got an apartment and was moved out about two weeks when she figured out she was pregnant. This part has been as drama-free as possible. She tells me Brad was excited to be a dad. They briefly talked about whether they should give it another shot. They chose not to, agreeing they could be friends but not husband and wife. Which has been true, Kara says they are very friendly and talk regularly. They have a good custody agreement splitting evenly. Jacob does two weeks with Kara, and two weeks with Brad. They got holidays'

figured out, celebrated his first birthday together, and Brad even made a big deal out of Kara's first Mother's Day, which she then reciprocated come Father's Day. Brad has just gotten engaged to someone and Kara says the future stepmom seems like a good person. I have been telling her almost everything about myself since our breakup. How I've moved up the corporate ladder and that's how I ended up here in Phoenix. I've been a serial dater, not really by choice. My longest relationship in this span is about a year, but I've been in brief relationships about

eight other times. I was fine for the first two to three years after Kara and I broke up. Well, not really fine, but I was getting over Madison then, and getting my mind right. But the last six to seven years. When I really started to feel like myself, and was ready to find, the one. I have mostly just been kicking myself for letting Kara go in the first place. This I'm sure has been a reason for my inability to find a long-term meaningful relationship. We have a date for this Saturday night. It's Brad's time with Jacob, but she is meeting up with them to take Jacob to a trunk or treat at the hospital they both work at. Afterwards we're going on our first date. This is where my problem arises, and maybe it's not even a problem. I could very

well be overthinking this. I haven't mentioned Leland at all, didn't tell her about us working together or Madison trying to get me fired, or that he's essentially my best friend now. It may be a little selfish on my part, I'm just not sure how to bring it up, or if I should. I mean I know he was bad to her, but that was a long time ago and he really is a totally different person now. I just don't want to screw this up, I have been dreaming about reconnecting with her for years now. I'm afraid if I tell her too early she will cut out of the relationship before it can even start. I also don't necessarily want this to be a topic during our date. I know I need to say something soon, it's just hard not knowing what the outcome would be.

TLDR, I refused to sign the birth certificate when the baby was born. I'm black, so is my girl but that kid's as white as a ghost. Shit went down with the family for a while after the kid was born. I helped my cousin to write this and promised to post it for him. Tried posting in a few subs but keeps getting rejected so trying here. My cousin is a whole lot of fun but he's back in jail, I just wish he'd stop getting in trouble. He's not too good at writing so I had to rewrite some of it so it makes sense but I tried to keep his word so it sounds like him. He's read it and says it's what happened.

Okay, so here's his story. I, male 25, have been with my bitch, female 23, for a year. We is both black, and I mean real black. She about to become my baby mama but when we was at the hospital she had a white kid. I took one look at that kid and I say nah, it ain't mine. She starts screaming at me, her sister's start screaming at me, her mama taking a swing at me, she can't hit for shit so I didn't really feel it. Her daddy looking at me and sitting in the corner real quiet, that dude knows something but he keeping it on the down low. Doctor comes up and says I have to sign the birth certificate and I tell that Hillbilly ain't no way I'm signing a birth certificate for a child that ain't

mine. He threatened police, I say police. For a birth certificate. You out of your goddamn mind cracker. I do an about face and walk out, I can hear them bitches Rylan and Waylon, calling me all sorts of names and cursing me like the devil. Then my phone start blowing up with all kinds of shit from them bitches, it got so bad I turned the MF her off. Next day I'm chilling with my homies, we syncing a few beers when my bitch's mama comes at me again and starts screaming about me signing the birth certificate and stepping up like a man. I told that bitch ain't no way I'm the daddy, she needs to go look for some white dude her daughter been smashing. She keeps on and on at me till I can't take it no more so I get out of there. I'm thinking what do I do,

I can't have this shit hanging over my neck. If that baby came out looking like me, I'd do the right thing. I'd be there for it and it's mama. Shit, I don't even know if it's a boy or a girl yet, it was going down real loud in the hospital and I didn't look and no one told me. Anyway, I got out of there and I start thinking, my bitch's daddy know something, I'm sure. He hangs at a pool place just off the main drag. I'm thinking I'll go and talk to that dude, see if I can find something out. I get there and the old guy is with his buddies, they act tough but you see them with their bitches and they just taking it and giving nothing back, bunch of pussies. I'm thinking I'll just front this guy, like get in his face.

I known him for a year and never said more than two words to him, but now that son of a bitch is going to squeal. I get in his face and hardly have to say anything. He says the baby not mine, it probably this cracker from my bitch's work, some suit wearing pencil neck that my bitch been banging on the side. I get a name out of him so now I know who I'm after. I call my bitch and ask her who this white MF her is by name, she screams and then sets about me again to sign the birth certificate. I tell her shut up woman and tell me what I want to know. She say this guy is her supervisor at work, he's married with three kids and they've been running around behind his wife and my back. Her whole family knows about it. I tell her she's going to need a DNA test and she

starts crying and wailing and saying I should man up and step up to the plate. I tell her she's crazy and that I can't believe she let some pencil neck suit wearing Cracker Raw Dog her and put a baby in her belly. It's enough to make a man sick. I finished off telling her she ain't my bitch no more and to keep her goddamn crazy mama away from me or I'd be getting some sort of restraining order. I said I'm happy to come in for a DNA test but it ain't gonna do no good, Stevie Wonder could see that I ain't that baby's daddy. Next I wait for the white dude at my ex-bitch's work, he a scrawny son of a bitch, no meat on him at all. He about to get in his car when I come up to him, call him by name and ask him why he been raw dog in my ex-bitch. Guy looks terrified,

I move close to him and he actually pissed himself. I tell him I'm not there to hurt him, just to make him do the right thing. I tell him my ex-bitch had the baby and it came out white, probably his, so he should get up to the hospital and claim it. I tell him he going to need a DNA test. I ask him if his wife knows he'd been smashing my ex-bitch, he says no and please don't tell her. I say, dude, ain't none of my business but looks like you in for a pile of shit. I tell him we ain't got no problem provided he get up to the hospital and clear all this shit up and get me off the hook with my ex-bitch's mama and sisters. He's still shaking a bit, but he says okay and drives off. Sure hope I don't have to go after him again. Update one.

so it's been three weeks since my ex-bitch had the kid. I found out it's a girl. Social services got involved because it's clearly mixed race and the guy they thought would be the father, me, want take responsibility or sign the birth certificate. It was a bit of a shit show, they wanted to talk to me, they spoke to my ex-bitch and her family, and they knocked on the white dude's door.

They turned up when his wife was there so it all came out. She kicked him out so his life is a mess. Social services organized the DNA tests, still had to pay, but it'll be cheap in the long run. Results came back a couple of days ago and no surprise I ain't the father but big surprise the suit wearing pencil neck ain't the father neither. Sure it this just gets better and better. I gave my ex-bitch a real stern word and told her not to contact me about the kid no more. I also went and dumped on her mama and sisters, told those bitches if they spoke to me like that ever again I'd give em a bitch slap they'd never forget. They just stood there and took it.

Right now I'm feeling pretty good. Funny thing is I hooked up with my ex-bitch's youngest sister, right there when I said I'd bitch slap them. Something in the way she looked at me told me to just ask her out and she came straight away. She real hot, way better than my ex-bitch. But I ain't raw dog in her, last thing I'd want is to be mixed up in that family, as it is I can get out any time I want. My ex-bitch is steaming about me and my new bitch and she keeps trying to bust us up but it ain't working. So tonight I'm taking my new bitch to the club and after that she in for a real treat. Update two, they found the baby daddy, he had drifting son of a bitch that my ex-bitch hooked up with when he passed through town.

He works as a truck mechanic and is well known around the towns in this part of the state. He rolls into town, gets a job, finds a bar and spends most of his time drinking and fighting. He is one ugly son of a bitch, he'd been banged around the head so much he looked like a rotten apple. No idea why my ex-bitch let him raw dog her. They managed to get a DNA test, dude didn't want it, but they threw him a hundred and he did it. Cheap-ass bastard. DNA test came back a couple weeks later, 99% chance of him being the father. I find all this out through my new bitch, my ex-bitch's youngest sister. getting a bit tired of her, she too demanding, been looking at the middle sister lately,

might give that a shot, what's the saying, third time lucky. My ex-bitch tried to put the ugly bastard on child support but he just disappeared, no one's seen him for a couple of weeks. He long gone by now, good luck getting anything out of him. Update 3, so it's two months since the last update and I've dumped the youngest sister. Bitch was getting too demanding, asking for a ring already and wanting to move into my place. Ain't no way I'm hitching myself to that family. Asked the middle sister if she wanted to smash, she a bit of a bookworm but mighty fine to look at. She sort of looked down at me at first, but I just grabbed her and gave her a kiss.

She melted right away, no resistance, bitch was hot for it. She home alone right then, so I dragged her up to her room and gave her the business. She better in the sack than both her sisters. Taking her out tonight, she wanted to go to some uptown art show, supposed to be free champagne on offer, I'll take her then give her some more business. Should see her face light up when I walk in the room, reckon I could make her come just looking at her. Both my XES are steaming, they bitch into their mama, but I don't care. They giving my new bitch a hard time, but I pay no mind, they can work it out.

If it does need my attention I'll just give them the bitch slap I promised earlier, that'll bring them into line. I'm also more friendly with their daddy. He's sort of mad at me for smashing all his daughters, but at the same time kind of impressed and paying me respect. I'm helping him with his bitch, she don't like me coming round because I don't take none of her shit and give her back way better than she dishes out. She got a mouth on her, but she shuts up as soon as you give some back. I've been showing the daddy how to handle her, told him to demand bedroom action and to give her a working over with no mercy. He tried it and she'd been quiet for a day or two. I'll tell him he needs to give her a reminder every now and then to keep her in line and don't

take no for an answer. If he have to, he needs to drag her by the hair to the bedroom. I'll see how long the bookworm bitch lasts, she the last sister and once I'm done I'm out of there, although they do have a couple of cousins who are at the house regularly. One a damn fine woman, the other a tall light complexion girl with blonde hair. We'll see. Update 4. It's been four months since the last update. I just dumped the bookworm bitch.

She moving away to college, staying with her grandparents two states over. I ain't doing long distance, at first she a bit upset in giving me a hard time but then calmed down. Maybe we'll hook up when she comes home on spring break. So now I got three X-bitches from the same family. The mama happy to see the back of me, but I'm good buddies with the daddy now, maybe I'll keep hanging with the daddy just to piss off the mama. I put the moves on the tall blonde-haired cousin. She got a white mama and a black daddy.

Don't know what it is with that family, but all the women are easy a-f to get in the sack. Blonde bitch was happy to smash straight away like the three sisters. She took me home to meet her family, Daddy a big massive black guy but a bit of a teddy bear. Mama looked damn fine for a white woman. Blonde bitch watching her closely though, was a bit weird to see. Blonde bitch not happy when her mama gave me too tight a hug to say goodbye. Blonde bitch okay in the sack but I can't see it lasting. Update 5. Bookworm bitch came home for a few days after college orientation, she'd been gone a month.

When she get back she come to see me straight away and wanted to smash. I couldn't do nothing but oblige. Blonde bitch found out and had a fit. She was hysterical. I had to kick her out of my place and eventually she went home. Next day her mama came to see me, she not mad but she sure is crazy. Came to my place and sort of barged in. Then started looking round and ended up in my bedroom,

she lay back on the bed and asked me if I like what I saw. I'm thinking this is some sort of trap so I txed a couple of buddies who live close by. They at my place in two minutes, when they walk in White Mama thinks I brought her a present, she start undressing saying she ready for all three of us. I say not happening with me, one of my buddies says him neither, but my other buddy says he's up for it. I say you can't do it here so they take off. No idea what happened. I call blonde bitch and tell her she ain't my bitch no more.

I done with that entire family but that other cousin still a damn fine looking woman. Update 6. This update is a couple of months after I dumped blonde bitch. I met up with the other cousin at the club last night. She recognized me and we got to talking. She a damn fine bitch to look at and she funny a F to talk to. She telling me what happening with the sisters and blonde bitch. So baby mama still chasing the daddy, she tracked him down to a town an hour away and turned up at his workplace. She's screaming at him for child support and to be part of the baby's life.

He threw her a few bucks to get her out of his hair so he could work and then he took off again so they're still searching. Youngest sister looking to go to college, she got a guy to propose to her, but he broke it off when she got too crazy. Bookworm bitch went back to college and came home trans, she looking to turn into some sort of of dude. She gonna make one fine-looking dude for sure. Blonde bitch's mama left the big black guy, she now hanging at the clubs thirsty for any black dude that crosses her path. Blonde bitch still living with her daddy, totally ashamed of her mama. After she told me all the news I asked damn fine bitch if she wanted to hang out at my place. She was up for it and after half a bottle of tequila between us we smashed in my bed. She a firecracker, all you need

to do is light her up and hang on for the ride. Try to trick an old dude told me about on her, got her pinned doggy style and put my hands under her and cupped her tits, whispered in her ear, shit girl your tits ain't half as big as your cousins. Then I hung on for the ride. Ended up laughing our heads off, goddamn she a lot of fun. I've had my way with this family, gone through five bitches and almost got ambushed by one of the mamas but after things end with this latest bitch I think I gotta move on.

That's the end of my story and my updates. My P.O. made me write this shit as some sort of confession. Hope you enjoyed it. The end. Hey there. So, here it goes. I've been carrying this story on my shoulders for way too long, and I figured maybe, just maybe, sharing it would help me breathe a little easier. My name's Ken, I'm 20, and I started working as a police officer in 2023.

Sounds wild already, right? Wait till you hear the rest. To get things straight, I didn't grow up in the smoothest conditions. My parents split when I was just a toddler, like two years old. Lived with my mom until I turned 15, then moved in with my dad. My mom, though, she's not doing so great. Hasn't been for years. She's sick, and her place.

Let's just say it's falling apart. She survives on like $300 to $400,000 to $400. dollars a month, sometimes with my help. I pitch in when I can. Her house is barely livable. Trash everywhere, broken furniture, peeling paint, it hurts to even visit. She's five kilometers away from my dad's house, but mentally it feels like miles. I couldn't stand seeing her like that anymore. I needed to fix something, anything. Maybe if I fixed the house, she'd feel better. That was my just fix the house but the renovation man it was gonna cost over eighty thousand dollars eighty thousand dollars i earn like one thousand two hundred dollars to one thousand three hundred

dollars a month as a rookie cop there was no way i could ever afford that on my salary and that's when my oldest friend let's call him joe stepped in we've known each other since we were little He was always a little wild, younger than me by two years, but full of big ideas. Dangerous ones. Joe came up with this brilliant plan, we could sell weed. He said he had connections, people who'd buy from us, and most importantly, he'd do the selling. That way, I wouldn't get caught and risk my job. I was hesitant at first.

I mean, obviously, I'm a freaking cop. But... I caved. That one, yes. That was the dumbest, most life-altering mistake I've ever made. At first, it seemed harmless. Small-time stuff. We'd each take 25 grams, sell it off, and split the cash.

Maybe make $200 to $300 each per batch. But it escalated. Fast. From 25G, we moved to 50G, then 75. G, then 100 G. We were getting greedy, thinking we could handle more. Joe couldn't keep up with selling all of it, so I had to get involved more directly. But I couldn't show my face.

No way. That's where my girlfriend came in. I've been with her since early 2023. I told her everything. She freaked, of course. Thought I'd lost my mind. She begged me to find another way. Said prison wasn't worth it, that we could figure something out.

But I convinced her. I told her it was just temporary. Just until I got to $5,000. That was the goal. She hated it, but she helped. She went out and did the exchanges, pretended to be Joe's friends so his people wouldn't suspect anything. Meanwhile, Joe's life was going to shit. His girlfriend dumped him in May 2024, and he spiraled.

depression hit him hard and he started seeing a therapist but instead of getting better he started making even worse decisions one night june third twenty twenty four around eleven p m he sold five grams to his ex's best friend and guess what she got caught crime police picked her up and she snitched on him just like that thing is joe had been stupidly open with his girlfriend when they were were still together. Told her everything. Every. Single. Detail. About me, about the selling, about the timeline, January to May. So when her best friend got arrested, she told them everything too. I didn't know about any of this right away. On July 4th, I was working at 12-hour shift, 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. That morning, around 10 a.m., I saw her name pop up in our system.

That's when I started freaking out. My brain went into overdrive. What if she ratted us both out? What if the cops knew everything? I tried calling Joe over and over again, but he wouldn't pick up. He was asleep or ignoring me. I was pale, shaking, trying not to pass out. My colleagues kept asking what was wrong, but I just didn't.

said I felt a little sick and kept working. Inside, though, I was in full panic mode. I started cutting ties immediately. Told all our buyers not to contact me, or Joe, or my girlfriend. They all knew me as Steve anyway, so I blocked every single number and deleted every chat. I called my girlfriend, begged her to check on Joe since he lived just a kilometer away from us. And when she got there, she saw the cops raiding his place. Joe got caught. They found everything. I was scared shitless.

I just knew he was going to flip on me. But he didn't. I don't know why. They grilled him hard. Asked if I was involved. He denied it all. For months after that, I was being watched. The cops tailed me everywhere.

for four damn months. Every day, I went to work, went home, didn't do a single thing out of line. I became a damn robot. I still don't know why they never brought me in for questioning. Maybe they didn't have enough evidence. Maybe they just gave up. It's bizarre, honestly. They had his confession, his arrest, his connection to the girl, and her to me.

But I guess it wasn't enough. and for what two and a half grand that's all i made from the whole thing barely even a dent in the renovation budget i risked everything for it my job my freedom my sanity i still don't sleep right every time i hear a siren my stomach drops every time a car parks outside my house i feel like it's all over. I live in fear. Real, constant fear. And the guilt? It's heavy. I betrayed the badge, broke the law I swore to uphold, dragged the girl I love into this nightmare, and all for what? A couple grand in a house I still can't afford to fix. My mom's still sick. Her house is still a mess. Nothing really changed. I guess this whole story is just, a warning.

Or maybe a confession. I don't know. I thought I was being a good son. Trying to help. But I became a criminal in the process. And now, I'm stuck. Stuck in this job with these memories. Stuck looking over my shoulder.

Stuck not trusting anyone. Even myself. I sometimes wonder if Joe regrets it too. We don't talk anymore. He's gone. I don't even know where they took him or how long he's locked up. Part of me hates him for dragging me into it. Another part knows I made my own choices.

My girlfriend? She stayed. I don't even know why. She could have left. She should have left. But she stayed. She saw the worst version of me and didn't run. I owe her everything.

I swear I'm trying to change. trying to change. Trying to make it right. But I don't know what that even looks like anymore. There's more to this story. Little things. Close calls. Names I could drop.

But this is enough for now. Maybe someday I'll talk about the rest. Maybe not. Anyway, thanks for listening. Or reading. Whatever. If you've got questions, ask away. I got nothing left to hide.

And that's the story of how a 20-year-old cop with a good heart and bad decisions almost threw his whole life away for the sake of a sick mom and a crumbling house. The end. All right, pack your bags, it's time to go. The voice behind me was deep and gruff, but still had a smoothness about it. It startled me, as I believed I was currently home alone, apart from the elderly old English sheepdog curled up across the room. I knew the voice was coming from directly behind me, maybe only a first of a family.

foot or two away from my ear. I spun around sharply, not entirely sure what to expect once I did. What I found when I had turned around, though, was definitely not what I anticipated. Standing behind me, looking directly at me, was what could only be described as the grim reaper. His long, black flowing robe hung off his body and drifted around in the air. Two skeletal feet poked out from underneath the robe, which was swaying in a manner that looked more like it was floating in water. The bright whiteness of his bones directly contrasted. the deep black of his cloth wrapping. I saw that he was also holding, in one hand, his trademark sithe that he was holding with long, bony fingers that wrapped around the scy handle, like vines

desperately clinging to a pole. What struck me, and definitely frightened me, however, was his face. Well, I say face, but what I really mean is that it was his lack of a face that truly disturbed me. Looking directly at me was a hooded skull. No skin or muscle was attached to the skull, instead, all there was was bone. I knew straight away that he was staring at me. He didn't have any eyes, just empty eye sockets, but I knew that he was somehow looking at me. It took me a second to process what I was staring at, and death himself must have realized that I looked scared because he acknowledged it in his next sentence. Whoa, you look like a deer in the headlights of a truck that is delivering

venison, he said, a hint of jovial comforting in his voice. Yeah, you're just not who I expected to see, that's all, I replied. You know who I am then? Death asked me in a manner that seemed to imply that I shouldn't know who he was, even though all evidence pointed to the fact that he was the Reaper. Of course, I responded, your death. I can't believe that we actually depicted you correctly, you look exactly like I thought you would. Well, I wouldn't say that you depicted me correctly at all. I just manifest myself in this weird get-up so that you might recognize me, not because this is how I really look. I pondered this thought for a moment and decided that it made sense. It would have been a truly remarkable guess to accurately

depict Death, as it's usually the case that anyone that sees him doesn't survive long enough to draw him. I think you can guess why I'm here, Death asked me. He almost seemed sad to be here, talking to me, but he also spoke with a calm professionalism that hinted at the fact he had been in this situation before. I mean, I can guess why you are, I answered, but why me? And why now? I'm not ready to go. Not many people are, but but it would really make my job easier if you just follow me without a fuss. People that make a fuss often find that their ending is a lot, messier. Death finished his sentence and then gave me a look that seemed to beg me to just come quietly,

as he couldn't be bothered with a messy death today. I don't exactly know how he gave me this look, him being a skeleton and all, but somehow he conveyed this look with just his bone structure. I'll come quietly, I promised death, but first, I have a question or two. Death sighed. Of course you do. What happens if I did refuse to come with you? I asked, secretly hoping that there would be a way to get out of my sticky situation.

I told you, death replied, sounding slightly annoyed. It will get messy. You might even end up featuring on one of those unsolved mystery, crime shows, and I'm sure you don't want that. He was right, I didn't want that. I wanted a peaceful death that didn't leave my beautiful wife and two kids wondering what happened to me. How will I die if I do come with you then?

I asked, scared of what his response would be. Gas leak, Death replied, rather nonchalantly. Oh, so peaceful then. Of course, I know you're a decent man. Don't want you to have a terrible end. So, what happens when I come with you? I mean, what's after this? I asked Death, hoping he would be able to answer and hoped that the answer would provide me with some comfort.

You will just have to find out for yourself, won't you? I don't want to spoil anything for you. I know how much people hate spoilers. Why do I have to go, can't I just stay in this world, even as a ghost, or something? Well, you see, there is a slight problem in that department. Like your world, the spirit world is facing a similar problem. Overpopulation. The spirit world is full.

We went a bit overboard with the whole ghost thing in Victorian times, and now there are no spots left. The old bastards refuse to move on as well, so unfortunately you have no choice but to move into the plane of existence, Death said in a manner that seemed like he was fed up with being asked this question. I see. So this is it then? The end of the line for me? I'm just going to cease to exist. I asked Death, knowing full well that this was exactly the case. Yep, now we really must get going. I'll be late for my next appointment. Appointment? So, is death not random? Is it already booked in? I asked. I always thought that death was a random occurrence. and not something that was planned out in advance, but it seemed that death ran on a schedule.

It's determined the day you are born. On that day, your name appears in my diary and that day is set in stone. There is no changing it. That day is the day you die, no ifs or buts about it. So, I was always meant to die today. It appears that way, yes. I know it's a bummer, but you will get used to it. I couldn't believe that I had been destined to depart the world on this day.

I had always been meant to die at this very moment. I wish someone had let me know this fairly important piece of information. Maybe some sort of reminder on my phone or something. Just something that said, oh hey, you're going to die in a week. But no, it creeps up on you and before you know it, your day has come and you're not ready to go. I wasn't packed or anything. Can I ask one more question? I asked death, desperately hoping that he would allow me to ask this one final inquiry.

I saw him lift up one arm, slightly pull back his sleeve to reveal a small wrist watch that sat around his right wrist. He quickly checked the time on his watch, made a quick mental calculation, then answered. Go on, but you better make it quick, Death said with a hint of annoyance in his voice. My wife and kids. When do they die? Do they still live on for a while? You are testing my patience, but okay, I will check for you.

Death reached one skeletal hand into the inside of his black, tattery robe and pulled out one of the thickest books I had ever seen. The pages appeared to be endless and on the front cover, I saw the word diary. Death flicked through the pages, quickly scanning each one, before turning to the next one. It took maybe a minute before he settled on a page. He used one bony finger to quickly find what he was looking for. He soon found it and his finger stood still, pointing at one name. Let's see.

Her wife. She lives until 93. It says here, passes away surrounded by both kids and her grandchildren. When the word grandchildren exited death's mouth, I felt an internal struggle between sadness and joy. Sadness presented the case that I wouldn't be alive to ever meet my own grandchildren. Joy rebutted this argument by claiming that I should be pleased I have grandchildren and that my wife would get to enjoy them.

In the end, Joy won the debate, and I felt a smile come over my face. I'm sorry to be the one that has to do this, but it's time to go now. Death broke the silence that followed after he mentioned my grandchildren. I wasn't ready to go, far from it, but I knew that it was time. I just had one thing I wanted to do first. I motioned towards my dog, who had somehow slept through this entire ordeal. Death gave me a slight nod, which I took to mean that I had permission to say goodbye. I walked over to the large ball of fluff that I call my dog.

I bent down and gave her a slight pat on her head. She stirred awake when I placed my hand on her. She looked up into my eyes and, at that moment, I knew they would be the last pair of eyes that I would ever see. I looked down into her eyes and began to speak to her. You've been a good girl. Now it's time for me to move on. You look after the family now. They are going to need you.

You make sure you are there for them. Just continue to be a good girl and everything will be all right. Goodbye. I know she couldn't understand me, her being a dog's. and all, but it felt good to say goodbye to someone. I gave her one final pat on the head, then a slight scratch under her chin. She has always liked that. I stood up and walked back over to death, who was slightly leaning on his side. I told him that I was ready to go, but asked him for one final favor. Can I leave a note for my wife? Can I leave it with you

and you deliver it to her when you visit her? Oh, go on then. I'm already running late, so another minute or two won't hurt. I guess, Mr. Sturth will get to enjoy an extra few minutes of life. Death reached into his robe once more, this time producing a small piece of paper and a pen. I took it off of him and began to write. Once I had finished writing, I handed the pen in the note back to death, who quickly stuffed it back into his robe. He extended one hand towards me and motioned with his head for me to grab a hold of it.

I reached out and grabbed onto his hand. It was hard, but also, because of the bone, kind of jagged. I squeezed tight onto his hand. He slightly squeezed mine. I felt the strength of his grip and the firmness of his bones. I could tell that he was definitely someone that enjoyed his milk. I looked up at death, who was staring forwards. It was time to go. I wasn't entirely ready to go, but nevertheless, it was still time. In front of me, I saw a small light. In unison, me and death took a step towards it. Then another. With each step, the light grew bigger and encompassed more of my vision. Soon, all I could see was this bright

light, and all I could do now was continue to walk into it. I didn't want to walk into it, but I felt drawn to it, compelled by it, like a moth who is afraid of light. It scared me, but I had no choice but to go towards it. The last thought that entered my head before stepping through, into the light, was the letter that I was leaving for my wife. I read the entire letter in my mind, before taking the final step. It's been a while, I hope you have had a long and fulfilling life, filled with laughter and joy and beautiful memories. Grandchildren, hey! How amazing is that!

I bet they're cute and I bet they love their grandma. I wish to see you again, and once you read this note, I guess I will see you soon after. Don't be afraid. Death is a nice guy, he will help guide you to me. I love you and trust me, I didn't want to leave you. P.S. Tell death I say hello. All right, before I get into it. it, I want to lay a few things out. I'm not here to romanticize what happened, or act like I'm

proud of it. I'm also not fishing for sympathy. I know what I did. I lived that life by choice. I wasn't dragged into it kicking and screaming. Sure, my childhood was a mess, but when it came down to it, I chose to walk those streets. I chose those people. I chose that lifestyle. Nobody forced me, Nobody held a gun to my head. That said, I didn't exactly grow up with a fair shot either. I barely had parents. My mom got stabbed right in front of me when I was five. I watched her get beat on the regular.

I used to wet the bed because I was too scared to walk down the hall to the bathroom at night. And then I'd get beat for that too. Eventually, she just disappeared. Later I found out she died. My old man, a junkie who'd steal from his own kid. I'd hustle for lunch money, save up for clothes, and he'd snatch it all to buy dope. School. No one cared if I went.

Teachers didn't care, counselors didn't care. No one showed me anything better. This was before phones had everything, before YouTube could teach you how to change your life. I didn't have role models, I had hustlers and thieves. And guess what? I liked being around them. They gave me something I wasn't getting anywhere else. That sense of belonging, of protection, even if it came with a heavy price.

At 15, I started slinging real weight. Not weed, not pills. I'm talking hard stuff. I was in it deep. The cash, the rep, the chaos, it was all I knew. But again, I'm not whining about it. I picked that life. It shaped me.

And now, after years of dealing with PTSD, regret, therapy, and plenty of quiet nights asking for forgiveness from whatever higher power might be out there, I've come a long way. I'm not the same kid. Not even close. Do I still feel bad about the past? Not really. I've made peace with it. I've forgiven myself.

And honestly, that's all that matters to me now. I'm not looking for validation, not trying to make people understand me. That used to matter, but now. Not at all. Still, every once in a while, I like to tell these stories. They're a part of me, whether I like it or not. So here goes, the first time I was in a real shootout. I was 17.

Me and my crew were thick as thieves, literally. Most of us had already been in some sort of trouble. Our little suburb outside the city was a dump, guns, drugs, fights, same as the city. We weren't scared of anything. If anything, we wanted to prove we were even crazier than the guys from the inner city. We had this thing to prove, especially when we hung around city blocks that made ours look like Disneyland. It was around July 4th. We hit up a block party deep in the city.

The type of scene where the whole street was shut down, a DJ blaring music from a janky booth, smoke in the air, people high off what they thought was ecstasy, probably laced with God knows what. There had to be a hundred people there. And if there were a hundred people, then there were at least 30 guns. I was probably the only white dude in the crowd. We were hanging by my friend's car, just kicking it, smoking, laughing. Five of us, plus maybe another five from the neighbor. that we knew. So we weren't totally out of place. Still, we weren't from there, and some

people noticed. After a bit, a couple of locals came over and said, yo, I know y'all ain't from here. Some people are coming, and it's about to get real messy. You might want to dip. Now, a normal person would have taken that advice and bounced. But us? Nah. We wanted to see what would happen. Prove we weren't soft. Dumb. Absolutely. But that's who we were. Ten minutes later, it popped off. Gunshots everywhere. The darkness was only broken by the streetlights and the flashes from muzzles. It was chaos. Pure confusion. I had no clue who was shooting at who. It was like a war zone. I wasn't just going to shoot blindly. But then I saw some flashes coming from maybe 30 yards away, and it looked like they were

aimed our way. That was enough for me. I pulled my piece and fired off three rounds. Then I hesitated. I didn't want to kill someone for no reason. But then this car came barreling through the block. A guy was hanging out the passenger window, shooting into the crowd like it was a video game. My best friend had a pump-action shotgun.

He raised it, fired, and hit the door right by the shooter. The guy tumbled back inside, the car rocked a bit, then peeled off. Meanwhile, one of the younger dudes with us had this antique revolver. It looked like something from an old cowboy flick. The kind you got a cock before every shot. He emptied six rounds, reloaded while crouching, and caught a bullet right through his foot. finished firing off the next six. When it all died down, most people were okay. Shaken, but breathing. Except for one kid. He was 17, just like us. Had a scholarship to AD1 school. He wasn't

in the life, just happened to live there. Wrong place, wrong time. We walked up to his car. His brains were on the dashboard, and his body was twitching. His cousin was screaming, trying to hold his head together. That was the first time I watched someone die in front of me. Really die. We didn't wait around. Cops and paramedics took forever to show up anyway. We took the kid with the shot up foot to the hospital. Somewhere along the way, my boy with the shotgun turned to me and said, Let me see your piece. I handed it over. He pulled out the mag and counted the bullets. You only shot three times

Did it jam, he asked Nah, I said I didn't know who I was shooting at Didn't want to hit the wrong person He stared at me like I was an alien F asterisk asterisk asterisk that Next time, you empty that thing Anybody you don't recognize

They're a target Got it? I nodded Got it You'd think that moment would have changed me, made me snap out of it, made me question the path I was on, but nah, if anything, I fell deeper. That night was just the beginning. I chased the madness, the violence, the high that came from surviving things you shouldn't survive.

It's messed up, but back then it made me feel alive. Sixteen years have passed since that night. It feels like it happened to someone else. I've got a kid now. I work out, eat clean, try to be a good father. I'm not that 17-year-old anymore. Most people wouldn't believe my past if they met me today. Hell, sometimes I don't believe it myself.

But those memories, they don't fade. They're part of me. Like scars under my skin. I live with them, but they don't control me anymore. don't glorify them. I don't regret them either. They were lessons. Costly, painful lessons that shaped me into who I am. This story? Just one of many. And not the wildest, not by a long shot. But it was the first time I realized just how quick everything can fall apart. One moment you're partying on a summer night, the next someone's dying in their car. And no matter how hard you try,

you can't unsee that. So yeah. That was my first shootout. Not something I'm proud of, but it's the truth. Take from it what you will. The end. Hey everyone on Reddit. Can't believe it's been almost two years since I posted that story.

Honestly, I never thought I'd be back here typing up an update, but after all the messages and comments asking what happened next, here I am. Figured I'd give you the whole rundown. But first, let me address the two biggest questions y'all had last time, no, I didn't go back to prison. And yes, I'm doing okay now. So, let's rewind a bit. A lot of people asked what prison was actually like.

To be real with you. It wasn't like the horror stories you see in movies. I'm not saying it was some vacation, but it wasn't constant violence or people getting shanked over a pack of ramen either. of my age, I ended up in a young offender's institution instead of regular prison, which honestly made a big difference. I was lucky, I got placed in a unit where they let us finish school. Yeah, I actually studied inside. Ended up finishing my A levels while I was there, got an A in math and P.E. and AC in biology. Not bad for someone stuck behind bars, right? My second year

inside was actually kind of productive. I started tutoring some of the other inmates, helping them with math mostly, and I spent a lot of time applying to universities. Somehow, I got accepted into a local uni for sports science. They let me do it remotely while I was still inside, and then when I got out, I finished the last year on campus. Graduated just last June, which still feels wild to say out loud. Not that it was easy. Those first first few months in there. Rough. A lot of dudes trying to size me up, make me hand over my stuff, my shoes, my hoodie, even my snacks. But I figured out quick that if you stand your ground, if you show people you're not going to be intimidated, they usually back off. You don't have to

be the biggest guy, just got to act like you belong. So I held my own, and over time, attention eased up. My cellmate for the whole sentence was this guy named Charlie. 23 years old, middle-class dude who got mixed up with the wrong people, county lines drug stuff. At first, we were both kind of walking on eggshells around each other, but after a while, we clicked. We bonded over rugby, music, and our mutual screw-ups. Now, he's one of my closest friends. He's still inside, but he'll be moving to an adult prison, soon to finish the rest of his time. We still talk when we can.

He's a good guy, just made some terrible choices. Now, on to the other big question, Harry and my parents. Harry, man, I don't even know how to describe how much he's meant to us. He didn't just stick around, he became family. My parents literally see him as their third son now. And me? He's like another brother. He supported us when we lost Kai, he stood by me through the trial and the sentence.

Hell, he even introduced us to his new boyfriend Tom like we were his actual family. Which we are, in every way that counts. He's the real deal. Aside from those four years inside, my life hasn't been all that different from any other 23-year-old guy. Finished uni, got a job, well, two actually. My uni kept me on as a strength and conditioning coach for the sports teams, and a semi-pro rugby club decided to give me a shot. I'm living at home with my parents still, saving up to move out. Dated a few people casually, nothing too serious.

The only thing that really hurts is that I can't be a teacher like I always wanted. That dream kind of died with the criminal record. And Kai. God, I miss him all the time. Some mornings, I look in the mirror and I wonder, if he were still here, would we look the same? Would he have grown out his hair? Started wearing those trendy jackets he used to laugh at. Would he be dating someone amazing?

Doing something incredible. I guess I'll never know. That's what hurts the most, not knowing who he could have become. All right, now for the real reason I'm back. Six months ago, these documentary filmmakers reached. out. Said they wanted to tell my story. At first, I was like, hell no. But Harry and my folks thought it was a good idea. A way to finally share what really happened, to show the world who Kai really was. So I agreed. I figured, what's the worst that could happen, right? Well,

plot twist. Turns out, the four boys involved in all this, yeah, the same ones who tormented my brother, been contacted to be part of the documentary. Apparently, they tried to act like they were these sweet, innocent kids. Claimed they were just good friends with Kai and that the whole thing was, banter, taken out of context. Said I was just lashing out and blaming them for my grief. The nerve, right? But here's the kicker. During a break in filming, when they thought the cameras were off, their true colors came out. They were bragging. Actually, laughing about what they'd done to my brother. Saying the beatings were, worth it, now that there was one less F asterisk asterisk asterisk go tea on the streets. Even claimed their parents

bribed some of the jury. Thing is, the camera was still rolling. The filmmakers found that footage during editing. They were horrified. Came straight to us with it and said we could have the footage if we wanted. We were shocked, obviously. But it didn't end there. Atticus's dad, yeah, the same Atticus who led the abuse, somehow got wind that the filmmakers had dirt on his son. The guys high up at a major TV network, so he tried to bribe them. Offered them a big chunk of money and even promised to commission the dock if they made it look like his son and his friends were innocent.

But the woman leading the project, Lola, she's a total badass. She secretly recorded their conversation, just in case. she wasn't having any of it. She stood up to him. That move ended up sealing the deal. Fast forward to last week, the trial concluded. All four boys, Barney, Atticus, Toby, and Brad, were sentenced to 15 years, with 10 to be served behind bars. And Atticus's dad? He got four years for perverting the course of justice. He'll be doing two years inside. Ironically, the boys are all headed to the same prison where my mate Charlie is serving his time. And let's just say, Charlie's promise to make sure their stay isn't exactly comfortable.

The documentary. It's coming next year. Netflix picked it up. They decided to make it more about Kai's life, who he was, what he meant to us, the joy he brought into this world. There's a lot of raw footage, some tough interviews, but it's real. We just hope it opened some eyes. Shows people the damage that bullying and hate can do. Of course, while getting justice feels good, it doesn't bring Kai back.

That pain never goes away. You learn to live with it, sure. But there's always that hole in your chest. He was my little brother. My best friend. The one person who could always make me laugh, even when everything else sucked. I hope, wherever he is, he knows we fought for him, that we didn't let them get away with it. So yeah, that's my update.

Life keeps moving. I'm working hard, staying close to my family, and trying to be the kind of mankind would have looked up to. It's not perfect, but it's something. Thanks for reading. To be continued. It's been four years since I last typed anything on here. Honestly, I didn't think I ever would again. But here we are.

Today marks ten whole years since my brother passed away. Ten. A full decade. Saying that out loud feels like being punched in the gut. I still can't believe it. Feels like yesterday and also like a million years ago at the same time. There hasn't been a single day that I haven't thought about him. Not one.

grieving him, learning to live without him, trying to stay strong, it's been a long road. Some days I manage, some days it all crashes down. But I try, because I know that's what he'd want me to do. Yesterday, for whatever reason, I logged back into this old account. First time in four years. Didn't expect much, but boom, notifications flooded in. Apparently, a lot of you have been wondering about me, about my first time. life, my family, my friends. So I figured, maybe it's time. Maybe I owe it to you, and to myself,

to fill in the blanks. Let's start with me. Besides the obvious sadness I carry around, I've been doing okay. Still at my old university, working with the sports teams. Still lecturing in sports science too. That part of life has remained steady, and I'm thankful for it. The documentary we did about Kai was released during COVID. It got a lot of attention. People responded really positively to it. Thankfully, thanks to the lockdowns, I managed to stay under the radar. No public fuss, no big spotlight. Just quiet. Now let's talk about Charlie. My best mate. He got out of prison three years ago. Man's been through hell and back, but he's doing great now. He's almost done with his degree in social work, and he's already got a job lined up at the same young offenders unit we used to talk about when we were kids.

Wild how things come full circle. At Charlie's release party, I met his sister, Hannah. She's 29 now. And yeah, you guessed it, we hit it off. Charlie wasn't too thrilled at first. I mean, who really wants their best mate dating their sister? But he came around eventually. He saw how happy we were.

Fast forward a bit, and we just got engaged last month. We also have a son. He's one year old. His name. Kai. Of course. My parents were over the moon, and Harry. Harry was honored to be named Godfather.

Speaking of Harry, let's get into that. Last time I posted, he was dating Tom. Things seemed good on the surface. But, turns out, things weren't so simple. Harry ended up cheating. Tom found out. They split. It sent Harry into a tailspin.

A few months ago, he called me out of the blue. Said he needed to talk. He came clean about everything. Told me he never truly loved Tom. Said that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't bring himself. he couldn't bring himself to feel the way he once did. Not since my brother. He confessed that my brother wasn't just his boyfriend.

He was his person. The one. The only. The love he thought he'd spend forever with. Harry's scared. He thinks he'll be alone forever because he can't move on. He feels stuck, like his heart stopped ten years ago and never restarted. I told him, look, maybe one day's

someone new will come along. Someone who surprises him, someone who breaks through that wall. And when that happens, he won't be alone. We'll all be there, backing him every step of the way. But what I also told him, and this part was hard, was that he can't keep pretending. Can't lead someone on, can't give someone false hope if he doesn't really love them. That's not fair. And cheating? That's a hard no. No excuse. is. He knows that. He's working on himself now. Slowly, but surely, he's coming back to life. Harry and I, we've both been grieving the same person, but in different ways. I lost a brother. My best friend. My other half. Harry lost the love of his life. The man he was supposed to build a

future with. It's not the same. I've come to understand that. That pain, that heartbreak. It's a different flavor of agony. So if you're reading this, please don't judge Harry too harshly. Yes, what he did to Tom was wrong. No doubt. But if you've never lost your person, you can't fully grasp what that kind of devastation does to you. How it twists you inside out.

A lot of you asked about Harry's family. Here's the deal. There is no relationship. He comes from old money. That cold, traditional kind. The kind that would rather keep up appearances than accept their son for who he is. When he came out, they basically threw a check at him and told him to disappear. Washed their hands of him.

It's heartbreaking. But my parents and I, we took him in. We love him. He is family. My parents, God bless them, Miss Kai just as deeply as I do. They've had their share of good days and dark ones. We've all walked through the fire together. But ever since little Kai was born, I've seen glimpses of who they were before the tragedy.

My mum's laugh has come back. My dad smiles more. There's light in our house again, even if it flickers sometimes. Now, here's something that's been haunting me. Someone asked in an old comment, if I could see my brother one more time, what would I say? I've thought about it a lot. And my honest answer is, I don't think I'd say a single word. I'd just hug him.

Wrap my arms around him and hold him so tight that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't be able to leave again. God, I would give anything for that. So yeah, that's where I'm at. That's where we're at. Life didn't go the way any of us planned. But somehow, we keep going. Keep waking up, keep loving, keep trying. If there's one thing I've learned over the past 10 years, it's this, tell people you love them.

Don't assume they know. Say it. Shout it. Write it. Show it. Whatever it takes. Because you never know when your last chance to say it will come. Reddit, thank you for sticking around.

Thank you for caring. And if you're reading this right now, go tell someone you love them. Do it now. With all my heart, Max, the end. All right, let me tell you a story. This isn't the kind you read in a paperback thriller or watch in some overproduced accuseries. No.

This is raw, ugly, real-life stuff that happened to me when I was just 16. I was still technically a kid, but the decisions I made. Not exactly childish. See, I grew up in Russia, and life wasn't particularly easy. When you're 16 and dumb, with a head full of wild ideas and a crowd that feeds your hunger for something risky, you end up doing things you can't just walk away from. We got this tip off that a local military base had some serious gaps in its security. We're not talking about stealing candy here. Nah, our plan was to jack some firearms, AK-47s, grenades, that kind of madness. We thought we were slick, invincible, like some kind of gorilla geniuses. Of course, reality hit

fast and brutal. What started as a, theft quickly spiraled into a robbery. Let me break it down, theft is sneaky, like a shadow in the night. Robbery? That's loud, violent, and get gets you noticed. We got caught. Of course we did. Turns out, Russian military bases might be lazy about locks, but they sure know how to respond once the sirens go off. Long story short. I got slapped with two years behind bars under paragraphs 158 and 161. Some of the others I was with got 9. One even got 15. We were just kids, but the law didn't care. And honestly, after what we try to pull, maybe it shouldn't have. But here's the kicker, I wasn't sent to your regular juvenile detention center.

Nope. I got what they call a special regime. If that phrase sounds ominous to you, good. It should. It basically means you're treated like the worst of the worst. It's called the striped regime, named after the depressing blue and gray uniforms they make you wear. forget the typical black and white prison stripes this was darker grimmer more suffocating the place they threw me into wasn't a camp no open spaces or mild work routines it was a full-on prison concrete walls steel bars no daylight unless it was rationed out like sugar in wartime soviet style old school hardcore and if you're thinking russian prison are like the ones in the states, let me stop you right there.

They're not. They're way worse. There's this old Soviet rule that basically guaranteed if you did time in a prison, not a camp, you were likely going to get tuberculosis. It was like an unofficial death sentence in slow motion. Air circulation was a joke, cells were moldy, and medical care. You were lucky if they tossed you a crusty bandage. Yep, I got TB2. Of course I did.

Now let's talk daily life. The guards treated us like monsters. Not just criminals, but untouchables. Irredeemable. Less than nothing. We woke up at six every morning. From that moment on, you couldn't sit or lie down on your bunk during the day. If they caught you even leaning on it, trouble came fast.

And hard. When a guard came by, they'd open the first of two. heavy metal doors. As soon as we heard it, we had to scramble. I mean it, drop everything and rush to the wall, bend low, hands stretched over our heads, palms out, face to the concrete, leg spread. We had to give a full verbal report right then and there. What are you in for? What's your sentence? Name. Every day, four times a day. Like a drill. Like we were robots. Outside time. Ha. There was this yard, if you can call it that. Basically a concrete box with metal bars overhead. We were technically allowed out for an hour and a half a day, but most of us refused. Want to know why? Because going outside meant getting beaten. The guards didn't feel like dragging us out, so they just take their batons and handle business right there in the hallway. For guards and a dog for every trip to the yard. It was supposed to be protocol, but it felt like a threat.

So what do prisoners do? We start filing fake excuses. Oh, I have a stomach ache today. Not feeling fresh, maybe tomorrow. Anything to stay in the cell and avoid the beatings. Speaking of the cell, I shared mine with five others. Let me paint this picture clearly, one of them was what we called a rooster, the absolute lowest cast in prison.

He was a child rapist, convicted for abusing two little girls. Mentally slow, and the guards treated him like property. They traded him between cells for cigarettes or tea. His nickname was Medusa, Jellyfish. That name stuck. Even in these hellish conditions, some inmates tried to uphold what they called the thief's law, some kind of code among criminals. But the guards didn't care.

anyone who looked like they were organizing or resisting straight to the punishment cell aka the hole let me tell you about the hole it was a nightmare box no glass on the window cold as a meat locker damp like a swamp and reeking of bleach chlorine powder covered the floor just breathing in that place felt like it was killing you it was a breeding ground for t b and a torture chamber rolled into one I got thrown in there for having my shirt buttoned wrong. No joke. Now, if you want to understand Russian prison life, you've got to know about the castes. It ain't all one big group of convicts. There's a system. There are the Mujiques, regular folks who messed up. They're the bulk of the population.

Decent people, relatively speaking. Then there are the Blatney. These guys think they're royalty. Hardcore career criminals living by a twisted code with their own language and rules. They don't just survive prison. They thrive in it. For them, prison is home, and they carry themselves like kings. But these guys?

They're monsters. Not just criminals, but soulless. One cell over, a group of them had a little dog. Guess what they did to it? Yeah. I won't even say it again. That kind of evil doesn't need repeating. That's what you're dealing with.

Blatney don't feel shame. They wear their crimes like medals. To them, rape, murder, extortion, it's just the hustle. They speak this prison lingo called fenya, walk a certain way, dress differently, get tatted with meanings only other cons understand. They're not born, they're made. New kids come in. see the Blatney living large, feared, respected, and think, I want to be that guy. And then the transformation begins.

Slowly, they imitate the walk, talk, and mindset. They learn how to cheat in card games, a prized skill in prison. They learn how to lie, steal, intimidate. The whole time, they think they're leveling up. But it's all smoke and mirrors. Because the Blatnoy world is a trap. You might get a little power, sure. Some guys might bring you tea or polish your boots.

But make one wrong move. Show one ounce of weakness. You're done. It's a brutal fraternity with no forgiveness. Some say these guys should be in mental institutions. Honestly. I agree. Most of them are full-on psychopaths.

Not just antisocial. We're talking delusional. explosive, dangerous. You never knew what would set them off. One day they're calm, the next, they're screaming, breaking things, attacking guards. So yeah, prison was a crash course in survival. And not just physical survival. Emotional, psychological. I watched people break. I watched people turn into animals. And I felt myself changing too. I had to. There was no other way to make it out. But I also saw through the BS.

I saw how fake the bravado was. The bravest guys weren't the ones barking orders or swinging fists. They were the ones who held on to some piece of their humanity. Who didn't let the system grind them into dust? I got out after two years. Scarred, yeah. Physically and mentally. But I was alive.

and I knew one thing for sure, I was never going back. Not to that cell. Not to that darkness. I crawled out of that hole and swore to stay out of it. That was just a chapter. There's more. So much more. But that's a story for another time.

The end. All right, before we get into it, let me make something clear, this didn't happen to me. This is my friend's story. She's one of the few people I trust with my life, and one day, she just let it all out. Said she needed to breathe again. Told me I could share it with others, as long as her name was kept out of it. So here I am, telling her story through her eyes. Her name's Michelle.

Well, let's call her that. It was November 2009, and she was only ten years old, but the stuff she remembers. burned into her brain like scars that never really healed. She was living in Haiti, in a mountain village called Thomason. Small, quiet, nothing fancy. Just a place where you could hear your neighbor's arguments through thin walls and the roosters screamed louder than your alarm clock. Michelle had a little sister, Emily.

The two of them were close in that we only have each other, kind of way. And believe me, they needed each other, because their home. was straight up hell. Their dad. An alcoholic and drug addict, the kind that doesn't hide it. He'd sit in front of them, high as a kite, drinking like his liver was made of steel. And when he wasn't wasted, he was angry. Like, scary angry. Arguments with their mom were daily. Not the yelling from another room kind, either. This was plate throwing, glass-shattering chaos. And then, the hitting. He'd lash out at their mom, calling her names that no child should hear.

And when he wasn't aiming at her, he turned to the girls. His belt was his weapon of choice, and discipline was never just a slap on the wrist, it was bruises and pain. There was this housemaid, sort of like a nanny, who used to help out. But when she couldn't come over, it was the girl's job to cook, clean, scrub floors. If they messed up even a little, he'd screamed so close to their faces they could smell the liquor on his breath. Life was survival, one day at a time. Then came that day.

The fight started like all the others, loud and messy. But it spiraled fast. He grabbed an empty bottle and cracked it against their mom's head like it was nothing. Blood, screams, chaos. Michelle and Emily tried to stop him, biting his arm, like wild animals. That only made him angrier. He hit them. Then, right in front of Michelle, he crossed a line she never imagined he would. I won't spell it out, but you can probably guess. And she just stood there, frozen, feeling her heart shatter into a thousand shards. Their mom,

in a moment of wild courage, grabbed a metal baton and slammed it into the back of his head. He collapsed, unconscious. But they did that. The damage was done. The screams had already brought villagers to the door. There was blood on the floor, shattered glass, and two traumatized little girls. Cops showed up. But this is Haiti we're talking about, and the police there. Corruption runs deeper than the roots of the mountains. They arrested him but didn't keep him. A slap on the wrist, maybe a bribe or two exchanged, and he was out again. The village wasn't having it, though. Michelle's mom talked with some neighbors.

They made a plan. And one night, they carried it out. There was a struggle. Screaming. Fire. They burned him alive. Michelle remembers the screams more than anything else. That horrible sound, like a soul being dragged into hell.

She still hears it in her dreams. Now, was it right? Was it justice? That's not something Michelle can answer. She's not trying to excuse it. But when you've been pushed that far, sometimes rage is the only thing left. It changes you. Burns away whatever innocence you had.

Only her boyfriend knew the full story. And he couldn't even listen to all of it. Got angry, sick to his stomach. But even he doesn't know the next part. The part that made Michelle stop trusting people altogether. After her dad was gone, Michelle and Emily clung to each other even harder. You'd think things would get better after escaping a monster like that, but trauma has a nasty way of sticking around. They lived with their mom and her new husband, and here's a bombshell, Michelle's mom was only 11 years older than her.

Yeah. Let that sink in. Michelle never asked questions. Didn't want to know the answers. At 14, Michelle started hands. hanging out at her mom's place more. They'd smoke together. Weed, mostly. At the time, Michelle thought it was cool.

Just a mother-daughter bonding thing. But looking back, yeah, she sees how messed up that was. When Michelle turned 16, things got even darker. Her mom's husband, her stepdad, started acting weird. Like, too nice. At first, Michelle brushed it off. She's always had trust issues, and she told herself she was just being paranoid. But then he started texting her things that no stepfather should be texting.

Stuff like, have you done it yet? Or, if you get a boyfriend, I'll be jealous. Real creepy vibes. She showed her mom the messages. Oh, he's just joking, sweetie. Don't overthink it. Michelle wanted to believe her. So she buried the unease.

Pushed it way down. But the messages didn't stop. They got sneakier. Cute shirt, you're growing up so fast, that kind of thing. Subtle enough that it could be denied. But the tone. Michelle knew. She showed her cousin, hoping maybe she was overreacting.

Her cousin's face went pale. I didn't want to say anything, she said, but I've seen the way he's. looks at you. It's not normal. Finally, someone believed her. She went back to her mom. Again. Told her what her cousin said. Stop it, her mom snapped. You girls are making a big deal out of nothing, so Michelle let it go. Again. And that was a mistake. Then came summer break. Michelle, now 17, went to visit Emily. Just a chill weekend. They played games, smoked a bit. At some point, Michelle knocked out on the couch and woke up around 10 a.m.

Everyone else was asleep, so she flipped on the TV. Ten minutes in, someone came down the stairs. It was Emily's boyfriend. He sat across from her, then got up and sat right next to her. Commented on her shirt. Said it looked cute. Then started packing a bowl. Michelle felt sick

he handed her the bowl she took a hit trying not to freak out the taste was off not normal weed her head got heavy like someone poured syrup into her brain she couldn't move

couldn't speak could barely think he looked at her and whispered you're so silly just like this show then he grabbed her Michelle couldn't scream, couldn't fight. All she could do was cry while silently begging for her sister to come downstairs and stop him. And then, a creak.

Someone at the top of the stairs. He stopped. Fast. Threw her shorts back on. Jumped to the other couch just as a roommate walked into the room. Some guy Michelle had never seen before. He glanced at her, then at the guy. and you could see it on his face, he knew something horrible had just happened.

Next thing Michelle remembers is Emily waking her up. Hey, it's 2 p.m., ready to go home, Michelle just nodded, dazed. Then she passed out again. Next time she woke up, it was 9 p.m. and her mom was screaming at her for sleeping too much. Michelle said nothing. Not for days. She just floated through the fog. A month later, she broke, told her mom everything.

Her mom called Emily, who responded coldly, yeah, I know. We're in an open relationship. She wanted it, Michelle's jaw dropped. Then her mom, her freaking mom, just said, he's not welcome near our family again. And that was it. No police. No consequences. Nothing.

Five years later, Emily married that monster. Michelle was gutted. Her own sister, once her protector, was now married to the guy who had done that to her. And the worst part? No one had ever made him answer for it. Two years ago, it all clicked, he had never smoked from that bull himself. Michelle was drugged. On purpose. That realization sent her spiraling. Was she his only victim? or just one of many. And the story, it doesn't even end there. Michelle's past never left her.

When she was 13, before the worst of the trauma, something else happened. She went to a Catholic school in a town where everyone knew everyone, and kids went to the corner store on Fridays for snacks. Michelle was the quiet type. Kept to herself. But she was paranoid. Always carried this tiny needle tool, the kind used for clay sculpting, sharp, discreet, dangerous.

One Friday, after changing out of her uniform, she decided to take a shortcut through the woods to avoid the crowd. Just a quiet joggers trail behind the church. Peaceful. Rabbits hopping around. Birds chirping. But then, footsteps. And muffled laughter.

Someone was behind her. Part two, she kept running, until the woods were no longer quiet. Michelle froze. That laughter, low, raspy, didn't belong to a kid. It was wrong. Not the kind of laugh you hear from someone telling a joke. It was, gleeful, cruel.

Like someone watching a mouse try to escape a trap. She didn't turn around. Just picked up her pace. Fast walk, then jog, then full-on sprint. Branches whipped at her face. Her lungs started to burn. But she didn't stop. Whoever was behind her didn't either.

She could hear him gaining, heavy footsteps, crunching twigs, breathing hard. Michelle gripped the little sculpting needle in her hand like it was a sword. Her heart thudded in her ears so loud she thought she might black out. Then, silence. She reached the edge of the trail and burst out onto a dirt road, panting like she'd just, outrun a bear. She didn't dare look back. She just ran until she saw the main road, the market, the people. Only then did she stop, sit on the curb, and cry. When she got home, she didn't tell anyone. What would she even say? Some creepy guy chased me through the woods,

but I never saw his face. Who would believe that? And yet, Michelle never took that trail again. not once fast forward a few months her school was buzzing with rumors someone was leaving weird notes in girls lockers stuff like i watch you walk home or your braid looks better down creepy poetry no one knew who it was then came the hair thing girls started noticing chunks of their hair missing at first it was subtle a strand or two gone after gym class Then someone noticed a full lock missing from the back of her head. Panic spread like wildfire. A teacher found a plastic bag in a classroom closet filled with hair and a folded note that said, Perfect little souvenirs. Michelle's blood ran cold. The school went on lockdown.

They brought in police. Did interviews. But they never found out who did it. Michelle didn't sleep for days. That laugh she'd heard in the way. woods. She was now convinced it belonged to the same freak cutting hair. She kept that needle closer than ever. Slipped it into her bra, even took it to bed. But the nightmares still came. One night, she dreamed she was back on the trail, only this time it was pitch black.

She couldn't see a thing, but she heard that laugh again, closer, louder. And then a whisper, I still remember how you smell. She woke up screaming. The following day, she asked her mom if she could switch schools. Her mom rolled her eyes, told her to stop being dramatic. Said nightmares weren't reasons to run from reality. Michelle never asked again. So she bottled it up. Added it to the collection. Like little horror souvenirs she kept buried in her chest. By the time she turned 18, she had enough trauma to write a horror anthology. She moved out the second she could. Got a job.

Tried to make friends. Tried therapy, twice. Didn't stick. It felt weird spilling her guts to someone who got paid to nod and write things down on a clipboard. So she built walls. Thick ones. No one got close. Except this one guy.

Let's call him Noah. He was kind, quiet, respectful. Didn't push. Just listened. It freaked Michelle out. When someone treats you gently after years of being bruised by the world, it doesn't feel real. It feels like bait. Like any second they'll flip the switch and become a monster, too.

But Noah didn't. For months, he just, stayed. Kept showing up. Brought her snacks when she was too depressed. to eat. Texted her, Good morning, and, you okay? Messages when she disappeared for days. Never asked for anything in return.

Eventually, Michelle cracked. Told him everything. The abuse. The betrayal. The creep in the woods. Her dad. Her mom. Emily.

Noah just held her. Didn't say, that's horrible, or I can't believe it. Just sat there. Let her sob. Told her she wasn't alone. That she didn't deserve any of it. It didn't fix her. But it helped.

Then one day, Emily showed up. Michelle hadn't seen her in three years. She looked thinner. Pale her. Tired. She sat down and said, I need to tell you something. Michelle's heart went ice cold. Emily looked her in the eyes and said,

I know he hurt you. I knew it then. I just... I didn't want to believe it. Michelle didn't say a word. Emily started crying. Said the marriage was a mess. That he'd been violent.

That she'd found weird pictures on his phone, other girls, maybe even younger. She was scared. I think he's watching me, Emily whispered. I feel it. All the time, Michelle sat there. stunned. Her sister, her traitor, was scared of the same monster she married. For the first time in forever, Michelle saw fear in someone else's eyes that matched her own. She took a deep breath and said, you need to leave him. Now, Emily nodded. And she did. Packed her bags. Disappeered.

Changed her number. Last Michelle heard, she was in another country, trying to rebuild. But the damage? Yeah, that's still there. For both of them. Michelle still has nightmares. Still checks her locks three times. Still jumps when people touch her without warning. But she's learning to breathe again.

She talks to Noah. Sometimes they go days without speaking, but he always texts, still here if you need me. She still doesn't trust most people. Still keeps that needle in a drawer. But now, at least, she knows she's not crazy. That what happened was real. That she survived it. And every time she thinks of telling her story, she remembers how it all started, with silence.

With people refusing to see. So if you're reading this, and something in your gut tells you something isn't right, listen to it. And if someone tells you they were hurt, even if it sounds unbelievable. Believe them. Because silence lets monsters grow. But stories? They can burn them down.

I, 42F, and my boyfriend, 48M, have been together for five years. We met online, something I had never thought I would try, but at the time, I had been single for many years and my sister had recommended it to me. I was reluctant that first. She kept telling me how she had found many dates through this website and that it would be perfect for me as I'm always busy working so I could just use it in my free time or only. when I felt like it. Anyway, one night over dinner she told me about this man she had recently met through the website and how perfect he was for her and how she could see a future with him. So I gave in.

I gave it a try not expecting to actually find someone but when I matched with Carl, we hit it off instantly. He was so funny and charming so we exchanged numbers and then agreed to meet for coffee the following week. When we met for coffee that day, Carl told me that he had just gotten a divorce from his wife, of many years who he has one daughter, 25F, with. I was fine with this, I'm not really the jealous type of person and he had assured me that he was ready to move on and that their relationship had been dying for ages.

The first date went well and after a few more successful dates, he asked me to be his girlfriend. I was over the moon as I really liked Carl. I have always been very passionate about my work. I'm a nurse so my job is very demanding and intensive which means I work most nights during the week, but still, I wouldn't change it for the world. I thought this may be a problem with Carl when we first started dating as I wouldn't be available most nights and during the day after working a shift, I would be catching up on sleep and therefore, not available to see him or talk to him. However, this was not the case. Carl thought it was perfect as he told

me that he had a very busy schedule too with his work, business appointments, and making time to see his daughter. Carl told me that he was always free on a Tuesday which happened to align perfectly with my work schedule as I didn't work on Monday or Tuesday nights. He started coming over to my house every single Tuesday, pretty much every single week since and that was five years ago. Here's where it starts to get a little bit weird, though. Since we agreed to see each other on Tuesdays, Carl has come to my house every single Tuesday 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. but refuses to see me any other day and out of that time frame.

He has always arrived perfectly on time at 11 a.m. and always left promptly at 3 p.m., no exceptions. As well as this, every single time he comes over, he brings this tiny, dirty chihuahua along with him. Well, last week, I found out that this dog he has been bringing in belongs to his ex-wife. His excuse for this was that he likes taking the dog on walks and they do ten miles of walking every day together, but he works too much to commit to getting a dog for himself. I found this to be really odd, but I didn't question him about it any further. I know ten miles might seem like a lot to walk the dog every day and to be honest, I don't and he quite believe it myself, but I know that he does walk the dog regularly as every

Wednesday and Thursday he calls me whilst he walks the dog. This is always between 4 p.m. to 6.30 p.m. with again, no exceptions. He always ends the call at exactly 6.30 and always calls at exactly 4. Anyways, a couple years ago I got the dreaded call that my dad died. I was absolutely distraught as he was my biggest supporter and was always there for me. I asked Carl if he would come to the funeral with me, but he refused as the funeral was being held on a Sunday and not during his allotted time to see me, Tuesday's 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. Of course I was upset by this, but eventually, I convinced myself that he was probably just busy. Fast forward another year, I had become very sick and I had ended up in hospital,

it was so serious that the doctors had told me I would have died had I have waited another day to seek medical help. I called Carl in despair and asked if he would bring me some clothes I had at home and dropped them off at the hospital. Carl refused because I had asked him on a Saturday and not on a Tuesday. I was in so much pain, I was in the hospital for months. I constantly begged Carl to see me and again, he refused unless it was on a Tuesday at 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. The final reason that made me think my boyfriend may be cheating on me with his ex-wife was last month at his daughter's wedding. The wedding was to be held in Italy and the plan was

for Carl and his ex-wife to fly out there together for days before the wedding and for me to fly out by myself a day before the wedding. Carl's daughter had rented out a huge, luxurious villa for close family and friends to stay in before and after the wedding. I thought this was perfect, I have never spent the night with Carl so I thought us sharing a bed would be a huge turning point in our relationship. That was until I found out that Carl and his ex-wife would be sleeping in the villa and I would be sleeping in a converted barn by myself at the bottom of the villa garden. I asked Carl if I could please sleep in the villa with him, but he refused so I refused to go to the wedding and stay home. On top of this, I have never been to Carl's house, in fact,

I don't even know where he lives and he has me blocked on all of his social media. I can only contact him on WhatsApp. I think Carl may have been lying to me when we first met about his divorce to his wife. I'm starting to get the impression that he is actually having an affair with me and cheating on his wife. He's so secretive with me and appears to still have a lot of contact with her. Or maybe they decided to rekindle their relationship after their divorce. Or maybe I'm overthinking and they are just really close friends. I mean they do have a daughter together. So Reddit, am I being crazy? What should I do? Edit, thank you everyone for your helpful insight and comments. I have been trying to read through them all. For all those saying

this story isn't real, I can assure you that it 100% is, obviously now I am having severe doubts about him and what he has told me I'm realizing how stupid I looked in this relationship. Some of you don't seem to realize that when you're truly in love you really don't want to lose that person. For those offering helpful advice, thank you. I have a plan in place for when I see him this Tuesday, and I will update you all after that. Update hi, everyone. I'm sorry this update has taken so long.

To be honest, I forgot I had posted this story on here. Anyway, I confronted Carl about his ex-wife around two weeks after I had posted this story. He obviously denied everything. I don't remember everything that happened, but he did call me a crazy bit asterisk age. I had never seen him this angry before. At this point, I knew I was already done with our relationship I just wanted to finally get some answers after five years of being together. Around December time, he came over, on a Tuesday obviously 11 a.m. to 3 p.m., and after he left, all right, so I never thought I'd be typing something like this out. Honestly, it still feels like I'm trapped in some kind of low-budget horror flick that took a sharp turn from boring to bone-chilling real quick.

But here we are, and I just got to let it all out before it eats me alive from the inside. It started one random, unimportant afternoon after school. I was home alone, just doing what most nosy teenagers do when they're bored out of their minds, poking around places I probably shouldn't. I wasn't even trying to be a snoop, really. I was just looking for my phone charger that somehow vanished into thin air. My mom's study seemed like a reasonable place to check since she always, borrows my stuff and forgets about it.

That's when it happened. While rummaging under her desk, my fingers brushed against a weird bump in the wood, like something didn't quite fit. Turns out, it was a hidden compartment. And yes, my curiosity instantly went from zero to 100. I mean, who even has a hidden compartment anymore, right? That's straight-up spy movie material. Anyway, I managed to pop it open, expecting maybe some old letters or embarrassing diaries, but what I found. yeah, no. It was something else entirely. Inside were stacks of old newspaper clippings,

all carefully sorted and preserved like some twisted scrapbook. Each one detailed some brutal murder that had happened in different towns and states over the last 15 years or so. At first, I thought it was just... I don't know, research. Maybe she was working on some true crime novel or something. But the more I read, the colder my blood ran. The dates. The locations. They all lined up eerily well with the times our family moved. I always thought it was because of my dad's job. He used to travel a lot, so every few years, we'd pack up and start fresh somewhere new. But what if that wasn't the whole story? What if the real reason we were constantly moving was because my mom had to stay one step ahead of the law. I started to spiral. Big time.

Every night after that, I lay in bed with my brain stuck in overdrive, trying to make sense of it all. I started noticing things I had never paid attention to before. Like how mom always seemed to know a little too much about criminal investigations. Or how she'd get oddly quiet whenever true crime shows came on. There was this one night, she even smiled while watching a documentary about a guy who buried his victims in his garden. Not a big grin or anything, just this tiny, knowing smirk that sent a chill down my spine. From there, everything started to feel, off. Our house began to feel like it was watching me. Every creak in the floorboards, every flicker of the hallway light, every time the basement door

creaked open on its own, it all became fuel for my growing paranoia. And trust me, when your own home turns into a haunted house of your own making, there's no getting away from it. I tried to convince myself that I was overthinking things. Maybe she just had a weird hobby. Maybe it was all just coincidence. But then the late-night phone calls started happening more often. She'd whisper, sometimes in another language, or code maybe. I couldn't make it out, but the tone of her voice was always cold, flat, emotionless. Then there were her mysterious midnight outings. She'd say she was going out for a walk or to pick up something she forgot earlier. At 1 a.m. Come on. One night, I followed her. Yeah, I know. Classic horror movie mistake,

but I couldn't help myself. I stayed back far enough so she wouldn't notice, heart thudding like a war drum. She drove across town to this run-down old warehouse that looked like it hadn't been touched since the 80s. She was inside for almost two hours. I have no clue what she was doing in there, but when she came out, her hands were stained dark. Could have been Greece, or something else. I wanted to confront her. God, I wanted to scream at her and demand the truth. But how do you even start that conversation? Hey, Mom, are you? Are you a you secretly a murderer? Yeah, that would go over well. So I waited. I kept watching, taking notes, snapping picks when I could. I even took one of the newspaper clippings to school

and showed it to my journalism teacher, asking him if he recognized the story. He didn't, but he said it sounded eerily similar to a case in another state a few years ago. The worst part. I started to feel crazy. Like, really crazy. My friends noticed I was distracted, moody, anxious all the time. I couldn't tell them what was going on, though. Who would believe me? It sounds completely insane. A suburban soccer mom moonlighting as a serial killer.

Netflix wouldn't even touch that script. I thought maybe if I just laid low, things would blow over. Maybe I could convince myself it was all in my head. But then, one night, I heard noise. from the basement. I mean real, undeniable noises. Like dragging. Chains rattling. Whispering. I grabbed a flashlight, slipped out of bed, and crept down the stairs, heart hammering like it was about to explode. The basement door was cracked open just a bit. I pushed it gently and peered down. The air smelled like rust and something, rotten. I didn't go all the way down. I could

couldn't. Something in might get screamed at me to turn back. I started sleeping with my door locked. I even slid my dresser in front of it some nights. Then came the day I found the journal. It was tucked behind some books on her shelf. Leather bound, worn, with pages and pages of handwritten entries. It wasn't even hidden that well, which makes me think she either didn't care if someone found it or assumed I never would. Most of it was ramblings. disturbing ones she talked about cleansing people about how the world was dirty and she was just doing her part to fix it she mentioned names i googled a few missing persons that was the last straw i packed a bag and left that night stayed with a friend for a few days while i tried to figure out what to do i even considered going to the police but what would i tell them my mom writes creepy stuff and has old newspapers. They'd laugh me out the building. Or worse, they'd tell her I came by, and then what? I end up as her next, project. I created a burner account on Reddit

and shared the gist of it, hoping someone out there might have advice. The responses ranged from, get out now, to, you need serious help. One person even said their aunt was like this and they turned her in. I don't know if it was true, but it gave me a weird sense of solidarity. So now, here I am. I came back home after a week, pretending like nothing happened. I had to. I couldn't risk her coming after me or anyone I stayed with. She acted normal, like super normal. Too normal. It was like she flipped a switch. Dinner on time, hugs, little jokes. But I could see it in her eyes. That cold, dead stare when she thought, I thought I wasn't looking. The tension is unbearable now. Every day feels like I'm living

inside a pressure cooker that could explode any second. I've been documenting everything. Taking photos, videos, screenshots of her journal pages. If something happens to me, I need people to know the truth. But what is the truth? Is my mama killer? Is she part of something bigger? Some kind of cult? Or am I just losing my grip on reality, seeing patterns where none exist? Maybe I've watched too many crime shows. Maybe this is all just some big misunderstanding and I'm going to end up in therapy for the rest of my life because I couldn't separate fiction from reality. But then I remember the basement. I remember the names in the journal. I remember the blood. So what do I do now? That's the million dollar question, right?

I'm stuck totally completely stuck if I go to the cops she might find out and vanish before they can act if I stay quiet who knows what she'll do next maybe I'm on borrowed time already so I'm writing all this here

just in case just so someone knows maybe someone out there has gone through something similar maybe someone has the answers I don't And if you're reading this and thinking I'm nuts. Cool. Maybe I am. But if I disappear, or if something happens to me, please, look into her.

Her name is Angela Carter. Lives in Elmwood, Oregon. If she turns out to be just a weird mom with a creepy hobby, great. But if not. Then I hope this post helps someone uncover the truth. Because the nightmare isn't over. not even close it's just getting started and the truth it's lurking in the shadows waiting to come out i'll update when i can if i can thanks for reading stay safe out there seriously stay safe the end this happened a long time ago when i was a kid my hometown well it wasn't the kind of place people wrote postcards about

It was small, tucked away, and chronically underdeveloped. The kind of town where the biggest news was usually the mill-threatening layoffs again, or the high school football team losing another game. We were in a slow decline, and everyone knew it, even if they didn't say it out loud. Hope was a scarce commodity, something people clung to in whatever form they could find it. And that's where the disappearances came in. It was a known problem, a quiet, persistent ache in the community. community fabric. Kids, mostly teenagers, but sometimes younger, would just vanish. One week they'd be in

class, complaining about homework or dreaming about getting their driver's license, and the next, their desk would be empty. Their locker would stay shut. Whispers would start. The official line, the one that settled over the town like a comforting but threadbare blanket, was that they'd run away. Gone to the city, seeking a better life, adventure, opportunities that our stagnant town couldn't offer. And people, by and large, chose to believe it. It made a grim sort of sense. Who wouldn't want to escape? Who wouldn't yearn for something more than the dusty streets and the resigned faces? But even as a kid, something about it pricked at me. Why would everyone who left cut ties so completely? No letters home, no call.

not even a rumor trickling back through a friend of a friend. It was as if they'd stepped off the edge of the world. Families would grieve, of course, but then they'd latch on to that, better life narrative. It was easier than confronting the void, the awful, echoing silence these kids left behind. Believing they were thriving elsewhere was a bomb, a way to keep the creeping despair of our town at bay. It allowed a sliver of vicarious hope, if they could make it out, maybe the town at itself wasn't a complete dead end. I didn't have many friends, preferred my own company mostly. My walk home from school was usually solitary, a straight shot down Main Street, then a turn

onto Elm, and a few more blocks through a quieter residential area. It was routine, predictable. Until that one afternoon. The day started like any other. School droned on. The final bell was a release. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and started the familiar trek. The air was that specific kind of late autumn cool, crisp but not yet biting. Leaves crunched underfoot. I was about halfway down Main Street when I first noticed him. He was standing across the road, near the boarded-up storefront of what used to be a pharmacy. What caught my eye wasn't that he was there, but that he didn't fit. Our town had its share of eccentrics, but this was different. He was wearing a suit. Not a work suit like Mr. Henderson, the bank manager, wore. This was darker, a bit too formal,

and it seemed, stiff. Like it wasn't made of normal fabric. And it was impeccably clean, which was an oddity in itself in our perpetually dusty town. He was just standing there, not looking at anything in particular, but his stillness was alert, like a heron waiting by the water. I didn't think much of it at first. Maybe a salesman who'd taken a wrong turn. Or someone visiting family. I kept walking. When I glanced across the street again a block later, he was still there, but he'd moved. He was now parallel to me, keeping pace, but on the other side. A faint prickle of unease started on the back of my neck. It was probably nothing.

Coincidence. I made the turn on to Elm Street. It was quieter here, fewer cars, fewer people out and about. I chanced to look back. He'd made the turn too. He was still across the street, but definitely following. The distance between us was the same, but the casualness was gone from his posture. He was walking with a distinct purpose now, his gaze fixed in my general direction.

My heart started to beat a little faster. This wasn't right. Salesman didn't follow kids' home like this. I told myself to be calm. Maybe he was just going the same way. But Elm Street didn't lead to any businesses, just more houses and, eventually, the old scrapyard at the edge of town. I picked up my pace.

Not quite running, but a fast, determined walk. I risked another glance. He matched my speed effortlessly. The suit didn't ripple or bunch, it moved with him as if it were part of him. His face was indistinct from this distance, shadowed, but I could feel his attention on me like a physical weight. Panic began to bubble up, cold and sharp. This wasn't a coincidence. I needed to lose him.

My mind raced. I knew these streets like the back of my hand. He didn't. Instead of continuing straight towards my house, I made a sharp, unplanned right onto a narrow alleyway that cut between two houses. It was a shortcut I sometimes used, overgrown with weeds and usually littered with overflowing trash cans. It smelled damp and forgotten. I broke into a jog, backpack thumping against my spine. When I emerged onto the next street, breathless, I looked back. For a glorious few seconds, the alley was

empty. Relief washed over me, so potent it almost buckled my knees. I'd lost him. Then, he stepped out of the alley. He didn't look rushed or out of breath. He just appeared, smooth and silent, and turned his head, his gaze locking onto me instantly. The distance was shorter now, maybe half a block. I could see his face a little better. It was pale, unremarkable in features, yet utterly devoid of expression. No anger, no curiosity, just a blank, waiting still still pristine. The suit was still pristine. Terror, raw and undiluted, seized me. This was not normal. This was wrong. My only thought was to run. I bolted. My house was still several blocks away, but in the opposite direction now, thanks to my detour. Ahead of me, at the end of this

less traveled road lay the town's unofficial dump, the scrapyard. It was a sprawling mess of rusted cars, discarded appliances, mountains of junk, and treacherous piles of debris. Kids sometimes dared each other to go in, but it was generally avoided. It was vast, chaotic, and dangerous. It was also my best bet. I ran harder than I thought I could, legs pumping, lungs burning. The scrapyard fence, a rickety chain-link affair with several convenient holes, loomed closer. I didn't dare look back. I could hear his footsteps, though, a steady, rhythmic beat on the pavement behind me, never getting closer, never falling further behind.

It was an unervingly consistent sound. I dove through a gap in the fence, scraping my knee, the pain a distant throb compared to the fear coursing through me. The scrapyard enveloped me. The smell was overwhelming, rust, oil, decaying upholstery, damp earth, and something else, something faintly sweet and rotten. Towers of junk rose on either side, creating narrow, winding pathways. I scrambled deeper into the maze, hoping the sheer complexity of the place would be my

salvation. I ducked behind a teetering stack of bald tires, heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I strained my ears, listening for his pursuit over the sound of my own ragged breathing. Silence. Or what passed for silence in a place like this, the groan of stressed metal, the rustle of unseen things in the weeds, the distant hum of the highway. Maybe, just maybe, I'd actually lost him this time. The thought was a fragile flicker of hope. He wouldn't know these paths. He'd give up. I waited, crouched and trembling, for what felt like an eternity but was probably only a minute or two. The adrenaline was starting to ebb, leaving me shaky and cold.

I had to get out of here, but not back the way I came. There was another, more dilapidated section of fence on the far side of the yard, closer to the woods. If I could reach that, I could cut through the trees and circle back to my neighborhood. Slowly, cautiously, I peaked around the tires. The narrow passage was empty. I took a deep breath and started to move again, trying to be as quiet as possible, weaving through the metallic skeletons of forgotten vehicles and mountains of discarded household goods. The sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting long, distorted shadows that writhed and shifted with every gust of wind. The light was turning that burnished gold that signals the end of the day. I was nearing what I judged to be the far

edge of the scrapyard. I could see the ragged line of trees through a gap in a pile of twisted metal. Freedom felt tantalizingly close. I navigated around a rusted out hulk of an old pickup truck, its windows long gone, and then I froze. He was there. Standing directly in my path, not ten feet away, by the very gap in the fence I'd been aiming for. He was just, there. As if he'd been waiting. As if he'd known exactly where I was going. My blood ran cold.

Every nerve screamed. There was no surprise on his face, no triumph. Just that same blank, patient watchfulness. The impeccably clean suit seemed to absorb the fading light, making him look darker, more solid. He took a step towards me. A strangled sob escaped my throat. I didn't think, I reacted. I spun around and plunged back into the labyrinth of junk, deeper this time.

There was no plan, just a desperate need for distance. This time, I heard him coming after me immediately. And he was faster. Much faster. His footsteps weren't the steady, rhythmic pace from before. They were quick, unervingly light, yet covering ground at a speed that didn't seem humanly possible for someone in a suit, navigating this treacherous terrain. It was like he was gliding over the debris.

Panic clawed at my throat, making it hard to breathe. I scrambled, tripped, caught myself, pushed onward. My lungs ached. My scraped knee throbbed. Tears streamed down my face, blurring my vision. I could hear him getting closer. I spotted a small, dark opening beneath a pile of flattened car bodies, the kind that had been crushed into grotesque rectangles.

It looked like a shallow cave of rusted metal. Without a second thought, I threw myself to the ground and wormed my way into the tight space. It was cramped, filthy, and smelled of stale oil and damp earth. Jagged edges of metal pressed into me from all sides. I squeezed myself as far back as I could, until my shoulders hit the unyielding, cold ground at the very back. I was completely hidden, enveloped in oppressive darkness, save for a sliver of grayish light filtering through a small gap near the front of my metallic tomb. I held my breath, listening.

Silence. Then, footsteps. Slow now, measured. Moving around the pile of cars I was under. I could hear the crunch of debris beneath his shoes, the occasional soft metallic scrape. He was searching. Through the tiny gap, I saw a sliver of his dark trousers pass by. Then again, he was circling.

My heart felt like it was going to explode. I pressed my face into the dirt, trying to muffle the sound of my own terrified gasps. Every instinct screamed at me to stay still, to become part of the earth and rust around me. The sun was definitely going down now. The already dim light filtering into my hiding spot was fading. rapidly. The shadows outside were lengthening, merging, swallowing details. Then, he spoke. His voice was calm, almost gentle, but it carried an unnatural resonance that vibrated through the metal around me. Come on out, kid. A pause. There's no need to hide. We can just talk, talk.

The absurdity of it was a fresh stab of fear. What could we possibly talk about? I stayed silent, frozen. I know you're in here somewhere, his voice continued, still calm, but with an edge now, like a carefully sharpened blade. This yard isn't that big. I'll find you, he moved again, his footsteps methodically covering the area around my hiding spot. I could hear him shifting debris, the screech of metal on metal. Each sound sent a jolt of terror through me.

The light through my gap was almost gone. It was becoming truly dark under the cars. And then, the voice changed. Sweetheart, are you in there? It's mommy, my blood turned to ice. It was my mother's voice. Not just similar, it was her. The exact tone, the cadence, the little lilt she had when she was worried.

The sound of it, so familiar, so comforting in any other context, was now the most terrifying thing I had ever heard. Baby, please come out. I was so worried when you didn't come home. What are you doing in this awful place? Come out, it's getting dark. Let's go home. A part of my brain, the logical part, knew it wasn't her.

Couldn't be. But the raw, primal fear, coupled with that perfect imitation, a tiny, treacherous part of me wanted to believe it. Wanted to crawl out and find her there, to have this nightmare end. Please, honey, the voice pleaded, laced with a perfect imitation of maternal distress. You're scaring me. Just come out. Everything will be okay.

Tears were flowing freely now, silent tears of utter terror and confusion. I bit down hard on my lip to stop myself from making a sound, tasting the coppery tang of blood. He was trying to lure me out. He knew my mother's voice. How? How could he know that? The last vestiges of daylight vanished. The scrapyard was now plunged into near total darkness, relieved only by the faintest ambient glow from the distant town lights, which barely penetrated this deep into the junk.

Under the cars, it was absolute black. I was blind, relying only on sound. I thought I was doomed. He would find me. He was patient, methodical. It was only a matter of time. The voice, her voice, had stopped. There was only silence for a moment, a heavy, pregnant silence.

Then, a new sound. A low-grown, guttural and pained. It wasn't human. It was followed by a rasping, wet growl, like an animal in distress. It seemed to come from right outside my hiding spot. My fear ratcheted up to a level I didn't know was possible. What was happening? The growls intensified, mixed with harsh, choking sounds.

It sounded like he was in agony. Like the darkness itself was hurting him. And then, his own voice again, but ragged now, strained, filled with a furious, desperate anger that was far more terrifying than his earlier calm. Damn it all! The light, gone too soon. Another pained snarl. Then, chillingly clear, his words cut through the

the night, seeming to echo in the sudden stillness, I will find you eventually, Kid. Just in another day, perhaps, there was a strange rustling sound then, like dry leaves skittering across concrete, or sand pouring from a height. It lasted only a few seconds. And then, nothing. Absolute silence. No footsteps. No breathing. No pained growls. He was gone. I stayed huddled in that metallic coffin for what felt like ours, too terrified to move, too shocked to process. Eventually, the cramping in my limbs and the desperate need to escape the crushing darkness forced me to act. Trembling uncontrollably, I slowly, agonizingly, pushed myself out from under the cars. The scrapyard was utterly dark, save for the sliver of moon that had risen.

I stood there, shaking, expecting him to reappear at any moment. But there was nothing. No sign of him. Where he had been standing, or where I thought he had been from the sounds, there was just, dust. A faint, fine layer of something dark on the ground, already being disturbed by the night breeze. It looked like a patch of exceptionally dry soil, out of place amongst the damp earth and rusted metal. I didn't wait to examine it. I ran.

I ran out of that scrapyard the way I'd come, not caring about it. the noise I made, fueled by a primal terror that lent my leg's impossible strength. I ran through the dark streets, not stopping until I slammed through my front door, gasping for breath, collapsing in a heap in the hallway. My parents were frantic. I was covered in dirt, grease, my knee was bleeding, my clothes were torn, and I was hysterical. I tried to tell them. I babbled about a man, a suit, the scrapyard, his voice, my mother's voice.

But it came out as a jumbled, incoherent mess. They thought I'd had a bad scare, maybe got chased by a dog, or had a run-in with some older bullies. They cleaned me up, bandaged my knee, and put me to bed. I never told them the full truth. How could I? How could I explain that the man who chased me, the man who sounded like my mother, had turned to dust when the sun went down? They would have thought I was crazy. Maybe I was, but I knew what I saw, and I knew what I heard.

That thing in the suit wasn't just a serial killer or a kidnapper. It was something else. Something that couldn't stand the night, or perhaps, couldn't exist without daylight in its physical form. Something that hunted in the full light of the sun. The disappearances in our town. I started to see them in a new light. Were they all just kids running away? for a better life. Or had some of them, like me, taken a wrong turn on their way home,

on a day when the sun didn't set a little too quickly? Had they been lured by familiar voices out of hiding, into the waiting darkness? The thought made me sick. That promise, I will find you eventually, kid. Just in another day, perhaps, has haunted me ever since. I moved away from that town as soon as I could. I try to live a normal life. But I'm always aware of the sun. I don't like being out alone when it's full day. And sometimes, on quiet evening, when the shadows grow long, I think I hear a faint rustling, like dry leaves, or sand.

I don't know why it seemed to turn to dust. I don't know what it was. But I know it was real. And I know it wanted me. The gaps in our town weren't just kids leaving for the city. Some of those gaps were torn open by things that thrive under the daylight. Let me take you back to when I was just 14, a summer night I wish I could forget. School had just let out, and the freedom felt intoxicating. That night,

I was at my buddy Sam's house, probably stayed later than I should have, lost track of time gaming and goofing off. It was one of those warm, sticky nights where the cicadas won't shut up and the air just clings to your skin. I wasn't worried, though. I'd walked home from Sam's place more times than I could count. Same sidewalks, same streetlights, same trees. I figured it would just be another quiet walk home. But this night was different. The first few blocks. Totally normal. Nothing creepy. No strange sounds, no weird people, just me and the dark. But then, right when my sneakers scraped the sidewalk just past an old, flickering lamp post, I heard it. Whistling. Soft, drawn out, almost like a tune you hear in a horror movie when something awful is about to happen. I froze. Just stopped dead in my tracks. Spun around so fast I almost twisted my ankle. But there was no one. Just a quiet, empty street. Streetlight buzzing above. Trees rustling slightly. No cars passing. It was dead quiet except for that damn.

whistle that now seemed to echo in my head. Probably the wind, I told myself. Maybe the leaves or some bird messing with me. Tried to laugh it off. Tried to believe it. My brain wanted it to be true so badly. Then I heard it again. Closer. Now I knew it wasn't the wind. I whipped around and spotted something I hadn't seen before, a guy bent over on the passenger side of a parked car across the street. I don't remember that car being there before. But hey, maybe I just didn't notice it earlier. My nerves were kicking in, so I forced myself to believe that the person was just getting something out of his car. Totally normal.

Totally not creepy at all. Except the whistling had stopped again. Just gone. Like someone pressing mute. I picked up the pace. Walked faster. Told myself not to look back again. But my body didn't care about what I was telling it.

I couldn't help but glance over my shoulder every ten seconds. Then, just when I reached the darkest stretch of the route, a place with no streetlights, I heard the footsteps. And the whistling. This time it was unmistakable. There was no wind, no birds, no coincidence. Someone was following me. I turned around, walking backwards, trying to keep my eyes on the street behind me.

I shouted, who's there, like some idiot thinking the bad guy in a horror movie is going to be like, oh hey, it's just me. But of course, nothing. Not even the footsteps anymore. No more whistling either. Just thick, horrible silence. Then suddenly, a.m. A flashlight beam hit me square in the face from the blackness.

Bright, white, disorienting. My eyes freaked out. went all static like an old TV. I stumbled backward, heart jackhammering in my chest. Then I heard footsteps. Heavy. Fast. I didn't wait to see who it was. I bolted. Just ran. Blind, desperate. My eyes still hadn't adjusted, so I was running basically in the dark, only focused on the feel of the concrete under my sneakers and the sound of my own breath struggling to keep up with my body. And behind me? The damn whistling again. I was too young for a cell phone back then. We didn't all carry them around like we do now. So I couldn't call anyone.

Couldn't scream for help because my voice would just vanish into the trees and darkness. All I could do was run and pray my house wasn't too far away. Every breath felt like my lungs were going to explode. My side started to cramp up, like a night. knife being twisted just under my ribs. I tried to pace my breathing, force myself not to panic. But I could still hear the man behind me. His footsteps were steady, relentless. His damn whistling never missed a beat. Then I saw the turn ahead, a curve in the road that was lined with huge evergreen holly bushes. I remembered them because when I was younger, I used to throw rocks at them pretending they were enemy bases. Now they might be the only thing.

between me and this freak. I sprinted toward the bushes and dove into them, thorns tearing into my arms and face. I clenched my teeth, trying not to cry out. The pain was sharp and immediate, but I had to stay quiet. Had to stay hidden. From where I crouched, I could just barely see the street. And then I saw him. He walked around the bend slowly. A tall guy, broad shoulders. He had the flashlight off now. He wasn't running anymore. He walked like he knew I was nearby. Like a predator toying with its prey.

He stopped. Just a few feet away from the bush I was hiding in. He scanned the area with his flashlight. Left. Right. Across the street. But never directly at me. It felt like forever. My heart was pounding.

so loudly I was afraid he'd hear it. I was shaking, biting the inside of my cheek just to keep from gasping. Then, like nothing had happened, he turned around and casually walked back the way he came. I stayed put until he disappeared around the bend. Then I crawled out. Bleeding, scratched up, but alive. I got back on the sidewalk and started walking home again, this time at a full sprint. When my house finally came into view, I felt a wave of relief so intense I almost cried. The porch light was on. I was almost safe. But then, right when I slowed down, about 30 yards from my door, I heard it. A voice. Raspby. Low. Whispering from right behind me. I found you. I turned, heart-dropping into my stomach.

The man was standing under a broken streetlight, wearing a dark red shirt, or was it white? It looked like it had, stains on it. His right arm. Covered in something that looked like a tattoo but, twisted. Sharp. Red. I didn't wait to inspect further. I ran.

Screamed. Tored down my driveway yelling for my parents at the top of my lungs. Lights off. 1 a.m. Everyone asleep. But I didn't care. I made it to the door, slammed it open, crashed inside. Knocked over a lamp, tripped over the rug, stumbled into my parents' room in a hysterical mess. Someone's following me. He's outside. He's going to kill me. My dad shot up, grabbed his shotgun from the closet without even blinking. My mom called 911 while I hid under a blanket like a little kid. Dad went outside. Flashlight in one hand, shotgun in the other. Mom and I

watched through the blinds. I don't know if I breathed for the next 20 minutes. Then finally, red and blue lights filled our driveway. The sheriff had arrived. They talked to my dad, then came inside. I told them everything. Every detail. The car. The flashlight. The whistling. The voice. The scratches. One deputy asked me if I remembered where I first saw the guy. I told them the name of the street, mentioned the parked car. They told us to lock everything up and said they'd be in touch. Hours passed. Nothing. 2.30 a.m. 3 a.m. Still nothing. My mom started saying maybe it was just some drunk or messed up guy looking for a place to sleep. Maybe he was in jail now cooling off.

She kissed me and went to bed. Dad stayed up. Sat in the living room with his shotgun, eyes fixed on the front door. I went to my room, but I didn't sleep. I laid there staring out the window, waiting for sunrise. Around 4.30 a.m., I heard a knock. I jumped out of bed. It was the cops again.

My dad opened the door, and the officer, now was a minute. with a detective badge, asked if I could come out to ID someone they had in custody. I was already at the door before he even called for me. I said I'd go, as long as dad came too. When we got outside, I saw six patrol cars. Lights on. No sirens. Deputies everywhere. Flashlights moving around like we were in the middle of a crime scene. They pulled the guy out of the car. They He shined a flashlight in his face. And I almost screamed. That red shirt was white.

Now soaked in blood. That tattoo. Not ink. Scratch marks. Deep. Fresh. Angry lines all down his arm. Is this the man you saw, the detective asked me.

I nodded. Couldn't speak. My throat was sand. "'You're safe now,' the detective said. He turned to talk to my dad in private. I walked back inside. Shaking. Sweating.

Every inch of me sore. And even now, years later, I still hear the whistling sometimes. Especially when it's dark. I've been sitting on this for a while, unsure if I should even post it, but I think it's time to finally get this off my chest. I was in a relationship with my girlfriend for almost three years. We were really close, shared everything, planned for the future, talked about getting married, maybe even having kids one day.

She was my best friend, my partner in crime. I thought I had found someone I could trust with my heart, someone who would never hurt me. But I was wrong. About six months ago, I started noticing some weird things, small, almost unnoticeable changes in her behavior. She'd become more distant, less affectionate, and I found myself questioning if it was something I was doing wrong. I tried talking to her about it, but she always brushed it off. I'm just stressed, or, I'm fine, were the usual answers. But deep down, I felt something was off. One

evening, I came home early from work and found her in the middle of a video call. I didn't think much of it at first, but I overheard her laughing, almost flirtatiously. It sounded like someone else was there, so I walked into the room, and when she saw me, she instantly hung up the call. That was the first red flag, but I didn't want to jump to conclusions. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. A few weeks later, I found a text on her phone. I didn't mean to snoop, but her phone was unlocked and the message caught my eye. It was from a guy I didn't recognize. The message was casual, but there was a certain tone to it that made me uncomfortable. I tried to talk to her about it, but she denied everything. She was

defensive, and the more she insisted that I was overreacting, the more I felt like my instincts were right. It wasn't until I found out the truth, completely by accident, that my world came crashing down. I was out with some friends, and one of them, someone I'd known for years, pulled me aside and told me they'd seen her at a bar with a guy. Not just any guy, but someone she had slept with. It was devastating. Apparently, she'd been seeing him behind my back for months, and the messages I had seen earlier were just the tip of the iceberg. I confronted her. I wasn't angry at first, just completely shattered. She admitted to everything. All the lies, all the deceit. She apologized, of course, but I don't think she truly understood

the damage she caused. She told me she was confused, that she never meant for things to go this far, but the truth was, she chose him over me. I left her that night. I packed my things, walked out of the apartment, and haven't looked back since. I don't know if I'll ever forgive her, but I know one thing for sure, I've learned that no matter how much you trust someone, people can still surprise you, and not always in good ways. Since then, I've been trying to piece my life back together. It's been hard, honestly. I thought I was building a future with her, and now I'm left with nothing but memories of someone I thought I knew. The worst part is, I keep wondering if I could have done something differently, if I missed something, or if she had been feeling this way

all along and just hit it from me. I guess I'm writing this because I'm tired of feeling like the fool. I'm tired of carrying the weight of this betrayal. And I guess I just need to hear that things will get better. I want to move on, but I'm still haunted by what happened. I never thought this would be my story, but here I am. If anyone has been through something similar, I could really use some advice on how to move on, or even just some words of encouragement. I don't know how to trust again, but I'm hoping time will heal this. Thanks for reading. Kimberly Proctor and her story are something straight out of a nightmare. A small town girl with big dreams, who just wanted to fit in, but ended up entangled with

the worst kind of people. This is a story of betrayal, manipulation, and a crime so gruesome it shook an entire community. But let's start from the beginning. Kimberly Proctor was born on January 1, 1992, in Langford, British Columbia. She was the youngest child of Lucy and Fred Proctor and had a kind, warm personality. People who knew her described her as sweet, caring, and deeply devoted to those she loved. But her life outside her home was far from easy. From an early age, Kim struggled with fitting in. Langford, at the time, was a picturesque little city, marketed as an ideal place to live in Canada.

But for Kim, it was anything but. She was often the target of bullying due to her innocent and somewhat childlike personality. Some classmates mocked her for her interests, particularly her love for anime. She sometimes wore cat ears, whether as a fashion statement or simply because she liked them. Some people claim she was bullied for this, others say she had feline-like facial features and was teased for looking like a cat. Regardless of the reason, it only added to the torment she endured. To make matters worse, Kim had ADHD, which made school difficult for her.

She struggled with concentration, had trouble retaining information, and found social situations overwhelming. The constant stress and anxiety took a toll on her. She hated crowded hallways, struggled to speak in public, and felt like she didn't belong. Her parents, seeing how much she was suffering, took her to a psychologist and later put her on medication. But instead of helping, the medication left her feeling numb, detached, like she was just existing rather than living. Eventually, they took her off the meds, hoping for a better solution. In an effort to give her a fresh start, her parents enrolled her in Pacific Secondary, an alternative school meant to provide more individualized attention.

But Pacific Secondary wasn't just a school for kids who needed extra help, it also had students with behavioral issues. And that's where Kim met the people who would change her life forever. At first, things seemed to be looking up. She made friends. Her grades improved. Her parents saw a happier, more confident Kim. But not all of her new friends had the best intentions.

Some sources say they were just typical rebellious teenagers, skipping class, experimenting with weed, drinking in parks at night. Others say the group had darker tendencies, indulging in behaviors that hinted at something much more sinister. One of the people Kim grew close to was a boy named Zach. They clicked almost instantly and started dating. It was intense, like most teenage romances, full of declarations of love and promises of forever. But, like most teenage romances, it didn't last. And when it ended, Kim was heartbroken. She felt lost, vulnerable. And that's when two boys from her group saw an opportunity. These boys were Crewewellwood, 16, and his best friend, Cameron Moffat, 17. To the outside world, they seemed

like two regular teenage boys, but beneath the surface, they were anything but. Crew Wellwood came from a deeply troubled home. He lived with his mother in a modest house on Happy Valley Road. But his father was a convicted criminal, a murderer, to be precise. Robert Raymond Desjardins had been sentenced to life in prison for the brutal assault and murder of a 16-year-old girl in 2001. He wasn't eligible for parole for 15 years, but even when that time came, his behavior was so erratic that he was denied release. In 2017, he even attempted to escape prison, but he was caught soon after. With a father like that, you'd think crew would want to be different. But instead, he idolized him.

From a young age, he was involved in theft, fights, and drug use. He had a reputation for being the bad boy at school. But what he really wanted was someone who would go along with his dark thoughts. And he found that person in Cameron. Cameron Moffat, known as Cam, had his own demons. He had ADHD and was a bigger kid, which made him feel inferior to others. But worse than that, he had been assaulted by a family member when he was just four years old. His trauma affected him deeply, leading to violent tendencies, self-harm, and a growing obsession

with dark fantasies. His parents put him in therapy and medicated him, but he refused to comply. He hated the medication, he hated the therapy, and most of all, he hated himself. When he met Crewe, everything changed. Crew was strong, charismatic, confident, everything Cam wasn't. He became Cam's role model, his guide into a world of violence and destruction. Together, they were unstoppable. They skipped school, got into fights, vandalized property, and spent their nights getting

drunk in parks. One summer, they beat a kid with bike chains until he bled. Another time, crew drank so much he ended up in a coma. But their interests weren't just limited to violence in the real world. They also had a deep fascination with the darkest corners of the Internet. They spent hours playing World of Warcraft, watching graphic content, and discussing disturbing topics. even started a blog titled Early Warning Signs of a Serial Killer, where he analyzed the characteristics of murderers. In one post, he wrote, The most interesting part is that I meet

all 14 criteria for being a serial killer. Apparently, if you meet all the criteria, it's unlikely you're not one. I guess only time will tell. When Canne joined Kim's friend group, things took a darker turn. He developed feelings for her and eventually confessed them. Kim, however, didn't feel the same. She was more drawn to The crew, he was charming, smooth with words, knew exactly how to make her feel special. Their conversations on Messenger were filled with deep confessions, insecurities, and promises. She told him she felt ugly, and he told her she was beautiful. She admitted she had trust issues, and he reassured her he would never hurt her.

What she didn't know was that behind the screen, Crew and Cam were plotting something far more sinister. One day, Cam snapped. He threatened Kim, saying if she didn't send him explicit photos, he would spread fake rumors about her. But Kim refused. Crew, ever the, Knight in Shining Armor, defended her. He pretended to fight with Cam over it, gaining Kim's trust even more.

What she didn't realize was that it was all an act. On March 18, 2010, everything came to a head. The day before, Kim had found out she had enough credits to graduate. She was ecstatic, ready to move forward with her life. That morning, her mom kissed her on the forehead before heading to work, thinking Kim would sleep in. Instead, Kim woke up, logged on to Messenger, and started chatting. Crew messaged her, saying he needed to talk. He sounded sad, serious.

Concerned, Kim agreed to meet him. She got dressed, left her house, and took the bus to Cruz place. When she arrived, both boys were waiting for her. They led her inside, and as soon as the door shut, everything changed. What happened next is almost too horrific to describe. The boys tied her up, gagged her, and tortured her for hours. They did unspeakable things before finally ending her life. But even in death, their cruelty didn't stop.

They desecrated her body, stuffed it in a hockey bag, and carried it onto a bus. They took it deep into the woods, under a bridge, doused it in gasoline, and set it on fire. The search for Kim was frantic. Her parents called her phone repeatedly, but it was off. When she didn't show up to babysit, they knew something was wrong. The police got involved quickly, searching her messages, her last known location. And soon, suspicion fell on crew and cam. It didn't take long for them to crack.

They bragged about the crime in online chats, assuming the messages would disappear. But they didn't. When investigators retrieved them, they had all the evidence they needed. The boys were arrested and sentenced to life in prison. Now, over a decade later, they remain behind bars, still lacking remorse. And the question remains, will they ever regret what they did? Sydney Irene Loof was born on August 21, 1993, in Broken Bow, Nebraska, as one of the three children of Susie in George Loof.

According to her loved ones, Sidney was kind, cheerful, sociable, sincere, and passionate about animals and sports. She grew up in the town of Arcadia, where she had a happy childhood with her two siblings, McKenzie and Lee A.I. In 2000, her family moved to Nalai, where the children attended school, and 11 years later, Sydney graduated from Nalai Oakdale High School. During her school years, Sydney was known for her athletic abilities. She excelled in golf and basketball, but her life took a challenging turn when doctors diagnosed her with scoliosis. This condition forced her to give up her two favorite sports. However, her best friend, Brooklyn McChrystal, described

Sidney as a resilient and positive person who could tackle any challenge. Despite the setback, Sidney remained her upbeat self. By 2017, Sydney had moved out and was living independently in Lincoln, Nebraska. She worked as a cashier at a hardware store and led a simple, routine life. She was punctual at work, kept in touch with friends, and was known to be responsible. She had even gotten two tattoos, which reflected her personal style and creativity. Nothing about her life seemed out of the ordinary. However, as the year neared its end, Sydney began to feel a deep sense of loneliness. Many of her friends were in relationships, getting married, or enjoying casual flings, while she found herself alone. Her best friend Brooklyn suggested she tried

dating apps, specifically Tinder. Brooklyn helped Sydney set up her profile, teaching her how to use the app, and Sydney decided to give it a shot. In November 2017, Sydney matched with a 25-year-old woman named Audrey on Tinder. Audrey's profile had only one photo, heavily filtered, but something about it intrigued Sidney. They exchanged 140 messages within a short period and seemed to hit it off. On Tuesday, November 14th, they went on their first date. Sidney described the experience as perfect. She shared Audrey's photo with her friends, gushed about how wonderful Audrey was, and expressed

hope that Audrey wasn't already taken. The connection was so strong that they arranged to meet again the very next. next day, on Wednesday, November 15th. Sidney was excited and nervous about the second date. Before heading out, she snapped a selfie and posted it on Snapchat with the caption, ready for my date. Her friends eagerly awaited updates about how the evening went. However, things quickly took a strange turn.

Brooklyn, concerned when Sydney didn't respond to her messages after the date, began to worry. Sydney wasn't the type to rush into things, so her lack of communication felt odd. To make matters worse, her parents had also been trying to contact her without success. As the hours passed, Sidney's phone went silent and eventually turned off, adding to everyone's growing unease. Brooklyn decided to investigate. She remembered the photo and details of Audrey's Tinder profile and began searching for her on social media platforms like Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. Despite her efforts, Audrey's image and profile didn't appear anywhere. Convinced it was a fake profile, Brooklyn created a new Tinder account, searched for Audrey,

and eventually matched with her. Audrey provided her phone number, which Brooklyn shared with the police, suspecting foul play. Meanwhile, Sydney's absence raised alarm bells at her workplace. She was always punctual, and her failure to show up was uncharacteristic. Her parents visited her apartment, only to find everything in its place. The neatly arranged space, along with her agitated cat mims, who seemed to have been and unfed since the previous day, indicated that something was seriously wrong. Concerned, the family reported Sidney's disappearance to the police.

Law enforcement immediately began their investigation. They searched Sydney's apartment but found no signs of a struggle. There was no indication she had packed up or left willingly, her belongings and essentials were all untouched. Sydney's family was adamant that she would never abandon her beloved cat. The police focused on her last known movements and discovered she had been on a date the night before. Brooklyn provided the information she had gathered about Audrey, including her phone number, which helped the police trace her. What they uncovered was shocking. Audrey was a real

person, but her name wasn't Audrey, and she wasn't 25 years old. Her real name was Bailey Mary Boswell, a 23-year-old woman living in Wilbur, Nebraska, about 50 kilometers from Lincoln. Bailey was not single, she was in a relationship with a 51-year-old man named Aubrey Trail. The age Gap and the duo's troubled backgrounds raised further suspicion. Aubrey Traill's childhood was marked by abuse from his father. After enduring years of trauma, Trail was taken in by his grandfather, but his return to his mother's care brought further complications when she remarried a man who continued the cycle of abuse.

Trails troubled upbringing led him down a criminal path. He was arrested for armed robbery and later served time in prison for fraud. Bailey's early life seemed more stable. Her father was murdered when she was a child, but her mother was. mother remarried, providing Bailey with a loving home. However, as a teenager, Bailey's life took a darker turn. She married young, had a child, and endured abusive relationships. She later created a profile on Backpage, a website known for facilitating sex work, where she

met Aubrey Trail. Their relationship became a toxic and criminal partnership. Using Sidney's phone data, the police tracked her last known location to Bailey and Aubrey's home. In question, Bailey claimed she had spent time with Sydney on November 15. They had driven around, smoked marijuana, and talked before Bailey dropped Sydney off at a friend's house. Bailey said she didn't know the friend's name or address and hadn't heard from Sydney since.

Bailey's account was riddled with inconsistencies. Her nervous demeanor and hesitation raised red flags. The police asked her to return for further questioning, but she and Aubrey disappeared before the meeting. They began posting videos on social media, proclaiming their innocence. They claimed they had nothing to do with Sydney's disappearance and accused the police of harassment. The couple's posts provided clues to their whereabouts. On November 30th, they were apprehended at a motel in Branson, Missouri.

Meanwhile, the FBI and local police had launched extensive searches. On December 4th and 5th, Sydney's dismembered remains were found in garbage bags scattered along a highway near Wilbur. The gruesome discovery included human body parts mixed with sex toys. Forensic analysis revealed that Sydney had died from strangulation, and the manner of her death suggested prolonged suffering. Investigators uncovered damning evidence against Bailey and Aubrey. Surveillance footage showed the pair purchasing a saw, knives, cleaning supplies, and garbage bags from a hardware store. A search of their home revealed an unervingly clean space and traces of Sydney's DNA in a large plastic tub. Everything pointed to the couple's involvement in Sydney's murder.

The trial began in June 2018, and the couple's stories diverged. Aubrey admitted to killing Sydney but claimed Bailey had no part in it. He described Sydney as a willing participant in a consensual sexual encounter, during which he accidentally strangled her. He then claimed Bailey merely helped dispose of the body. However, Aubrey's narrative took a bizarre turn. He claimed to be part of a satanic cult, identifying himself as a vampire who gained power by inflicting pain in taking lives.

He detailed Sidney's murder, describing it as a ritualistic act to enhance his abilities. At one point during the trial, Aubrey attempted to slit his throat with a razor blade, further shocking the courtroom. The prosecution presented testimony from other women who had encountered Bailey and Aubrey. These young women described similar patterns

of manipulation and exploitation. Bailey lured them in through Tinder, gained their trust, and introduced them to Aubrey, who often spoke of dark fantasies involving twilight, torture and murder. One woman recounted how Aubrey had openly shared his desire to film himself killing someone. The defense argued that Bailey was another victim of Aubrey's manipulation. They portrayed her as a submissive young woman dominated by her much older and more controlling

partner. The jury, however, was unconvinced. Aubrey Trail was found guilty of first-degree murder, conspiracy to commit murder, and improper disposal of human remains. He was sentenced to death in June 2021 after his appeals were denied. Bailey Marie Boswell was convicted of conspiracy to commit murder and improper disposal of human remains. She was spared the death penalty but received a life sentence without the possibility of parole. To this day, many believe Bailey was as culpable as Aubrey, despite her defense team's portrayal of her as a victim. The case of Sidney Loof is a haunting reminder of the dangers lurking behind seemingly ordinary encounters. It raises questions about justice and whether

the sentences were fair. What do you think? Were the punishments fitting for the crime, or does the story leave unresolved doubts? I told my roommate slash friend that his girlfriend was baby trapping him and I don't regret it. All names have been changed for privacy, I, 25F, moved in with my close friend Sarah, 24F, and her boyfriend, Dan, 27M, we worked for separate contractors and the same warehouse, but we all had the same job and made good money for our age. I fought really hard for the place that we wanted and had to step up and be the adult when it came time for rental applications and finding a place. They were not much help, but I found a place that we all liked and moved in. I also had to pay for her part of the deposit when we moved in because she

didn't have the money together yet, but I was excited about the place and didn't want to miss out on getting it. Edit, we had been preparing to move for a couple months, she eventually did pay me back after almost two and a half months and took a small vacation before doing so. Everything the first couple months went great and we were all getting along very well, we had game nights and had fun cooking four slash with each other. During the fourth month I was being woken up every morning to the sound of my female roommate throwing up very loudly, after a few days of this I finally mentioned that she should take a pregnancy test and her boyfriend agreed. I knew they were excited about being parents someday but before we moved and together I made it very clear I did

not want to live with a baby and they both agreed they didn't want them yet. She went to the bathroom took a test. When she came out she held up the test, I had misread it and thought it was negative and visibly was happy and relieved. When she pointed at the test and I looked closer, I realized it was positive, I went completely silent and went to my room and closed the door. My boyfriend was in my room and had heard the whole conversation and he was also at a loss for words. I was incredibly worried because although she was my friend, she is a very irresponsible person, which only got worse after she found out she was expecting. I knew she would want to keep it and I was supportive the best I could be because she is my friend and I knew

her boyfriend was amazing and always knew he loved her very much and treated her well. He is an extremely nice and fun guy who me and my boyfriend had become good friends with. In the past her ex-fiancee had made her get an abortion because they were very young and they wouldn't be able to handle a child yet and a year after that she had had had a miscarriage, I think probably due to her ED which she had gotten better with since me and her current boyfriend had entered her life and she was always very excited to tell us when, she had gained a few pounds every now and then, and we would make sure to let her know we were proud of her. She had told me a while before that she was on the same birth control as me, which is an implant that

goes in your arm and is one of the most effective birth controls that you can have. My doctor had explained to me a long time ago about the importance of getting it removed if I ever got pregnant and was planning on keeping the baby, not to mention to go the doctor and make sure the pregnancy was not ectopic, which can be very dangerous. She went to the doctor the next day and found out that she was 12 weeks along which came as a shock to me and Dan that she was already three months pregnant and that she hadn't noticed considering she had been pregnant before but I knew it was not unheard of. When she came back I was disappointed that she hadn't gotten any sonogram photos, although this pregnancy was a huge inconvenience I was still a friend

and was excited for her. Then she had become a very big burden. She didn't clean up after herself, she was still using her vape, smoking devil's lettuce while pregnant and would still drink an aggressive amount of caffeine was no longer taking care of her cat. She completely stopped cleaning his box and cleaning up after him, not to mention would go days without feeding him or giving him water. The next day while I'm at work, she sends me a very long message about how her and Dan are moving halfway across the country to be with her family and that they would be moving in a month. I was absolutely infuriated by the message and how she seemed to think it wasn't a big deal to leave me with all the bills and rent that I would barely be able to afford on my own,

also her boyfriend and I were the only ones on the lease and he was still responsible for rent. When I got home I explained very calmly how our lease works and then left the room to avoid yelling at them. Dan told me later he agreed that moving right now wasn't fair and that it wouldn't work and he agreed with me that they would stay. As a concerned friend I asked if they removed her birth control and she sidestepped the question by saying that the nurse there didn't think it was a big deal and the OBGYN she went to did not have the equipment to remove it at that time.

I have just recently gotten mine replaced and knew that all that. they did was use a scalpel to remove it, it was a small cut that didn't even need stitches when I got it. So I was a little confused but brushed it away and let her know that she needed to get it removed and that I would even pay for it she couldn't afford it and knew that she didn't have insurance. This began as a heated topic that she would constantly avoid. I asked if I could see her arm, because I have the same one and it is very noticeable and easy to feel it and even see it sometimes, I felt around her arm and couldn't find it or even the small dot scar that I have from when I got mine. I started to get suspicious

but didn't want to think she would lie about something like this. When I got mine, they always make sure to tell you that if any point you can't feel where your implant is or can't find it, that you should go to the ER immediately. In case it went somewhere in your body that it wasn't supposed to. Being a paranoid person, I got increasingly concerned about it that it could end up injuring her or even unalive her if it moved somewhere dangerous, which is unlikely but has happened before with these kind of implants. She didn't seem concerned about it and went back to her room.

It started out as me being a legitimately worried friend and what that could do the her health or the baby's health. But I admit I was already getting suspicious. Sarah finally admitted that her implant had hit its five-year expiration date in February, which is around the time when she got pregnant and it is recommended to get it replaced every three years but lasts up to five. Her boyfriend seemed annoyed that she hadn't told him that it was expired. Dan and me were alone in the kitchen and he asked about the birth control and how it worked

since I also had it. I explained it all to him about the side effects if she can't find it. also while telling him how dangerous it could be, I was hoping he would help push her to get it removed as soon as possible. He agreed with me very much and also showed concern because he had felt her arm and couldn't find it either. Twenty minutes had gone by and we heard her bedroom door open, she came downstairs and asked him what was taking so long and she seemed frustrated that we were talking alone and quietly. He went back up to their room with her and I left it alone and went to my room. I then did something I'm not totally proud of. When

When I got up to use the bathroom I could hear them talking in their room, I wouldn't have cared, but I could hear they were talking about me. So I got closer and started listening to what they were saying. I was no to have a beer or two when I came home from work, I could hear her blaming the things that I had said on my drinking which upset me a lot. She continued saying things that didn't mail sense trying to discredit me any way she could. Especially since I was only telling Dan how the birth control worked because he had asked. I didn't see what the big deal was.

He had quit drinking a couple months ago because she realized she was doing it too often, and then I realized when she quit would also have been around the time that she got pregnant. So I started to wonder if she had known about her pregnancy longer than she said. Too many things were adding up and it started to make my suspicious thought get even worse. She finally went to the urgent care I recommended to get her implant removed. She was getting tests done, they discovered that she had a kidney infection and she would be staying at the hospital for a few days. When she was cleared and came back from the hospital, I asked if they had to have a

had removed her birth control yet and she said they didn't get to it because they were focused on her kidney infection. She started making any excuse to stay at her friend's house and would take Dan with her, I started to consider that she didn't want him anywhere around me and my boyfriend because we both shared similar suspicions and she didn't want us talking to him. Side note, at any point during the situation we had not told him anything other than how the birth control worked. I wouldn't see them for days at a time and if I did it would only be for a brief second.

She had completely stopped working and Dan was drowning to pay his and her part of rent and bills at this point, she claimed she got suspended at work but I have a strong feeling that she just quit and didn't want to work because she wouldn't get a new job. Bills have started piling up, whenever they did pay me it was usually late and I started working more and even found a side job just in case. Tensions have dies down and we were all getting along Aegean, for the most part, me and her were just talking about pregnancy stuff and about how she was feeling. We got on the topic of her previous pregnancies.

She told me that her abortion was four years ago and her miscarriage was three years ago. We talked a little more and then I went back to my room. My paranoid brain started going in circles because if she has had the implant for five years, that means that she had it during her other two pregnancies, would it even be possible to get pregnant three times while on it? I called my cousin the next day who works for an OBGYN and explained what was going on. She said that that would be next to impossible on that method of birth control. I finally had to come to terms with the fact that one of my best friends lied about being

on birth control to Dan and me. About a week later Dan needed a ride home from work because Sarah was using his car to go to her friend's house, we work at the same building and I drove him home. He had been constantly stressed out so I offered him a beer and made dinner for both of us. We were talking about the pregnancy and he had shared that he was worried he was getting baby trapped. I asked how honest he wanted me to be about my opinion and he told me to not hold back. I explained every big and tiny thing that wasn't adding up.

I then told him yes I think he was baby trapped. He is a great guy and I know no matter what he would be a dad to that kid, but I don't think he should trust her. They have only been together for less than a year, he started talking about their anniversary that was on November 27th. I froze in my seat and asked carefully if that was the anniversary of their first date. He said no, that was when they made things official, but they had been seeing each other since late October. I got very nervous and told him that at a Thanksgiving party she had

slept with one of our mutual friends and that it sounds like she borderline cheated on him. Sarah and him have been sleeping at her friend's house almost permanently and planned to start driving across the country tomorrow. They told me they would still help me pay rent after they move since they will be living with her mom for free. But I'm not going to hold my breath since they still owe me money. Update, they moved across the country a few days ago and have left a lot of their stuff behind including furniture, books, her book collection was always something she was proud of, both of his guitars and expensive long boards and didn't bother cleaning up their room when they left. I haven't heard from them since really but a

female friend at work I ran into yesterday saying that Sarah had swung by the building before they moved to say goodbye to a few friends and that she was showing off her baby bump. She had also told all of our friends that she wasn't working because Dan wanted her to be a stay-at-home mom. Which I knew was a lie because he had been drawing in bills and begged her to get a job. I made sure to straighten the story out for the people at work about how she told him she was on birth control when she wasn't. Also about how she had financially screwed me over in the process by abandoning me with all the bills and rent. Her current lie that she is running with is that during her miscarriage a few years ago that the doctor had removed her arm implant

without telling her. But I know that is almost impossible, when they removed and replaced mine, My arm was sore and bruised slash bandaged up for almost a week so it seems unlikely that she wouldn't have noticed and even more unlikely that the doctor would do that without telling her. Second update slash clarification on some questions. Me and Dan were good friends and I would always feel guilty if I had not told him the truth especially because he asked for the truth. Me and her were very close friends. I only every shared my opinion with them when asked and shared my concerns when I was worried about her health. The three of us living together was to help them escape individual bad living situations. Yes, I know cleaning cat boxes when pregnant is not good but cleaning them daily and washing

your hands after is safe according to OBGYNs. Hello. It's been a few weeks since I last posted. Things have been chaotic to say the least. The police investigation has been ongoing. It even made the local news. I decided it would be best to keep quiet about my involvement. If the police can't finger me then I should be fine right. A lot of people knew Paul and mourned his loss.

Two weeks ago was his funeral. A lot of people showed up and my wife Stacey has not left Gracie's side since then. Stacey asked me to say a eulogy for him. I couldn't describe the feelings I felt while I said some bullshit out my ass. I was guilty, sad, angry, and above all ashamed. I genuinely thought I cursed myself by performing a eulogy for the person I killed. Ever since that day, Gracie has been living with us. My wife and I haven't had relations this whole time.

She has been on bereavement leave and my wife has taken a lot of PTO to be there for her. It's very sweet. They sit next to each other on the couch every day watching movies together. Stacey holds her when she breaks down crying. It's very sad to see. Gracie has been sleeping in the den but my wife has been staying with her at night every day. I felt lonely without my wife in bed but I can't complain about this. After all, it is all my fault.

I spoke to my brother a few days ago about the whole situation. I left out my involvement in the matter but mentioned the misunderstanding. He sounded relieved that she wasn't cheating, but sad about what happened to the guy. I've decided to get my assets back within the next few months. It took a few weeks, but things seemed to be going back to normal, at least that's what I thought. A few days ago while the three of us were eating dinner, Gracie got a call on the phone. It was the police. She stepped out of the room for a few moments before returning with a pale look on her face.

She slowly began to speak. The police have identified a suspect. What? There's no way they found out it was me. Were they able to identify me from the cameras? Crap. She continued, the detective said that the suspect has been arrested tonight. They're confident they got him.

Wait what? They arrested him. Does this mean they got the wrong guy? Apparently they believe the motive had to do with infidelity. The man they arrested is the husband of a woman Paul had s-s-s sex with. Our jaws dropped. This dude was cheating on Gracie.

To be honest, Gracie was quite attractive. It's hard to see why he'd cheat on her. Are you kidding me? What a scumbag. I can't believe he would cheat on you, said Stacey. So do they have any proof? How do they know he's a cheater? The detective followed some leads and through the investigation found out that he's been sleeping with most of his clients.

Gracie collapsed into the floor as she said that. They found someone with a similar build to the man on the cameras and decided to get an arrest warrant. He has a history of violent crimes and his wife is one of the women that Paul slept with. I can't believe what I'm hearing. I'm basically in the clear right. Sure an innocent man is going to jail in my place, but he's an awful human being. Isn't it okay if he takes the fall? It was hard to contain my laughter, but I made sure not to break the facade.

I looked over at Stacey and noticed her trembling. I can't believe he cheated on me, not just with one women but several apparently. How could he do this to me? Gracie said as she started crying. Maybe I did her a favor. None of this would have come to light had I not did what I did. Maybe this outcome is okay. Gracie ran to the den with tears in her eyes and Stacy followed after her.

I just sat there mulling over what I just heard. I went to bed after a few hours. They never left the den. The next morning I headed to work like normal. When I got home, I noticed Stacy's car was gone. I figured they left to get some food or something so I sat down in the living room to relax when I suddenly heard noise from the den. I went to open the door when I heard what sounded like gasping coming from the room.

I quietly opened the door slightly and couldn't believe what I saw. In the middle of the room was Gracie. Alone. Naked. Hanging from a rope. I rushed in and pulled her off the rope. She was unresponsive but still had a slight pulse. I started to perform CPR on her while I called my wife.

Stacey, where are you? What's wrong? I went to get us dinner. IDK what happened, but I think Gracie tried to kill herself. Please hurry back. Stacey started shouting through the phone, but I couldn't make it out since I was still performing CPR on her. I eventually hear my wife say to call 911 immediately, so I hung up and called. While waiting, I continue CPR until she finally started breathing again.

I kept it going a bit longer until I knew for sure she was breathing on her own. I paused for a moment to catch my breath and looked at her body. It was hard to deny, but Gracie was attractive. Very attractive. Way more than Stacy. Why would Paul cheat on this? I put a towel over her and then the police arrived. I explained the situation to them and told them everything.

My wife showed up slightly later asking what happened. The ambulance took her away and I haven't seen her since. Stacey has been at the hospital this whole time. It's been a day since this all happened. Not really sure what to think other than that I'll post more updates if things escalate. Hi all. It's been a crazy few weeks. A lot has happened since last time when I found Gracie in the den.

Things are intense. I'll start from the beginning. The night I found Gracie hanging from the noose, I called the ambulance. They came with the police shortly after and started to put her on the stretcher. That's when Stacey arrived on the scene. She rushed over to Gracie's side immediately and started crying. Gracie was unresponsive. Oh God!

why did you do this wait she said through her tears she noticed her condition and asked why is she naked what the fuck did you do she's never yelled at me like that before this caused the police to look at me with suspicion that's not good the last thing i need is them suspecting me i loudly say i just found her like that i swear i didn't do anything to her i was fuming after hearing what she implied i wouldn't cheat on my wife, though if I did, Gracie would definitely be my type. The paramedic said she's sustained serious spinal damage and needs to be rushed to the hospital immediately. Ick how long she was hanging there, but it must have been a while. Stacey rode in the ambulance without a second thought. I stayed behind and gave my statement to the police. About an hour later after everyone left, I called Stacy but she didn't answer so I figured

I should head over to the hospital. I arrived at the reception desk 20 minutes later and found what room Gracie was given. I reached the room and decided to peek inside before entering. I saw Gracie on the bed, unconscious, with her hand being held by Stacy. It looked like Stacy was praying. I didn't want to interrupt so I waited outside. Then I heard Stacy mumbling something. He better not have touched you. I swear it'll kill him if he did. Whoa, what the fuck did she say? In our 15 years together she has never so much as raised her voice at me, let alone threaten to kill me. What is going on?

She continued to mumble. Stay with me, baby. I can't lose you. Not after everything we've been through. I'm at a loss for words. What is she saying right now? I tried to listen some more, but then I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was the doctor.

Ah, you're here for Gracie, correct? Come right in. The doctor and I entered the room which startled Stacy, but she did her best to hide it. Okay, Miss Waller, Stacy and I's last name. The oar is ready for Miss Tang, Gracie's last name I'm assuming. The surgery will take at least six hours. We won't know how damaged her spinal cord is until we get in there. Once the surgery is done, we'll have a better idea as to any long-term effects.

Thank you, Doctor. Please do everything you can. Gracie was wheeled out of the room, leaving Stacey and I alone. So, what did they say is wrong with her? Stacey glared daggers at me for a moment, but eventually answered. They said that her spine was damaged from the noose. Near her neck. She passed out due to the asphyxiation.

That's awful. Why would she do this? The police searched the den earlier and found no suicide note so we don't know why she went through with it. Why was she naked? asked Stacey. I told you earlier. I just found her like that after getting home from work. I didn't do anything inappropriate to her, and that's all, yes, that's all. When I found her, I took her off.

off the noose and put her on the floor, okay. That's good then, why does she keep fixating on that? So what did I saw her naked? It's not like I wanted to. It was entirely through circumstance. Though I'll admit, I can't get her mental image out of my head. Admittedly has this situation not been a medical emergency, it could have gone very differently. We didn't really talk for the rest of the night. After the surgery was completed, the doctor came to talk to us. How is her condition? I asked. She's going to live, but whether that's a happy life or not is entirely up to her. She has several spinal cord injuries. It could take a long time to heal, don't worry, Doctor. We'll make sure she's taken care of, said Stacey. The doctor

left and Stacey broke the news to her family. Things were hectic for a while until I left. Gracie eventually regained consciousness but was paralyzed from the neck down. The doctor had mentioned it could be temporary, but not sure when it'll return. Stacey volunteered to take care of her. Fast forward a few weeks, Ardennes has transformed into a mini-hospital room. Stacey quit her job and spent over $10,000 to buy medical equipment for Gracie. She bought a new medical device bed, mounted a TV to the wall and bought several hospital-grade monitors.

Gracie was released yesterday. My wife has been attending to all her requests, even bathroom-related things. Gracie hasn't wanted to talk much since the injury. Things seemed to be heading back to normal until today. I came home from work and saw Stacey treating Gracie. I stepped into the restroom and noticed something weird in the trash. I dug it out and was shocked. Positive?

Hello all. A lot had happened last update so I split it up, but I'll continue from where I left off. Fair warning, things got. Intense, I'm still reeling. I want you to kill me. What? W. H. What did she say?

She wants me to, kill her. Gracie said that so calmly. I wasn't sure what to think. I could understand her situation, but I can't do that to her. Can I? Stop joking around. That's not funny. I'm not joking.

I've already resolved myself. I don't want to be Stacy's puppet. I know you're capable of doing it. I can see it in your eyes. What do you mean by that? I mean that you have the same soulless eyes I do. I'm not even sure how to respond to that. I know I've changed a bit after the incident with Paul,

but could I have changed that much? Or have I always been this way? I don't know anymore. What if I don't? Then you'll be letting two innocent people be tortured for the rest of their life. Even if that might be true, there has to be another solution. There is, but I felt you wouldn't go that far. What is it?

Gracie turned to me and looked me in the eyes with a, blank stare. You can kill Stacy, what? You want me to kill my wife. That's not going to happen. I couldn't believe she'd ask me to do that. Even if I don't love her anymore, that's still not something I can do. That's why I told you the other solution first.

If things continue as they are now, things won't change and they'll only get worse. I've thought about this a lot. After she said that, we heard a car pull into the driveway. It was Stacy. Crap! She's here. Just think about it okay. You should go. She'll get upset if she sees you here. I walked out of the room and closed the door. I then went to sit down in the living room to ponder everything I heard. I was overwhelmed. Then Stacy walked and holding a few bags of groceries. She didn't even acknowledge me as she headed to the den first. She came out a few minutes later to put the groceries away. Suddenly, my phone started ringing. It was my brother. Hey man. How are things with your wife?

When do you want to do the dead transfer process for your house? I haven't heard anything for a while. I wasn't sure what you wanted to do. I'm fine. Just been crazy busy. About the dead. That's when I thought of a something. All of my assets were still in my brother's name.

I still have the divorce papers in the house. If I serve her now, she won't be able to steal my assets and she'll have to leave. Gracie can stay here where Stacy can't reach her. That way, no one has to die. Yeah, what about the dead? Keep holding on to it. I'm still going through with it. I'll talk to you later.

I need to go now. I had a plan, but I needed a little time. I need just one more day to go through with it. I waited in my bedroom until around midnight, then I quietly walked over to the den. I heard noises from the den, which is what I wanted. I quietly opened the door and took a peek. I saw Gracie just staring at the ceiling, expressionless. I couldn't see Stacy at first until I took a closer look.

She was at the foot of Gracie's bed, in between her legs. She lifted up Gracie's robe, spread her legs open and was eating her out. She was lost in ecstasy. This was the moment I waited for. I pulled out my phone and started recording. I sat there for a while recording almost an hour of footage showing Stacy cheating on me with her disabled friend. This was the infidelity proof I needed. I went back to the bedroom to review the footage.

My plan was to go see my lawyer tomorrow and show him the footage. That way I have proof of infidelity and have a strong case against her in court. I needed to make sure the footage was clear and shows Stacy in the act. I started replaying it. In the hour of footage I recorded, Stacy went from eating her out, to sucking on her breasts, to getting on top of her and rubbing their vaginas together. Stacey was making faces ID never seen before. I was getting turned on seeing this.

Our sex life was great. At least. That's what I thought. We had it often and I made sure to pay attention to her needs as well. We both always got off. But just from looking at her in the recording, I knew that I never made her feel this good before. She was in heaven when she was taking advantage of Gracie.

Around the 35-minute mark, I noticed something odd. Gracie turned her head and looked straight at the camera. She must have noticed the camera. She smirked faintly and went back to staring at the ceiling. The next day, I skipped work and showed my lawyer the footage. He was happy I got it and said I should serve her now. I also explained the Gracie situation to him. He told me I could potentially get A.R. asterisk PE charge against Stacy if Gracie testifies

in court. She'll have to admit she didn't consent and that she had no power to fight back. I went home and saw that Stacey was out, probably out getting Gracie's meds. I walk into the den and find Gracie watching TV. Hey, Gracie. Are you okay? Hey. Just watching TV again.

It's all I can do really. Did you enjoy your show? Sorry about that. I needed it for my plan. I thought of a way to get rid of Stacy without either of you dying. I'm going to divorce her, kick her out of the house and send her to jail. She looked at me confused and didn't understand how. What are you talking about?

Truth is, I thought Stacey was cheating for a while. I already had a plan in place to divorce her and leave her with nothing. I recorded you guys last night as my proof she's a cheater. If you testify that it wasn't consensual, my lawyer says you can press S.A. charges against her. She'll get sent to jail, you'll be able to recover in peace and then be happy. She thought about it for a moment and seemed to have doubts but then nodded in agreement. I'll help care for you until you're back on your feet. I can take you to a planned parenthood and that way you can focus on recovering.

Is that okay with you? Yeah, that should be fine. But how are you going to care for me? I'm not a nurse. I won't be able to do everything you need, but I can hire a caretaker for you. Someone reputable. She smiled for what felt like the first time in ages. Sounds like a decent plan. Except when you enact your plan, she might not go down so easily. trust me we both laughed as she said that you know gracie you have a gorgeous smile hopefully you'll be showing it off more as things begin to change you trying to sweet talk me now don't forget i know how much of a degenerate you are ha hey now we both laughed the mood started to feel lighter can you blame me for being a degenerate i can't help it if seeing your body excited me i can see you're excited right now i didn't know to but it was pretty obvious I was turned on again just by looking at my pants.

Crap, how embarrassing. Uh, sorry about that. I'll leave now before Stacy returns. No, don't, it's fine. I don't mind, what doesn't she mind? What's she saying? Er, what? Do I have to spell it out?

I want to show my appreciation for what you're going to do. There's not much I can offer in my current state, but my body is here to use. It's the only thing I can do to show you. show you my thanks. The offer was very tempting. Sure ever since I saw Gracie, I knew she was attractive. I've imagined having her myself. I was disgusted with myself before because I felt like I took advantage of her, but now she's offering herself to me. Isn't that okay now? You sure? Yes, feel free to use me how you wish as thanks for everything. I couldn't deny how badly I wanted to take her up on her offer. I thought about it for a moment, but ultimately

I couldn't refuse. I leaned in and started kissing her. This caught her off guard at first, but she started to kiss me back. We kissed for a few minutes until I pulled back. Her face was bright red. It was cute. I undid her gown to expose her breasts. I started to lick them.

It felt amazing. They were bigger and better shaped than Stacey's. I felt amazing, like a wave of ecstasy started flowing through me. Is this what Stacey felt? I couldn't help myself but to keep going. It was like I was under some spell or something. I undid my pants, got on the bed and started penetrating Gracie. I never felt this good in my life.

There was nothing else on my mind other than this moment. This view of Gracie was incredible. She continued to blush as we stared at each other. We continued like that for a few minutes, moaning the whole time, until I couldn't hold back anymore and finished inside her. I felt months' worth of frustration leave my body. I stood back up and pulled my pants up. Your wife won't like that. She said jokingly as she laughed. You're right. I won't. Both Gracie and I immediately turned towards the door and noticed Stacy in the doorway, holding a knife. Hello everyone. I've just been woken up by the nurse for my

next treatment. I've been suffering from the events of a few weeks ago. Every time I tried finishing the update, I kept falling asleep due to the medicine. I promised to stay awake this time so this will be my final update. After we got the news of Gracie's sister coming to visit, Stacey wanted me to steal my resolve. She wants me to kill Gwen when she comes tomorrow. But how can I do that? I've killed before sure, but it was an accident. Had I known how that night would have gone beforehand then I wouldn't have gone over, but things are different now. I've done things. Things I'm not proud of. Well, that's not completely true.

I'm slightly proud of them. I've experienced great pleasures over the last few weeks, but at the cost of someone innocent. Someone who I've heard a lot. I need to figure out what to do. Snap out of it. We need to plan our strategy tomorrow. We need to make sure she dies without other people noticing. You also need a good opportunity to strike.

If it's not clean, it'll be harder to cover up, said Stacy. You've thought about this a lot. Yes. And so should you. Things will be serious now. Now let's go speak to Gracie. Why? Because tomorrow when Gwen comes over to look at her, will lead her to the den and you can kill her there. I was surprised by what she said. Was she serious? She wants me to kill Gwen in front of Gracie. How horrible is that? I can't do that. But if I don't, in doomed. Let's go, she said as we started walking over to the den. When we walked in, Gracie was lying there staring at the ceiling. She looked over at us and just stared blankly at us. So now you want a threesome? Of course not.

When I play with you, you're all mine, said Stacey. We came to talk to you. Your sister is coming by tomorrow to check on you. What? She said in a shocked tone. That's right she will, which is why we're here. Stacy's tone suddenly got really serious. If you're We try to tip her off as to what's going on or try to ask for help in any way, we will kill her. Why, you can't be serious," said Gracie. She was visibly upset. How could you do that? Gracie, we have a great thing going on.

There's no need to go and spoil it, right? If she doesn't find out, she'll be fine. She stepped closer to Gracie. You wouldn't want to be responsible for her death, would you? Tears started swelling in Gracie's eyes. a monster. Stacey just laughed as she walked out the door. I stood there silent the whole time. I didn't like what I heard, but I have to go along with it or I'll be in trouble. What are you still doing here? Get out of here. Gracie said to me as she was crying. I stepped

out the door. I couldn't bear to be in the room. I walked to the bedroom where Stacy was. She was naked and putting on lingerie. I told her we won't kill Gwen. But obviously we are regardless. I just told her that to keep her quiet before you do it. She put her lingerie on and grabbed two towels. What are you doing? Get off of me, psycho. Gracie yelled from the den. Don't worry, sweetie.

You're just a little upset. Let me take care of you. Said Stacy. Stop licking me there. Get off. Stop it. I could hear her bed shaking from here. Sounds line Stacy wanted to play before she bathed her.

I went to bed to think about what I'm going to do. Before I knew it tomorrow had arrived. When I woke up Stacy wasn't in bed. I got up and headed to the kitchen and saw the house was cleaned. I heard the vacuum in the den so I walked in and saw Gracie crying as Stacy was vacuuming the floor. Gracie was clean and in fresh clothes. I went to go eat some breakfast at the table. Stacey walked out and sat next to me.

So, are you ready? Gwen will be here soon. Are you ready to do it? I just stayed silent. I still wasn't sure what to do. Remember. We'll lead her to the den and when you get an opportunity, to eliminate her. Got it?

She said as she handed me a pocket knife. Got it. I said as I put the knife in my pocket. Eventually, the doorbell rang. We looked through the peephole and saw it was Gwen. She was there with an older man. Crap. That wasn't part of the plan.

What are we going to do? Stacey looked unfazed. She went to answer the door. Hi, Gwen. How are you? She hugged Gwen and hugged the man as well. Honey, this is Roy. He's Gwen's husband.

Where is Gracie? We're worried about her. She might be depressed. She's resting in the den. Would you like some tea first? We have U-Long, Green and Jasmine. Sure. I'll take Oolong.

said Roy. I'm not interested in tea, said Gwen. Okay, let me get that for you, Roy. Stacy went to the kitchen and came back with a cup of tea. Here you go, Roy. Let's go to the den. Everyone walked to the den. Gwen and Roy went and first followed by Stacy and I. Hey, sweetie. Look who's here. Stacey said to Gracie. How are you doing? Are you still paralyzed? Gracie looked at Stacy and myself and said, I'm fine. Stacey has been taking care of me. I've been recovering just slowly. Stacey smiled as she said that.

Should we take you to another doctor? Asked Gwen. No. Stacey already took me to a few. There's no need. Said Gracie. Gracie looked at Stacy again and tried to look cheerful. H.M., Gracie, what's wrong? asked Gwen.

W.H., what do you mean? said Gracie. You know you can't lie to me. Gwen stood next to Gracie and started examining her body. What are you looking for Gwen? I'm fine. Gracie said is a soft tone. Roy started looking worried.

Stacy looked at me and looked over at Roy. I stood behind him as she started moving closer to Gwen. Gwen I'm fine. Please, just go. Gwen looked at Gracie and then at Stacy who was standing behind her. "'Sys! You're in trouble, Ryer!' Gwen told Gracie while looking at Stacy. "'No.'

As Gwen stood up, a crash was heard near the back of the room. It was Roy. He dropped his cup of tea and started choking. "'What's going on?' yelled Gwen as Roy fell to the ground while choking. The U-Long tea was delicious. "'Right Roy?' said Stacy. "'I added poison to it.

"'Too bad you didn't drink it, too, Gwen.' Before we knew it, Roy stopped breathing. Aw. Gracie yelled as Stacy lunged at Gwen. They were rolling on the floor as Gwen tried to fight back. Do it now. Stacey yelled at me. I pulled the knife out of my pocket and readied it.

They were still rolling on the floor. I tried to get close but didn't have a good angle to get Gwen. I stood back and waited for a minute. Ag! Gwen yelled as I stabbed her in the back. No. Gracie yelled from her. bed. Gwen stumbled over to Gracie's bed and collapsed on her waist. She stopped moving.

Blood was all over the bed. Gracie started crying as Stacy stood up. There. Problem solved, said Stacy as she started caressing Gracie's head. Everything will be okay now. Everything will be okay, once you're dead. Gracie quickly grabbed the knife and stabbed Stacy in the chest. What the? Stacey said as she collapsed to the floor. Gracie was still holding the knife. She then threw the knife at me. Oh, owl. I yelled as the knife stabbed me in the stomach.

I fell to the ground as well. Ho, how, said Stacy in a soft tone. My body started getting used to the little poison you were giving me. I can currently move my arms. I just pretended to be paralyzed the last few days until I had a chance to GWTU2. Gracie then started to hug Gwen's body and cry. I'm sorry Gwen, Gwen. I'm so sorry, it's all my fault.

Hello. 911, please help. A string of homicide have just occurred. Here's the address. Before I knew it, I had blocked out due to the blood loss. When I woke up, I was in the hospital. One of my arms was handcuffed to the bed. A police officer was there and explained everything to me.

They arrived and found everyone in the den. Gracie admitted everything to the police. How the situation had occurred, Stacey and I's involvement, and everything regarding Paul. I was being charged with the murder of three people, the rape and enslavement of Gracie and some other charges I don't recall. Due to my injuries, I had to have some surgery first. Apparently the knife sliced my liver so they had to repair it. I'll be in the hospital until I'm out of the woods.

The first few days I was in and out of consciousness as the medicine they were giving me was strong. I contacted my lawyer and he was able to get me access to my phone d'er aiding my hospital stay. That's how I've been doing the last few updates. That leads to the present. I'm currently awaiting trial. I'm just in my room, still handcuffed to the bed. By happenstance, the hospital I was taken to was the same hospital Stacy and Gracie worked at. I'm just watching TV most days.

Looks like it's time for another round of medicine. But wait, my nurse looks different. It's not the same girl as before. Hey, Don. It's time for your medicine. The nurse took out a knife as she said that. Hello all. It's been a crazy day.

So much has happened since my post last night, so I'm mainly writing this update to collect all my thoughts on the matter. I'll continue from last night. I put a bandage over it for now and went back to bed. Eventually my wife came home from work around 3.30 a.m. She walked into the room and saw I was awake, so she greeted me. I asked about her day and we chatted a bit. She saw my bandage and asked what happened. I made up a story about tripping when I got home.

She continued to chat about her day. I wasn't really paying attention. She threw her phone on the bed and went to brush her teeth before sleeping. Her phone started ringing. When I looked at who was calling my eyes almost popped out of my skull. Gracie was calling. My wife picked up the phone and it sounded like a hysterical woman was shouting at my wife. I couldn't make out exactly what was said, but all the color left my wife's face.

The phone call ended and she, in a very panicked tone, told me to drive her to Gracie's house. I was speechless at first. What does she mean, Gracie's house? I thought Gracie was a dude. I thought he was dead. What the hell is happening here? I asked, Gracie's house. Did something happen?

She called and I couldn't make everything out, but she said something has happened to Paul and she called an ambulance. We need to go over right away. She said as she was getting ready quickly. I thought for a moment and asked, who's Paul? She's Gracie's husband. Once that left her lips, my heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest. Gracie is real. She had a husband.

Was that the dude I accidentally killed? But if it was, why was she going to her house instead of the gym? My mind was racing. Nevertheless, I composed myself and we started to drive over to her house. My wife gave me directions and we continued to talk on the way. What is happening with Gracie? I asked. When we both got off tonight, she went home and was looking around for Paul.

When she walked into the bedroom, she found him lying on the floor. Something she said caught my attention. What do you mean when we both got off tonight? I mean when we both got off our shift tonight. She works at the hospital with me. Wait since when? I couldn't hold back my confusion. We've been working together.

for the past two years. I got her a job as a nurse at my hospital after she was fired from her previous hospital. I told you all this before. I should mention that ever since they started going to the gym together, she has not stopped talking about Gracie. She mentions her all the time and after a while I just started tuning it out. But apparently she was a nurse at another hospital but lost her job in 2022 and Stacey referred her to her hospital.

They worked the same shift together. I don't remember her mentioning that at all, but it's possible. possible she did at some point. So I collected my thoughts and asked. Who's Paul again? Paul is Gracie's husband. He's a personal trainer at the gym. I wanted to pry some more information without being suspicious so I thought of what to ask next. Is he your personal trainer? Yeah, I told you before. When the gym raised their rates at the end of 2022, Paul offered to be my personal trainer. He does yoga and Zumba classes for me and Gracie together in the mornings. Holy shit. What did I just do? He was her personal trainer. For how long? I felt like throwing

up. My insides were in knots. I started sweating profusely. When I looked over at Stacy, she was also sweating a lot. She couldn't stop worrying over what Gracie said. Eventually, we finally arrived at that house. There were no cops or ambulance yet, but there was a lime green 67 Mustang parked in the driveway again. Stacey ran inside immediately while I slowly walked in. It felt surreal walking into the house. I heard crying in the rear of the house and walked towards it. It led to the master bedroom of the house. There I saw Stacey holding a crying woman while also crying herself. She had dark hair, was short, five foot two-ish, and was also fit like Stacy. This was the first time I'd seen her. On the floor beside them was the man from earlier

lying in a pool of blood. The lights were on this time so I had a clearer image of the scene. His head was cracked open and all the blood was coming from there. His eyes were rolled to the back of his head. Stacey and Gracie were bawling their eyes out. Gracie then spoke through the tears. When I, got home from work, I walked into the bedroom and saw him L.Y, lying there. I checked his PPP pulse and I didn't feel anything so I called the police. I tried to pour, form C.P. but there's no response. I was speechless. Gracey was real. She was standing right there. The man on the floor was a personal trainer named Paul. My wife had been going here instead of the gym since it was cheaper. How could I have made such a mistake? What the fuck did I just do? I had to excuse myself

quickly as I was about to vomit. I ran outside and vomited on the lawn. Then I hear police sirens. The police and ambulance show up. I point them towards the inside of the house. They rush in with a stretcher. I couldn't think straight and had trouble standing, so I sat down outside. Five minutes later they will him out on the stretcher. His body was covered in a blanket as they put him in the ambulance. Gracie wanted to go to the hospital, but the police wanted to question her first. The police spoke to her, then to Stacy and I, Stacy said we were both at home when Gracie called. The police then went inside to continue their investigation. Stacey said she was going to drive Gracie to the hospital and stay with her for a while.

I said okay and they drove off in Gracie's car. I stayed for a while because I wanted to see what they were discovering. Then I saw a police officer carrying something in a clear bag and handing it to a detective. It was the cameras. In my haste that night, I completely forgot about the cameras. I grabbed the crowbar and my backpack, but left the cameras in their positions. The cameras I bought were designed to record for 14 hours until the batteries died. I had the foresight of removing the serial numbers, but they surely would have caught the incident earlier. I was screwed. I overheard the police talking and they mentioned there were signs of a break-in and some muddy footprints from the window. Their current theory is that someone broke in and Paul was killed fighting the

assailant. They quarantined the area and asked me to leave for now, so I headed home. At this point it was 5 a.m. My boss was blowing up my phone so I called back and said I had to take more time off. I went home and prepared myself for the worst. Eventually the police will come for me. They will see that I killed him. They will see that I did that heinous crime. I will be taken to jail sooner or later.

I ruined my life over a misunderstanding. How could I do that? Should I turn myself in? Should I tell Stacey? Hug my mind is racing. Stacey came home around 12 p.m. She looked paler than ever. Paul was pronounced dead at the scene. Gracie was in shock.

Stacey called Gracie's family and they came to the hospital to support her. They told Stacey to head home and get some rest. Stacey was speechless when she got home. She fell onto the bed next to me and continued to cry. I comforted her and told her he's in a better place now. We stayed like that for an hour until her phone started ringing. It was Gracie. They chatted for a bit until she hung up.

She slowly turned to me and looked at me and said, the police contacted Gracie. They came to the conclusion that Paul was the victim of a premeditated homicide. They have a video of the assailant. He attacked Paul with a crowbar. I was scared. I couldn't stop shaking. I tried to speak, but had trouble getting the words out. I was able to say.

And who did it? She said quietly, they, don't know. know yet. Apparently the videos they obtained from the cameras weren't great quality. They show the suspect wearing all black and waiting for Paul in his bedroom. He then starts fighting with Paul once he walked into the room. The lights were out in the room and the video didn't have night vision so the only light source was coming from the hallway when Paul found him. Paul pinned him down but then gets hit in the face with a crowbar. When he fell, he hit the side of the bed and cracked his skull open. He surely died on impact. I was kind of relieved.

They couldn't see my face apparently. Maybe I'll be okay. Who knows? I'm still preparing for the worst, though. I then asked. So what are they planning on doing? They're going to continue to investigate until they catch the suspect. I feel so bad for Gracie.

How could they do this to her? She's the sweetest girl in the world. Paul was such a good guy. Who would plan on killing him? I'm heading over to Gracie's house to comfort her. I'll be back later. And that's the update for now. My original plan was to kick her out after exposing her infidelity,

but if it really was just a misunderstanding, then maybe she was loyal the whole time. Maybe I just started assuming things. Whatever. For now I'll pause my plan. I'll keep everyone posted. Hi all. Things have been rough over the last few hours.

I'm not even sure where to begin as my emotions are wild right now, but I'll continue from a few hours ago. Positive. What the actual fuck? This is a pregnancy test. Whose is it? Then I remembered what I did. I swapped out my wife's birth control with similar looking pills so maybe it's hers.

But wait. We haven't had sex in over a month, even before this whole thing started, ever since her last period, doesn't that mean? What the fuck? Without hesitation I stormed into the den, startling awake Gracie who was asleep. Stacey looks at me angry and confused but then sees what I'm holding. Her eyes narrowed and she got quiet. Stacey. What is this?

What did you do? That's none of your business. Don't meddle in things that don't concern you. That statement triggered me. I was about to start shouting when Gracie suddenly spoke up. That's actually mine. Impreignant. I was shocked.

Gracie is the one that's pregnant. Why did she try to cover it up? Gracie don't. It's not any of his business. It's okay. Okay, Stacey. He should know. I am staying with you guys, after all. Her voice was soft and she looked embarrassed, but she continued. I had a feeling a few weeks ago that I might've been pregnant. I missed my period and am not someone who has irregular periods. I'm really consistent,

but I missed it this time. I panicked. I didn't want to live anymore, so I decided to hang myself when Stacey and you were out. I didn't want to raise a cheater's baby. Stacey started crying at this point. Gracie was embarrassed, but she continued. I told Stacy everything. She got me a pregnancy test and we tested today. Tears started flowing from her eyes. I'm still pregnant, but now imparalized.

I didn't know what to say. It was hard to listen to. Stacey wiped her tears away and asked me to leave. I felt a lot of tension in the room so I decided to listen to her and leave. However, I stood outside the door and listened for a bit. You shouldn't have told him. It's none of his business. I'll take care of you and the child.

I swear I will. It's okay, Stacey. He should know. He saved my Lee, our lives. He should know. You're lucky you have a nice guy like him. He's never cheated on you. Even I can't say that.

Wait. What does that mean? I continue to listen. Sure he's fine But he's not you You're sweet but we've been through this before But things are different now I'm not confused anymore

I'm sure now sweetie, Ivey told you before What we did in high school was just a phase for me Our last girl's trip was just a fun night of nostalgia for me Nothing more Stacey started crying a bit I couldn't believe what I just heard High School

I thought they met recently And what happened on their girls' trip? My anxiety started rising. I needed to sit down so I walked over to the living room and turned on the TV. It was tuned into the news which was covering the trial of Paul's killer. I didn't mention it in my last update but Paul's suspected killer was on trial. The news was covering the highlights of the case. The prosecutor had no actual evidence, just circumstantial evidence.

The defendant had no alibi that day so it was easy to assume he did it. The defense has argued his innocence, but the prosecutor is a pretty famous lady in our area. She has a record of never losing. This case is still ongoing, but either side can win. I kept listening to the news report while thinking about everything I just heard. She did cheat on me, but with Gracie. How do they have high school history? She's never mentioned that to me at all.

I met Gracie early in college. We hit it off and started dating a few months later, though I had to work hard for it. I had no idea of her sexuality. In fact, she was very adamant about hating women. She used to say women were nothing but just drama and has never had a girlfriend that didn't betray her. Wait. Did she mean, girlfriend? As in girlfriend girlfriend.

Crap. How didn't I catch that before? I started getting angry. To me, Stacy has always been a prize. She was always so driven and sweet, but above all else she was attractive physically. Guys used to do double-takes every time they saw her. I was always proud to be with her in public. I felt like a king holding hands in public with her while all the peasants ate their hearts out.

Everyone in college was jealous. Even as we got older, guys still checked her out all the time especially when she got more fit over the last few years. The only girl ID consider more attractive was Gracie. I didn't want anyone to have Stacy. Not even another girl. I started feeling all these negative emotions rising, predominantly hate and rage. How could she cheat on me?

I've given nothing but love AMD support to her. But I held out hope it was some type of misunderstanding. I needed to know more about their history together, but I can't ask Stacy about it. She'll never confess to it. I guess that only leaves me with one other person. A few hours later, Stacy went to go pick up some food for her and Gracie, so I decided to go to the den. I walked in quietly and noticed she was asleep. I walked slowly up to her bed and stood there for a moment.

I was about to say something when I noticed her gown had come slightly undone. Some of her breast was visible. I immediately remembered that day I found her in the den. All my emotions were out of whack so I'm not sure what came over me, but I got an irresistible urge. I gently lowered the gown exposing her bare breasts. I placed one hand on them and the other into my shorts. I'm not sure whether it was the fact that I hadn't had sex in almost two months or the fact that my emotions were all over the place, but within seconds, everything ended.

Then the clarity of the situation set in. What the fuck did I just do? I pull my hand off her breast and the other out of my shorts and just stare at it blankly. My hand was covered in my shame. But worst of all, I looked over at Gracie and she's just staring at me. Neither of us saying anything. It felt like an eternity. my hand in full view of her.

She had no clear expression on her face. She was just staring blankly at me. I decided to just walk out without saying a word. And that's it for now. I just washed my hands and typed this out mainly to collect my thoughts. I feel awful about what I did. It wasn't right. What will I do when she tells Stacy?

She still hasn't returned yet so I need to think of something before then. I'll keep everyone updated on the situation. Hello all. I know many of you were waiting for an update on the current situation and the truth is. Things are intense. It's been a few weeks since my last update so there's a lot. Let me explain. After the last time when I succumbed to my urges, I was scared. Gracie saw everything. There's no mistaking that. It was only a matter of time before she told Stacey. I didn't know what to do to prepare or stop it, but before I could do something, she arrived home. Stacey basically ignored me and walked straight to the den with the food she bought

for them. I quietly walked to the door and stood outside and listened in. Here, baby. I bought us Chinese food from that place we went to for your birthday. Orange chicken and barbecue pork right. Let me get the fork and I'll start feeding you. Thanks. There was a pause then I heard Stacy say this, it looks like your blouse is slightly open and some of your boob is exposed. Did something happen? I was about to explode when I heard that. This was it. Im screwed.

No, nothing happened. The strap just came undone while waiting for you. What? Why didn't she say anything? Ah, no worries I'll fix it, though, to be honest, I prefer seeing them he-he. Stacey then went on to feed Gracie for about ten minutes. After they were done, Stacy turned on the TV and started eating herself. She turned it on to a reality dating show,

and was conversing with Gracie the whole time. I stood there sweating like crazy, but it never happened. Gracie didn't mention a word about what she saw. She was conversing with Stacy like normal. Why? Wasn't she upset? This was the perfect time to tell her. I don't get it, but I was safe that night, but surely she'd tell her the next day.

The next day came and I was expecting to get a huge thrashing when I got home but again. Nothing. Stacey didn't react any more negatively toward me than normal. recently, of course. I kept listening in every day for a week and nothing. Nothing was ever mentioned. What's going on? Was she not mad?

Maybe she wasn't paying attention. None of this makes sense, but I still need to talk to her. The following weekend when Stacey went to buy groceries, I decided to go back in the den and speak with Gracie. My mind was going crazy with anxiety. I need to get things straightened out. I slowly walked in and noticed Gracie was watching more of that. reality dating show Stacy left on. She noticed me coming in so she turned to me with a smile.

It was a gorgeous smile, though I could tell through her eyes that there was a deep sadness behind them. Hey Gracie. How are you feeling? Aside from the god-awful television your wife makes me watch, I'm doing all right. What about you? Came for another squeeze. My heart stopped. It felt like all my anxiety over that last week came crashing in all at once. I didn't know what to say to that. What I did was bad, that's a fact, but how do I apologize for that? Why, yeah, about that? MS. dot us oh, but before I can continue, she interrupted me. Don't apologize.

I know you don't mean it, nor do I really care. Her word seemed harsh, but she didn't sound angry when she spoke. I wasn't sure how to feel. Are you angry? Should I leave? No, I'm not. Sit with me. It'd be nice to talk to anyone else for a change.

Why aren't you angry? What I did was deplorable. It wasn't my intention when I first walked in. I was going to ask you something but then when I saw your undone gown, my mind was suddenly clouded and I couldn't think straight. You sure you weren't thinking with something else? Huh, she said laughing. He, he, he, I let out a nervous laughter too.

I'm at a loss of words for how she's reacting to this. I'm mostly paralyzed from the neck down currently. There was barely the slightest sensation when you were touching me. I only realized you were there when I heard you panting. To be honest, I was shocked but not angry. Why not? Because I know I've inconvenienced you by staying here. And because your wife does a lot worse.

My mind suddenly focused again and had to learn more. What does my wife do to you? She thinks I can't feel it or maybe she doesn't care, but she's constantly touching me, inserting her fingers into parts of my body or just licking me all over. She does it every night. I did hear noises coming from the room every now and then, but I had no idea it was this. Have you told her to stop? No, I haven't.

Why? Because even if I did, she wouldn't stop. Plus she's taking care of me. Taking me to the restroom. Cleaning up after me. Feeding me. I don't want her to touch me like that, but if she fingers me while she's washing me, I just let her do it. She might as well get something out of it.

It's not like we have to be. done those things before, after all, what I heard was awful. Here I was dreading over my mistake while my wife was treating her disabled friend like some sex toy she can abuse. I don't even know the woman anymore. You said you had came that night to ask me something right. What was it? I wanted to know more about you and my wife regarding your history. She seems like a completely different person now after your accident. Really? She seemed like a different person before all this. What do you mean? Stacy in high school. I was going through a bisexual phase back then. She was also having a similar phase back then so we connected over that. We also had a lot in common and loved spending time

with each other. She was intense. She had a powerful personality. I thought it was hot. When we got together, we both said it was just a phase and vowed to just have fun with it. We then had a three-year relationship from 10th grade to the end of 12th grade. Everyone knew us as the hot lesbian couple at school, but we were also popular so no one did anything to us. We were exclusive and very intimate with each other. She was very dominant in the relationship and always decided what we'd do. It was annoying, but we loved each other, at least for a while, then what happened? Stacey wanted more. I had started to express more interest in men and that freaked her out. She had always been jealous of other women and very controlling before, but then she got very

angry when I told her I wanted to open our relationship up. She didn't like that and said a bunch of horrible things to me. I was ready to walk away but then she apologized and wanted me to stay. Like an idiot, I listened. I stayed even though I wanted to leave and explore more of my sexuality. This is crazy. I didn't know any of this information. How did things end? I got drunk one night at a kickback with our friends. Me and this guy we knew were drinking shot after shot. He was throwing the party. When Stacy went to the restroom, the guy asked me if I'd ever seen a dick before. In my drunken state I stupidly said no but wanted to. Next thing I know I'm naked in his bedroom covered in sweat and saliva, and filled with his cum. It only

lasted a few minutes, but he was already out there telling his friends about how he fucked the hot lesbian chick. Stacey had been looking for me and when she heard him say that, she ran to the bedroom to confirm. The look on her face was nothing I'd ever seen before. She was angry and disgusted with me, and angry at everyone else at the party. What did she do? She started yelling, calling me a whore. Made a huge scene at the party. She then went to the dude that fucked me and started attacking him. She stabbed him a few times with a plastic fork and he had to be rushed to the emergency room. Everyone left the party shortly after. She then drove us to her house and we continued to argue. She said she doesn't know what she wants anymore.

In her eyes, my virtue was gone. I tried to apologize, but she kept yelling. She said I was just a whore and didn't deserve her love. We ended up breaking up that night but things didn't end just yet. Anytime someone would talk to me, she would go crazy and send me unhinged texts and calls. She would stalk me for a while and if she saw someone talking to me, she would rush over and cause a scene. I told her she can't act like that anymore since we're not together, but that would just make her more angry. One time she even slapped me and threatened to kill anyone I showed any interest in. Things were rough. Wow, that's all so, awful. What happened to the dude? He was fine. Minor injuries overall. He didn't contact the police because I guess he didn't

want them to know he fucked a drunk girl. Wow, you're a strong girl to deal with all that. You haven't even heard the worst part. I got pregnant because of it. What? Holy crap. How did Stacey react? She didn't. I never told her. I didn't tell anyone. When I missed my period, I took a test and it came up positive. So I went to an abortion clinic and took care of it. No one, not even my parents, found out. I can't even imagine how she would have reacted. This girl is so strong. She's been through so much. It's incredible how long she's been dealing with bullshit. What happened next? Eventually, we graduated and I decided to block her on everything.

I then went off to college, met my late husband and married him. That's crazy. I met her in college and she didn't seem crazy at all. She was nice and sweet. She genuinely seemed like a perfect girl. When did you two reconnect? Paul was a personal trainer at this gym. A few years ago he was able to give a free membership to his spouse.

house so I started working out there. Eventually, a girl came up to me and then I realized it was Stacy. She seemed so different from high school. She was more calm and relaxed. There was no anger in her words. She apologized for everything and we decided to try being friends. It seemed like she had matured so I was excited to be friends with her again. She met Paul and everything seemed fine. When the gym raised their rates, she didn't want to pay so Paul offered to be her personal trainer for free. He then held classes for us a few times a week. I remembered what they said about their girls' trip, so I decided to ask about that.

She mentioned you went on a girl's trip before. What happened there? She and I decided to go on a trip to Las Vegas. We were going to just party and unwind. I was trying to keep it tame, but when we started drinking, things just went off the rails. Eventually, we ended up in her hotel room. She paused for a moment and continued. We ended up having sex.

I'm so sorry. I already had my suspicion so now I know for sure, but it doesn't matter anymore. I've been losing feelings for her for a while now. She was acting so cold towards me recently that at some point I stopped caring about her. Gracie then continued. We had sex all night. It felt like both of our bodies were craving that feeling again. It was intense.

We then did that every night on the trip. By the end of the trip reality said in that I cheated on my husband. I felt awful and wanted to tell him, but she convinced me not to. She said they were just drunken mistakes and that no one needed to know. I decided to not tell Paul but still felt bad. At least until I found out the bastard had been cheating on me for years. Crick. I learned so much.

I didn't know Stacy at all. Thanks for telling me everything. I appreciate it. It doesn't matter. My life is over anyways. I was confused by that. Why is that? Stacey has gone back to how she was in high school, but much worse.

She's become unhinged. She has this idea that we're going to raise this baby together and that she'll take full care of me. Like I don't even have a say in what I want. I wanted to kill myself because I was overwhelmed with the death, the cheating, the manipulation and now this baby. I can't handle it all. She started crying as she said all this as if she's been holding back her tears for so long.

I didn't know what to do so I just hugged her in her bed. She continued to cry all over me. We stayed like that for ten minutes or so until I asked her. What do you want to do, Gracie? She looked at me and was confused. It felt like this was the first time someone had asked her this in years. She looked up at me and said, I want you to kill me.

Hello all. I ended up falling asleep while giving my last update due to the pain medication. It hurts to write but there's more I need to get off my chest. I'll continue from last time. from last time. You're right. I won't. Gracie and I immediately turned towards the door to see Stacy standing there. Holding a knife. I felt a huge wave of fear fill my body once I realized the position I was in. I had my cock out, in between Gracie's legs who also has my semen pouring out of her. I felt like I was going to die. I wanted to say something, but I just

couldn't make any words out. Gracie was also visibly shocked, but tried to speak. H. Hi, Stacy. Wendy Before she could finish, Stacey interrupted her. I told you I went to get your medicine from the pharmacy. She said that as she lifted the pharmacy bag with her other hand. She threw the bag on the floor in front of us. What the hell do you think you're doing, Gracie? She was staring daggers at her.

Stacey's face was bright red from anger. Her hand that's holding the knife is shaking uncontrollably. I pulled up my pants quickly and tried to defuse the situation. I know you're angry but yo. Again Stacy cut us off. Shut up. Get away from her. Or else?

She pointed the knife towards me as she said that. I was petrified. How dare you let this pathetic man play with you? No one can play with you but me. Stacey. I'm not your toy. Gracie said as she composed herself. Yes.

You are. You're mine and no one else is. is. I take care of you. I protect you. I'm your one and only. Not him. Gracie got upset by that. Paul was my one and only. Not you. If he were still here then I wouldn't even be here. Stacy then started laughing hysterically. And whose fault do you think that is? Gracie was confused. I started to feel a nod in my stomach. Something didn't feel right. Stacy pointed the knife at me and looked directly into my eyes. After all, the reason you're here is because of him. My heart sank. I felt nauseous as she said that. What are you talking about?

Gracie said in a confused tone. Then she turned to me. What is she talking about? Stacey began to speak again. Gracie. You're so sweet and naive. You're way too trusting. You see my sweet husband has been keeping a secret from us. Want to hear it? She started laughing again, she she said it. Gracie's face went blank as she looked at me. It looked like she was trying to figure out what's going on. I had to say something.

Stacey, what are you talking about? I said pretending not to know what she means. I needed to derail this train of thought immediately, or else I'll be screwed. You're really going to make me say it. You really are a pathetic piece of shit. Gracie had a concerned look on her face. You see the night that Paul was killed, it wasn't because of a failed robbery.

He was murdered. Isn't that right, sweetheart? I felt like I was choking. Gracie listened in in horror. The person responsible is. Wait. I interrupted her before she could finish. The person that killed Paul was me.

When those words left my mouth I could see the color leave her face. Gracie was horrified. That's right, Gracie. My husband killed him and almost got away with it. But I knew. How did you know? I said in a shaky tone. Remember when the police showed us the footage?

Each angle was dark so it was hard to tell, but I thought I recognized the tag on the killer's sweater. It looked similar to a sweater I gave you for your birthday. I wasn't sure yet so I waited until we got home. A few days later when you were sleeping I looked through the closet and couldn't find the sweater. Then I searched our shed and noticed our crowbar was also missing. To be extra sure I unlocked your phone and searched through your location history. What do you think my reaction was when I saw that the same day that Paul had died, your location showed you at their house?

Tears started flowing down Gracia face. Just looking at her face I can tell she's disgusted and angry. I was stunned. I had no idea she knew all that. Gracie. I didn't mean to kill him. I was there because I was trying to. to record Stacy cheating. It was an accident. I swear. She couldn't stop crying. Stacey just

stood there with a huge smile on her face. Ho, how could you do that? She said through her tears. How could you do that to me knowing what you did? Tears were still flowing while she screamed at me. I felt horrible. I was sad for you when it happened. But then I realized, now that he's gone, we could continue what we had. Then when I saw who was responsible, I just laughed. I decided to take advantage of the situation. And I've enjoyed every second. I can just keep you here and play with you whenever I want,

and my husband can't stop us. Or else I'll ruin his life. I'll turn him in. He'll go to jail for a long time. His life will be over. She was right, she can turn me in and I'll go straight to jail. There was no getting out of this one. Gracie began to speak through her tears.

I won't be here forever. I'll recover eventually. Stacey just laughed some more. Sweetheart, if you haven't regained your mobility yet, what makes you think you will again? Gracie looked confused. What are you talking about? Dear husband, why don't you look in the bag on the floor? I slowly reached for the pharmacy bag and opened it.

I pulled out a few prescription bottles meant for Gracie and a smaller bright green bottle with a crossbones on it. "'What's that bottle?' "'Gracy said. "'It's the medicine I've been giving you. "'Why do you think you're still stuck in bed? "'You're a nurse, too. "'You should have known that you should have regained at least some mobility by now. "'I've been slowly poisoning you.

"'Not too much. "'Just enough to keep you from recovering. "'I was shocked. "'Stacey was poisoning her the whole time. "'That's fucked up. "'How could you?' "'Gracy was crying again. "'I won't take any more medicine.

I'll recover after that. Yeah. You would. But now I don't have to hide it. She walked up to Gracie while the knife was pointed at me. I'll just use a different kind of poison on you. Something I can inject into you. That way you can't refuse to take it.

Not like you can stop me after all, Gracie looked defeated, more than she already had. She was quiet. Stacey turned to me. Since the situation has changed, how about we make a deal? I was confused. What does she mean by that? I've rather liked the situation we have right now. So how about we continue it?

I'll stay home and take care of Gracie all day. You go to work every day like normal and continue financially supporting us. Do that and I won't turn you in. I couldn't believe what she was saying. Will she really keep that promise? Did I have any leverage in case she doesn't? My mind was all over the place. Then she continued.

I'll even sweeten the deal. I'll let you play with my toy once a week. You can use her when I'm not playing with her. Gracie's face looked horrified. What? Is she serious? She can't possibly think I would accept that deal. I mean, Evay never felt bliss like sleeping with Gracie.

I swear it felt like I was in heaven. I know I want to do it more, but this is different. This isn't right. P., please, do, don't take that deal. Gracie said in a scared tone. Help me, please help me. Stacey lowered her knife. I didn't turn you in because you gave me what I wanted.

All I want is for you to continue to do what you're already doing. It's not hard. In fact, you'll get rewarded. She grabbed Gracie's boob. Didn't this feel amazing? Weren't her nipples the softest thing you've ever felt? Didn't it taste good? She walked to her lower body and separated Gracie's legs.

Wasn't this the most amazing pussy you've ever felt? Yes. It was. It truly was the greatest feeling I've ever felt. Gracie's body was literally the most attractive body I've ever seen. Everything from her chest to her feet were sexy. And when I touched her, it felt like I couldn't think of anything else but her. I wanted to feel that high again.

But not like this. Did you get a chance to taste it? No. I didn't. I can assure you, It's the most delicious thing you've ever tasted. Her juices are intoxicating. I started drooling.

I know it's wrong. But this situation might not be so bad. She was right. I could just keep going to work and wait for my turn to play and be rewarded, if I don't I'll go to jail. What do I do? Please, please. Don't do this.

You said it was an accident. Killing Paul was an accident right. I won't press charges. I promise. You won't go to jail, just please. Help me. Gracie pleaded with me again. She begged me.

This is an ideal situation for both of us. Don't you agree? Stacey started undressing herself and got on top of Gracie. If you agree, then leave us. It's my turn to play with her. She pour the knife down and pointed towards the door as she said that. Stacey started grinding her pussy up against Gracie's. I just stared at her doing that.

Please, help. Gracie pleaded again as she was being dominated by Stacey. Don't leave me, not like this. I turned around and started walking away. Please, don't go. Please. Gracie yelled at me. I just kept walking and walked out the door.

I left the door open and went to the living room to watch TV. I just sat there as I heard Gracie screaming at me. Please. Come back. Please. And that's it for now. This medication is making me sleepy, so I'll provide another update later. Hi all.

It's been ten hours since my last update. I just woke up and still in pain. I just took my pain medication, so I'll finish the update for now. It's been several weeks since that day. Things were crazy. The next day, I woke up early and saw Stacey was in the den already. Usually I wake up to hear Stacy cooking breakfast for her and Gracie, not for me, of course, but this time she didn't do that.

I took a peek in the den and saw her already playing with Gracie. Stacey had a look of pure bliss on her face, whereas Gracie had tears in her eyes as she stared at the ceiling. I walked away and went to work. I came back around 3 p.m. and didn't hear anything. I peaked in the den again and saw Gracie alone, naked and covered in various fluids. She was just staring at the ceiling with dried tears in her eyes.

I walked around the house and saw Stacy cooking dinner. She was cooking some expensive Kobe steaks. When she saw me she ran up to me and gave me a big hug. I was confused to say the least. Hey baby. How was work? Ah! Work was okay, how was your day?

I had the most amazing day. I spent the day in the den having fun. I haven't had this much fun in a long time. To be honest, I wasn't sure how to feel about this. I had mixed feelings about the situation. What she was doing to Gracie was awful, but it made her so happy. Shouldn't I intervene? I walked away last night but there's still time for me to help.

But I don't know if I want to. Honestly, I just didn't want to think about it for now. Here, baby. Come sit at the table. I cooked you some Kobe steaks. Your favorite, what's the occasion? This is a huge step forward in our relationship. I walk to celebrate, what the hell is she talking about?

Do you not understand the gravity of the situation we're in? Things are fucked honestly, they are. But we're fucked up too. She paused AMD stared at me. You're a killer. You're already off the deep end. When she said that, I almost threw up. Thinking about what I did to Paul wasn't pleasant.

I can clearly picture that day as if it just happened. I didn't mean to kill him, but instead of turning myself and I got wrapped up in this weird situation. I've made everything so much worse for now. Stacey saw the distressed look on my face and began to walk behind me. She whispered in my ear, don't worry so much. We're in this together now. She paused and kissed my cheek. Want to take your mind off of it?

Go to the den. Go have some fun. You'll feel different afterwards. My mind suddenly started picturing what I did yesterday with Gracie. That's the reason why I walked away. I walked away so I can have some fun too. Go ahead, baby. I need to finish cooking.

I'll call you when I'm done. My body suddenly stood up on its own and I just started walking towards the den. I opened the door and see Gracie turn her head towards me. Tears started flowing as she saw me slowly approach her naked body. What are you doing? She just stared at me. I'm sorry. The next moments seemed to pass by fast.

I remember she screamed and argued. I just drowned out all the noise for what seemed like minutes. I was lost in bliss. Next thing I know Stacey walked in and snapped me back to reality. Honey, it's 6 p.m. now. How long are you going to take? Your food is getting cold. When I came to, I had wrapped Gracie's legs around me.

She had gone silent as she stared at the ceiling. I got dressed and started to walk out the door, but I heard Gracie say something. I can't believe I trusted you. For some reason, those words stung. The next two weeks flew by. Stacey would spend all day in the den. She treated me really well. She cooked me food, was super affectionate and Lee Eason started hivine sex again.

Our relationship seemed to improve. Every few days when she noticed I felt conflicted, she would let me play a bit. This went on until Stacy got a call on the phone one night. It was from Gracie's family. We were eating dinner when they called her. She picked up. I just quietly listened. Hi Stacy. We wanted to get an update on Gracie's condition. How is she doing?

The doctor mentioned she should be recovering by now. Hey. Unfortunately she's still in critical condition. She's not ready for visitors. Can we come see her? She paused for a moment. I'm not sure that's a good idea. She's very embarrassed about her condition. I'll let you know when she's ready for visitors. She then hung up. Her expression didn't change at all. That should keep them off our assess for a while. But what if they stop by, then you'll take care of it? Obviously, what does she mean by that? What are you talking about?

If they come visit, you'll kill them. It's pretty clear what I meant. I felt nauseous again. I didn't mean to do it before. Why does she think I'll do it now? I'm not doing that. I'm not a killer. She paused and looked at me.

Yes, you are. There's no denying that. I didn't even want to kill Paul in the first place. I'm not killing anyone else. So, you want to be a convicted rapist then? Her words shook me. What do you think we've been doing this whole time? We're criminals.

And you're a killer. It doesn't matter if you intended to or not. You did it. I started sweating. She was right. How can I avoid this? There's nothing I can do to avoid this situation. The only way to continue our goal is to kill them.

It's up to you. We still have time though, so don't worry about it for now. A moment later, Stacey's phone rang again. It was from Gracie's sister. I just listened again. Hey, Stacey. We want to go see Gracie. Hey, Gwen.

Gracie isn't up for it right now. She's still not feeling well, can we speak to her? She's sleeping right now. Well, wake her up. We need to talk to her. I don't want to wake her up She needs her rest I'll pass her the phone next time she's awake

Otherwise as a health care professional I can't disturb her rest She needs it Okay Stacey I'm going to stop by tomorrow morning Please let us in then she hung up Stacey stood there for a second We might not have much time left

You better steal your resolve Otherwise we're in trouble That's it for now There's more to my update but need a break to rest some more. God, I'm still shaking. I didn't mean to do it. Things weren't supposed to go this way. It was a total accident.

I'm not sure what to do right now. Please Reddit Hive Mind tell me what to do. Let me explain the situation. One Sunday night in March of 2023, I found out my wife had been cheating on me for years. I, 37M, had just bought my wife Stacy, 34F, a new IP. for her birthday. She was very happy with the gift and I was helping her get it set up and synced to her Apple account. She went to take a shower and left the iPad open. I heard a bunch of notifications so I checked and saw that all her messages were backed up to the iPad. Seconds later,

she received a new message from someone named Gracie. I knew of Gracie as she was my wife's gym friend. For context, in 2021 when COVID restrictions lightened up my wife and I joined the gym. We would go in the morning, but then I eventually had to stop due to work. She continued to go and currently goes three to four times a week consistently. Eventually she mentioned that she made a friend named Gracie. She normally has trouble connecting with other women, so I was happy she made a new friend. I never met her, but she goes to the gym with her all the time. They have even taken occasional girls' trips. Over the years, my wife's figure has improved greatly. Her butt is bigger and more firm.

Her waistline is more slim. She even has a six-pack now. I'm very average looking in comparison. I'm not fit, but not overweight. I'm five feet eight inches. Slightly balding, but I thought I looked okay. The text from Gracie read, I pulled a muscle last time. Tomorrow it's your turn to get on top, winky face.

I was stunned. My gut reaction was that they were having sex, but my wife is absolutely straight. I wasn't sure what to think, but before I can screen shot the text my wife started coming out of the shower. I quickly turned off the iPad and went to bed. I couldn't sleep at all that night. I was hoping I misunderstood the text. Maybe they were stretching. Maybe it was during their yoga class. I was praying it wasn't what I was thinking. Our relationship hasn't been perfect, but I thought it was good. We're both firm on being child-free. We have semi-regular sex, about twice a week on weekends unless we're tired. We don't

argue over anything. We've been married for five years, together for ten. I cook and clean for us since she works long hours as a night shift nurse, 3 p.m. to 3 a.m. I work morning shift as an engineer, 5 a.m. to 2 p.m., so we don't see each other much except for weekends when we're both off. I decided that night that I wanted to see for myself what was up. I got up at 4 a.m. like normal and got ready for work. I then left in my car and parked down the street from our home. I called off do this. She normally went to the gym around 8 a.m. every Monday through Thursday. Like clockwork, she left around 7.50 a.m. I followed behind her from a distance. She drove about 15 minutes away to some random neighborhood and pulled into the driveway of a house I didn't

recognize. There was a lime green 67 Mustang parked in front of the garage. I saw her get out and walk up to the door. What I saw after really stayed in my mind. A man opened the door. He was about six foot too, totally jacked and had a thick beard. He looked like he was a lumberjack or something. She hugged him and went inside. I felt like throwing up. I was trying to rationalize what I just saw. Hugging him doesn't necessarily mean she's sleeping with him, but it doesn't look good either. I stayed in my car and waited for her to come out. She didn't leave the house until around 12 p.m. Her hair was a mess. Her clothes were wrinkled like they were taken off and thrown around. Her face was flush like she just had a long workout. They hugged again and she

drove off home. I noted the address down and stated there for a bit. I stayed in my car and drove around for a few hours until it was time to go home. We normally see each other for a brief 20 minutes each afternoon before she goes to work. She acted normal the whole time. I asked about her gym workout and she said the typical stuff about how yoga and Zumba classes were brutal. I was heartbroken but wanted to be absolutely sure. I followed her again every day that week and she did everything the exact same. She went to this house every morning, the dude would answer and hug her, then she'd spend a few hours each day with him and leave roughly the same time. That was enough evidence for me so I decided to leave her.

I contacted a divorce lawyer and explained the situation. He told me that because I make more money than her and that I have no actual proof of infidelity, at best the process will end with her taking half of all my assets. I was pissed so I came up with a plan, transfer all my assets to my brother, sabotage her birth control, catch her in the act, and take recordings, and then kick her ass out. I spent the next year slowly transferring all my assets to my brother. My name was on the deed to the house, so I transferred it him. I emptied my personal bank account and wired it to him. I own both cars so now they were his. After her last period a few weeks ago, I swapped her birth control pills with similar-looking pills.

I also haven't had sex with her since then as well. That all lead to tonight. The last part of my plan was to catch her in the act. I couldn't access her phone or iPad since they were password protected. So I bought three small cameras off Amazon and planned on installing them on the outside of the windows of that dude's house. I drove to his house around 8 p.m. I dressed in black pants, black gloves and a black hoodie. I brought a backpack with the cameras and a crowbar.

I didn't see the Mustang in the driveway, so I figured he wasn't home. I snuck to the back of the house looking for the bedroom window. I found it but noticed the window was slightly open. I looked inside and didn't see anything, so I decided to plant the cameras inside the house instead. I opened the window with the crow bar and let myself inside the room. I took off my backpack, took out the cameras and placed the crow bar on the floor. I planted the first camera in a potted plant he had in the corner of the room. The second camera was placed in the closet, with the door slightly opened enough for view.

I couldn't decide what to do with the last camera, though. There wasn't any good areas to place it. Eventually, I decided to place it behind the TV overlooking the bed. Once I placed it, I hear the door open behind me and hear the words, what the hell? He lunged at me and pinned me to the ground. He was holding onto one of my arms while I used the other to push him. off me. He yelled, you chose the wrong house to steal from dipshit. Iiled to get off me, but he proceeded to punch me instead. I was reaching out my free hand looking for anything to

use and felt the crowbar so I grab it and swing. I got him directly on the chin and see him fall down. As he fell, his head ended up hitting the corner of his bed and I heard a cracking sound. Suddenly there was a pool of blood and a motionless body. I was terrified. I tried checking for a pulse but didn't feel anything. I quickly grabbed my backpack in the crowbar and got the hell out of there. I then went to the woods ten minutes away and buried my clothes and the crowbar. I'm now home trying to figure out what to do next. I need help. Please I didn't mean to do that. Should I call the cops? As advanced as our world has become, there are still some problems that aren't close to being fixed, which include the California wildflowers and

the countless unsolved murders that plague minority communities. There's a lot of things that I don't know, like how to put out fires, but there is one thing that I'm really good at, and that's numbers. In high school everyone was focused on the sport stars and I was that kid from India, who was a math savant, that nobody focused on. My niche was statistics and probabilities. I really didn't have many friends, so to keep myself occupied, would predict behavior through math. For instance, I would predict the days a teacher was going to call out sick or the days a bully was going to give me a hard time. It seems trivial, but I was able to predict most things in a mostly unpredictable world. I was able to bring stability to my chaotic world. My father was

dead set on me going to MIT. I had no interest in attending MIT and I don't want to sound arrogant, but I probably could teach most of the professors at MIT, so all of my acceptance letters, I just threw in the trash. I wasn't worried about money. I had already figured out how the billionaires manipulated the stock market and I was able to follow their lead. Once again that might seem like a person's dream to have a private yacht, but that would just be too boring for me. Once I finished high school, I took some classes at the local community college mostly to keep my father off my back. One Friday night, I was looking for something challenging that I could fix through statistics. Something that was in complete disorder.

I stumbled upon the Philadelphia Police Department's Unsolved Homicide website. I was shocked that the amount of unsolved murders there had been. After scrolling page after page and to be honest, I was so disgusted that I had to stop. I thought to myself this is something that year after year continues to happen and there has been no concrete plan on how to deal with it. In addition to the unsolved murders, I included all the murders in the Philadelphia. I analyzed the locations, age of victims, gender, because of death, race, weather, and I started to let all of those things float in my head. I eventually was able to predict patterns in where the murders would occur, race of the murder victims, location, and I did all of these

things without the help of a computer. To test my theory, I wrote down, where I thought the next murder would happen to include the time of day and other factors as well. The next day when I read the Philadelphia online newspaper, I would like to say that I was amazed, but I was a little disappointed, that I was wrong by two blocks, but I did pretty much get the time of the murder right. I reshuffled some calculations in my head in the next murder, I was only off by just a half a I started to send in anonymous tips but the police brushed it off as psychic nonsense, so I had to do it on my own. My plan was to tint the windows on my car and wait for the murder to happen. I figured that when I started to see a potential victim or a possible perpetrator,

then I would call the cops before the murder actually happened. Regardless, I was going to videotape the whole thing. So I drove to Front Street on a Saturday night about two hours before the expected murder would happen. Nothing prepared me for the absolute terror I felt sitting and waiting in my car. I had about 100 different horrible thoughts going through my head like stray bullets or being seen in my car. My car wasn't a tank the windows were just completely tinted. This homicide, I predicted was going to be a Latino male in his early 20s, who was going to be shot by an African American male also in his early 20s. They would both be by alone and by themselves. As the time got closer and closer, my entire outfit was covered in sweat

with it being only 60 degrees outside. My heart was pounding more and more. I looked out at the back of my window and saw about a block away, one man walked towards my car and then I turned around to the front window and saw another man a little more than a block from the car. I quickly got on the phone and called 911. I said a murder just happened even though nothing happened yet. As the men approached each other I kept on saying, come on, come on, for the police to arrive,

they didn't. As the AAM saw the Latino man, he basically ambushed the Latino man and shot him three times. About a minute later the cops arrived, but the AAM was long gone. I sent my videotape in anonymously to the police, which actually led to the arrest of the perpetrator. This is the excitement that I wanted, which MIT, Harvard or any other Ivy League school couldn't offer. There was literally a murder every other day and I could predict, with math and probability, where the murders would happen. I went out again and this time on Gerard Street. I had an older car and with the tinted windows it kind of blended in. That didn't stop the fear from ripping through me. The tint was actually illegal, but it was well worth the risk.

The video quality wasn't the best because of the tinted windows and the darkness of the videos. But it ensured my safety. This night I predicted a double homicide, where two AAMs would be shot by a man in a car. As the time approached, I just couldn't calm down, because I knew that I was in the middle of a bad storm that was about to happen. I saw two guys walking towards my car from my front window as I was about two minutes away from my prediction. Right away, I called the police and told them a murder just happened. About 30 seconds later I see a Cadillac escalade drive up behind the two men and the car opens fire. I quickly rolled myself on the floor in the back seat. Fortunately, I was able to get enough video before there.

shooting occurred. I sent the video to the police and they were able to track down the Cadillac. I continued to do this for three weeks. I was wrong about once a week. Then something horrible happened. I was waiting in fear, like I typically did and I saw two different groups of men get closer to each other and I called the police right away. Then out of nowhere a bunch of shotgun shells riddled my car.

I was extremely fortunate that the police arrived and scared away the would be aces in and the the only injuries I received was from the shattered glass. The one thing that my math didn't consider was that there are thousands of Philadelphia police officers and it only took one corrupt cop to tip the criminals that someone was hiding in their car taking videos of the murders. To make it even worse, I was identified at the crime scene and I was now being sought out by multiple drug cartels. I gave my statistical math formula to the police and with all of the bureaucracy in the department,

I don't think anyone attempted to use it. I reapplied to MIT and they were happy to accept me. only thing that I still haven't gotten over was every time a car slows down by me I automatically go into panic mode thinking the cartels found me or every time I hear a door open I automatically go into panic mode. I, Tina 34F, have found myself in a situation that has me feeling really skeptical. To give a brief backstory, I am an affair baby. This did not leave me with two loving families, this left me with two resentful and emotionally neglectful families. I have been largely ignored my entire life by all of my siblings.

I have been mistreated and scorned by my step-parents. The worst, though, is my two biological parents have also treated me like I am, their punishment, instead of like a daughter. When I was 18, I left my home in Nebraska for college in Missouri and never returned. It was while I was in college I found out that my stepdad mark opened two credit cards in my name, maxed them out, and then defaulted on them. I sought legal action, he was convicted of identity theft, and spent two years in prison. That completely ended any contact I have had.

with the Whitmore side of my family, my bio-mother's side. I can happily say none of them have reached out to me since a very awkward confrontation right after his conviction. In the last 13 years I have reached numerous personal goals. I became a plastic surgeon just as I had always dreamed. It does have its noble pursuits as well. Facial reconstructions of crash victims, helping breast cancer survivors, cleft palate repairs. It's not all noses and boobs, just mostly. I'm doing very well for myself. Well, like I said, I have not heard from the Whitmore side in 13 years, but I have only barely heard from the Freeman side in those same 13 years.

During the time I was seeking charges against my stepdad for stealing my identity, my stepmom Brian, was really supportive and encouraging of me. She had never been that nice at any point in my life. My dad, Barry, also called me more during that time, and that moments made me think he was genuinely interested in me. I guess those were just wishful thoughts on my end. Shortly after that case was finalized it was back to radio silence. That was really the final straw for me and I have not bothered with these people since then.

I get the occasional announcement. You know, like weddings or the birth of a child. When I assumed they got word that I was a surgeon I started getting invitations. Funny how there were never invitations before that, just FYI mail. I guess when they think you have money you finally become worth an actual invite. In the first few years when I was just getting the announcement, I would usually send a card or something with congrats, but by time I was making serious money I had matured.

I realized they never wanted me in the family, and now that I was financially stable, they probably thought I could be of use to them. No thanks. I haven't so much as responded to a card or Facebook message in three years. That was until about six months ago. I got an email for my father. In it he actually apologized for not being there for me enough when I was growing up. This was beyond an understatement, but it was a start.

It was a very long email. He told me all about the comings and goings of him, Brianne, and my two older brothers, Larry and Liam. They are both married now and have four kids between them. The oldest just turned 18. On top of all this family recap, he talked about the few good memories we have together. Such as my birthdays, which aren't great honestly, or the time he drove an hour to see me play volleyball in Lincoln. I don't know why he would list this, he literally bitched about it the

whole way home. I figured this was a one-off incident. Maybe he had a new co-worker who has a good relationship with his daughter and that made him feel guilty. Whatever the reason, I wasn't going to pay it much attention and didn't respond. Then a few days later I got another one. Similar to the first one, giving me updates, apologizing, and asking for us to reconnect. I ignored it again. Then another came a few days after. then another. Then one from Brienne apologizing and trying to empathize with why I wouldn't want to talk. She actually said, we don't deserve forgiveness, but if you can find it in your heart to just let us say our peace in person, it would mean the world to your father, and to me as

well. WTF. I have shown all this to my aunt Dina. She is my dad's sister. I am super close to my aunt and look at her as my mom more so than either of my two moms. Dina's daughters are my cousins and best friends, Dagny and Daisy. Dina has kept in better touch with my dad than I have. She does at least still go visit their mother, although it's only like once or twice a year since she is just an absolutely awful woman and I can't imagine how anyone could tolerate her

more than once or twice a year. Dina says that my dad seems like the same old guy as ever. She hasn't seen him in about a year, but she said the last time she saw him he was just as self-absorbed and borderline narcissistic as ever. Having read the emails though she can't believe they were written by the same person. She thinks I should keep them at arm's length for a while if I do choose to consider reconciliation. After four months of getting what averaged out to be an

email every ten days or so, I finally responded. I told them in a mass email to my dad, stepmom, and brothers. I was very moved by the emails that I have been receiving, but am still very skeptical. I have had a lot of hurt over the years and am not sure how to proceed. I would like some time to mull this over. I don't know how long that time frame is and would like to think it over without further influence. Well, that was two months ago and they have actually respected my wishes sending only one email back a few hours after mine saying, take your time. I have been pretty torn. That was until something happened last week at the hospital. I wasn't there when this went down, but my friend and colleague was going to be the lead surgeon on this. He has a patient

with advanced kidney failure, she is in desperate need of a transplant. They have gone through the whole process of matching her with her sister. As in did all the tests, measurements, everything. They were set to do the surgery as soon as possible. The sister arrives, and in front of everyone, tells her dying sister that she will not get her kidney and is going to die, and that she only went through all this so she would die knowing that the only person who could save her was the person she had wronged the most. She then told their parents that when they died she was going to dump their ashes in one of those construction site plastic toilets. Now, I don't know what happened between all of them.

In fact, I can't imagine what would ever make someone reach that point on the revenge scale, but God damn that's harsh. I don't want to become that woman. Someone who hates somebody so much they would rub in that they're going to die. I have decided to reach out and see if my family and I can have the kind of relationship that I have always wished we had. Part 2, a few weeks ago I posted about how my family was trying to reconcile with me after years of barely acknowledging my existence.

I reached out to them saying I would like to work through the past and build a nice future together. They sent me some nice emails and we made a plan to meet last week. I took a long weekend. I already don't work on Fridays so it was just clearing my Monday. Everything seemed fine throughout the visit. I visited with the grandkids and they all had made me little crafts and things. The oldest granddaughter, Lizzie, played volleyball so she and I talked about that a bunch. My parents and brothers, and their wives, seemed to be really interested in me. asking all sorts of questions we went out to eat a few times it was overall a pretty nice weekend yet i just have this feeling that something is off about the whole thing i guess the things that are giving me some doubts are the types of questions and conversations we would always wind up having basically we would start talking about just any normal mundane thing like my dating life or how my brother has really gotten into axe throwing yet that seemed to always devolve into a talk about money they never quite quite just came out and asked me what I make or anything, but there were a few times it seemed they were

hinting at wanting to know. They also had a bunch of questions about what certain procedures cost, especially boob jobs. Could be nothing, I always get a lot of questions about boob jobs whenever someone finds out what I do, so it's not completely unusual. The other thing was they kept wanting to go out to eat. Which I was fine with, I don't normally consume that much restaurant food as I know it's not the best for a person's health, but I figured why not, this is kind of like being on a vacation. Well, they all seemed eager to pick up the check that first night, almost like they were treating me. The next night it was a lot of stalling when the check was sitting on the table and I decided to pick it up. No big deal. On the last night,

since I was feeling generous as this had been a nice trip overall I told them I would treat them to a dinner out. This is where I got the initial ick factor that has grown as I think back to my visit. They picked one of the priciest places in Omaha. I thought at first no big deal, it'll be pricey but they typically just get meals, maybe one appetizer, no real extras. I was wrong. I knew something was up when we got there and all the adults started ordering glasses of wine and several appetizers. At that point, the bill was already pretty high. The main dishes were what I expected, but then everyone, and I mean everyone got dessert. It was about the time we were going to leave that my dad suggested to Liam that he'd get something

to go, for Lucy, Liam's daughter who is five years old, I might add. She was a spending the night with her grandparents, and was not with us. Liam was like, oh yeah, that's a good idea, you don't mind you, Tina? He must have been asking that rhetorically because before I could even respond he placed an order with the waitress. He ordered the surf and turf. Really? A five-year-old wants a 14-ounce rib-eye and two lobster tails.

The bill was astronomical. I paid it and didn't say anything, I can afford it. Before anyone asks, no, no one thanked me for the dinner. That dinner has me kind of doubting everything, as well as really thinking about their behavior during the whole trip. Am I looking for reasons to distrust, or am I on to something with this gut feeling? Part 3. Yep, gut instinct wins again. It was all about what I could do for them.

After my trip my family continued to, love bombed me. They sent me several emails about how great my visit was, how good it was to catch up, and that they can't wait to do it again. I wasn't sure if there was going to be in, again. my responses were brief and maybe a little cold. Which wasn't intentional, but I was still a little jaded from that dinner. That's when the cat was let out of the bag. Now, I don't know what they told Lizzie, but she reached out to me with a thank you email.

Apparently she was under the impression I was, gifting her a boob job. I inquired what she was talking about, and she told me that it was her graduation present. This is a thing, not the first time I've heard this, although it's usually a college graduation, not high school graduation. Her parents were wanting to get her some sort of really big gift for graduating high school and when they asked her she said she wanted boobs. She has small breasts that is obvious but they'll fill out more once high school is over and she's a little less active, which literally happened to me and all my friends when we stopped playing sports.

I asked her if this was really what she wanted and she insisted it was. At that point I stopped talking to Lizzie and said I need to talk to her parents and mine about this. I reached out creating a group chat with Barry, Brian, Larry and his wife, Cassie. They did confess that they wanted to get her this gift, but that is what made them realize they needed to patch things up with me. They kept insisting, over insisting really, that they didn't reach out in hopes of getting a free boob job. I am not really buying this. Anyway, I told them I wasn't really sure how comfortable I was doing such a procedure. This is when they began showing

their true colors. It was very subtle at first. They were saying they were going to get the procedure done anyway, but that they had looked me up and my reviews were top-notch, which is true, and that they just felt better if, family was doing the procedure. We went back and forth like this for a few days and I agreed to do it. The next week I sent them all the paperwork I would need filled out in order to even get her on the schedule. This is when it got less subtle. They came to the page on costs.

I guess they were under the impression there would be some sort of family discount, possibly even comp services. The whole thing devolved from there. As I stood my ground and pointed out that they said getting back in touch with me wasn't about getting a free boob job, they began to lay on heavy guilt trips. These did not have the same effect that they had hoped. Sure, this type of stuff worked on me when I was a kid and misguided teen looking for any reason to get these people to like me.

I'm thirty-four years old now, I realized they were the problem a long time ago. I was just about to cut my losses and go back to no contact and my dad sent me a message. It was a total guilt trip, but there was one line that made me so mad. Don't you think you owe it to the family to make this as affordable as possible considering all we did for you, WTF? Did for me? Nothing. That's all any of you ever did for me, you did the minimum to save face in front of all the other

suburbanite yuppies you called friends. I didn't respond at first. I let myself calm down, I called up Dagnny and we chatted about it. She always has a way of making me feel better. She also has a way of being petty when she gets burned by someone, which made me think of that woman. The one who was so scorned by her family that she took the time to travel across states, go through all the testing to be a donor match, only to tell her sister to essentially fuck off in her greatest time of need. Even though I don't know her story, I began to understand

where she was coming from. I told my dad to call me and said I would help out. He softened, but was still a dick, saying, I knew you'd come around. Anyway, I told them to pick her a weekend, would go in on an unusual Friday and do the procedure. They could pick any time because I don't ever work Friday so the whole day was open. They made a big deal about having to get a hotel for three days, and asked if they could stay with me. I told them I only had a two-bedroom townhouse so that wouldn't be possible, which was scoffed at. I held my ground though and made them get a hotel. On the first day they were there I told them we had to go sign all the releases and permissions

to do the procedure. I had also sent them this exact packet of paperware. I had also sent them this exact packet of paperwork prior to their arrival. Like the typical self-entitled people that they are, they didn't even bother reading through this packet beforehand, or really paying attention when they were signing away at everything. I insisted that my dad and Larry sign everything. They all thought that was weird since my dad is a grandparent not her legal guardian, but I said I was doing this as a gift to him for making amends, that he should be on as well. They took this at face value. Reality was Lizzie was signing a few things at the same time, those were the actual permissions, she is 18 after all.

Dad and Larry were mostly signing the financial side of things with a few consents, and insurance forms since she was still on his plan. When they got to the financials pages it was much of the same without them even bothering to read over it. Our hospital financial rep said something like, this contract isn't our typical, it reflects the negotiations you have discussed with our lead surgeon. They just signed it. I did the procedure the next day. It was routine, no issues.

They traveled back to Nebraska the next day. The only person who thanked me was Lizzie. Well, it's been about four weeks since then, and I guess they just got the bill. At 12 grand I'm sure it's quite the shock when you see it all written out. Normally it wouldn't be so high, but I doubled my surgeon fee since we did it on my day off. They were bombarding me with calls and messages about this, stating they thought the whole thing was going to be comped. I sent back just one message, I have no idea what would make you think that, I only do pro bono work for family. After sending that I just blocked them.

I am done. No family is so much better than two shit families. I have my aunt and cousins, and maybe one day I'll get married. Until then though, I am just going to keep living the life I've built for myself, by myself, without them. I met him seven years ago when we started high school. We became friends very easily, and after that, I kept insisting that we should be a couple because I liked him, and everyone knew it, I didn't hide it.

We went on dates and stuff, and he would let me hold his hand, leg, and many parts of his body, but he never said anything when we were alone. However, if we were with friends, he never let me touch him or even get close to him. After we graduated from high school and stayed in touch, we were like unofficial boyfriends. Then, in May 2021, we became friends with benefits, and it all started when I asked him if he wore underwear, and from then on, every time we saw each other, we did something different. I became a Chamberlain escort for his sister's Quincyonara, so we saw each other every day and spent time alone, which helped us connect even more. We would constantly fight and

stop talking, just like in any relationship. Then, on February 14, 22, we went to the G.D. Loo's event, and when we got to his house, I asked him if he wanted to be my official boyfriend, and he said yes. But no one knew because, supposedly, he hadn't come out of the closet yet. A lot of things happened after that. One day, we were downtown, and I had a really bad headache while he wouldn't stop talking, so I asked him to be quiet. From that moment, he started acting more serious, cold, and rude. We had many problems, and I already suspected that he was cheating on me, but when you're

in love, you overlook everything. By December, he was doing ballet at an academy, and I accompanied him every day, he had a performance at Palco for Trompo Magico, and he was going to perform for two days. So in love, I bought tickets for both days. On Friday the 16th, I invited two friends to go see him, and after the performance, we went out for dinner. Later, we went to his house, and when we got there, we started arguing because he wouldn't put his phone down, so we just went to sleep.

The next day, Saturday, I went to see him again, this time with his mom. After the event, he was still glued to his phone, which made me suspicious. When we got to his house, we went to sleep, but I woke up in the middle of the night and checked his phone. I found messages from someone calling him, love, and all that stuff. In the morning, I confronted him, and he told me, that's just how we talk because of the song a Morsito Corazon, and a bunch of excuses. I asked him if he wanted to keep going with all these problems or if we should break up, and we ended up breaking up. I was so hopeful, thinking it was all a joke, so I visited him the whole week from the 18th to the 25th of December to see if we could

fix things, but nothing changed. On the 25th, I gave him his present, a really nice one, and we started playing Nintendo, which he still hasn't returned. Then he had an anxiety attack, and I checked his phone again. He still had messages with that person, saying, on New Year's, we should get together and celebrate our second anniversary. I was like, no way, I confronted him, and we had a big argument. And in our last conversation, he had the audacity to say, I forgive you for everything you did to me, so shamelessly. And that was my sad story.

This is my first time ever posting. A friend of mine suggested this as a place to vent into the void. I, Kevin 35M, was engaged to my amazing fiancé Emily, 30F. We met at Starbucks almost four years ago now. I saw this mom struggling in the line, so I went up and just paid for her coffee and muffin. I really didn't have any expectations, but we started talking. I noticed she didn't have a ring on her finger, and decided I'd shoot my shot. I didn't want to be awkward so I just slipped her my business card with me sell on it and told

her no pressure, figured if she was married she could just toss the card. I was ecstatic when she called me the next day. Our relationship took off fast and I have to admit I was in love from the start. She had some trauma she had to deal with. I was the first relationship she had since her fiancé had gone missing nearly two years earlier. I was sympathetic, I knew what it was like. I buried my first true love. I had met a girl in college, Jocelyn.

We were together for five years, engaged, when she was taken from me in a car accident. It took me two full years to move on, and I'm still not 100%. Emily wasn't my first date after losing Jocelyn, but she was the first that made me feel that spark. I met her son officially some months later. Paul was the sweetest boy, I bonded with him quickly. They moved in with me and I knew this is what I wanted out of life. She was still struggling with the loss of her fiancé. He had gone on a guy's trip to Thailand and never came back.

He had just disappeared and was presumed dead. I really put in the work to help her overcome that grief. I handled it when she cried after our first kiss because it was so different. I took things slow while she came to terms with being intimate with someone new. Held her hand on the bad days, and celebrated the good. I knew what it was like, and I didn't want her to have to feel that way alone, like I made myself. do. We had been engaged about two months when everything started to go south. Her ex-fiance came back from the dead. He had been gone almost five years when his father, who Emily is

still very close with and I had come to have a great relationship with Came to our home. He told us that Walt was back, he was alive and well. He told us a story about being trapped in a Cambodian prison, which if I'm being honest still doesn't make any sense. Like you were just lost in the shuffle. They never once let you make a phone call. Maybe in 1979, but not in 2019. I brought this up to Emily once and she didn't want to hear it. I knew to be supportive at first. There was guilt there.

I could understand that, they all gave up on finding him. They even had a memorial service. I was actually pretty relieved when Emily didn't want to meet him right away. I remember when I first met Walt. There was something about him that just seemed off to me. I didn't say anything about that but did make the effort to let him know I was wanted what was best for Emily and Paul, I even got the guy a job working for my brother Kyle. I didn't ever want to deny him his son, but I really needed him to understand that

this was going to be hard on the people he left behind. We were plenty cordial with each other, but I will admit I played a bit overly nice, especially since I'm pretty sure he was cussing me under his breath. Once they met in person it was the beginning of the end. My whole life I've been the bigger person, except for one time in high school. However, watching my fiancé have an emotional affair, EA, right in front of my face for the next four months was a bit much even for me. I know he was her son's father, but they got real close real quick. I would bring my feelings on this to her and she said it was just natural to them. That they had been together a long time before he was taken from her, but there was nothing

romantic there anymore. She was with me now not him. I bought the reassurances for far too long. At our bachelor-slash-bachelorette party I saw them almost kiss. I know. I know knew then that the EA wouldn't end, and would at some point become a physical affair if I didn't do something. I decided I had to take this head on the very next morning, we were six days from wedding bells. I asked her to talk to me. I asked, are you falling back in love with Walt? She was taken aback for a moment, I never completely stopped, a part of me will ways love him, we were separated through circumstances not by either of our own failings, but I've told you, there's nothing more between us. I pushed forward, I saw last night, I know you,

you both thought I got there after, but I saw you dance, I saw you almost kiss. I just want to know if you want him more than you want me. She began to cry, no, I made a commitment to you, I will not go back on it. Sure there are still feelings, can you blame me, but I love you as well. I told her, that isn't very reassuring, it sounds more like you are staying with me out of obligation than love. She got defensive, I do love you, I'm marrying you. I calmly asked, when you picture yourself walking down that aisle, who did you?

picture standing at the end, she was tearing up even heavier, I'm sorry, it's just hard now that he's back. I said, I know, I know what it is like to lose someone, I don't know how it feels to get them back. I'm sure it's hard. Emily interrupted, it's impossible. I just can't stop how I feel. I'm so sorry. I hug her tight, if you want to be with him, you need to tell me, it gets so much harder after next week. I only want you to be happy, with no regrets. Now, do you want to be with him. She just nodded her head and sobbed harder. I broke down too, it was one of the most painful moments of my life. We talked on about fairness, she wavered in her choice for a moment, but came back to him. I could sense a weight had come off of her. She began to pack.

I asked if I could still be in Paul's life, she said that would make her so happy. In a last moment, before she walked out forever I told her I loved her and to take care of herself. I said, I know you don't want to hear this, but that prison story has never sat right with me, just promised me you will be careful. She just nodded, turned and left. I completely fell apart. I was left with the daunting task of telling my family, who all adored Emily, and getting back as much money as I could from the deposits.

My brother was so angry, he wanted to fire him. I asked him not to, that this man would be providing for Paul now. He calmed, and said he would call Lee up and see if Lee could use him. The next day the eldest Paul, my almost father-in-law, came by. We had always had a good rapport. He came to make things right in a way, but I knew he also wanted to see his son marry Emily. When he offered to cover the return of all my deposits, I knew what he was doing. He was going to give them the chance to get married.

I wanted to tell him to shove it, but I didn't. Always the bigger person, always letting it go. She came and got the rest of her stuff that week and let me know they were marrying. All of this happened nine months ago. I've seen on their social media they act like the happy couple. Everyone comments how happy they are for them. They say it was fate that some divine force let him survive his imprisonment and come back to her. Then this week they announced that Emily was pregnant.

Very few people have reached out to me, especially from our mutual circle. It's like they forgot I'm a person too. I guess I was just supposed to be okay with everything because I didn't make a scene. I feel betrayed, I'm broken. My first ever girlfriend cheated, my second died, and now I a-is my fiancé to true love. This house I live and used to be filled with hope for the future now it just has me wallowing in self-pity. I was only able to see Paul twice this whole time, both of those in the first month. Then the separating me from their loves began.

That's been the hardest part. I miss my little buddy. This was a boy who called me dad, who sat on my lap every single night while I read him story from his five-minute Marvel books. He would fall asleep on me every day and I would go lay him in his bed. You don't just turn that off, I miss him so much. I just don't get it, how is this fair? I never cheated, I never raised my voice, I treated her with respect, care, love. And somehow I feel like I'm viewed as the bad guy in this story. How am I the one who deserves to be punished? I just wanted to raise Paul as my own, to love his mother and wake up to her

every day, to give them the best life I could. Where is the justice in this? Where? I don't expect anyone to feel sorry for me, we all have our losses. I just needed to get this off my chest. I did something recently. I wasn't the bigger man, I didn't walk away or smooth things over. Since it's been nine years since I even got on this account, that I used one time ever, I don't want to go into the details of what happened before, but I used the search function and found that someone called you slash Gwen underscore Loves underscore A underscore DBL made a borough. I guess that's what it's called, and in it, it had assembled all the posts that related to my situation.

I had no idea that Walt or Emily had ever posted, so reading their perspectives was quite enlightening and enraging. I was not surprised on what I read in Walt's story that started all this, it was the mindless plot-hold dribble I heard him spout off years ago. I always knew something was wrong with that guy. Reading Emily's post from a few years ago, though, that made my blood boil. He was a liar, and sleesbowl. He wrecked my whole life at the time because he was selfish.

I never got to see Paul again, I took me a long time to get over Emily. And it was for nothing, he didn't even stop being a sleesbowl. I got angry. I went into his profile, he was using it to post in subs like petty revenge and legal advice. He always portrayed himself as the victim somehow. Anyway, he bragged in these posts about how he managed to drag out his divorce with his ex-wife for a full two years costing her loads more in-legal fees. He bragged about sabotaging the sale of their home because he didn't need the money, and he posts about how he was purposely drag out

their custody hearings and child support agreements, violating them, and challenging them just to make things harder on her. I lost the love for Emily years ago, but knowing that this guy was also hurting their children just out of spite was enough for me to get over that. I messaged Walt on Reddit and instigated a confrontation. I told him who I was and that I knew who he was. I used a lot of personal details from our past, and called him by his name, not his dumb handle. He got personal back, called me by my name, and never corrected my calling him Walt. After I ended this, I contacted Emily via email. Her response had an upbeat tone, and she came on strong with interest in what I've been doing the last nine years. I cut to the

chase, though, and let her know I wasn't interested in catching up. I just sent page after page of screenshots and downloads of all of Walt's posts and our conversation. I wanted it clear that U backslash Cambunia 2000 was Walt, and this was evidence that he was purposely causing issues out of spite that were affecting their legal battle. At that point I let Emily know I didn't want any more correspondence, and I blocked her. I guess it helped, because about ten days later on a Tuesday afternoon, Walt came storming into the office of my print shop. There was only one other person in the office with me, Carly, a few college kids I employed,

were in the back running the machines and listening to music. Walt was cussing me up one side and down the other. He then got up in my face, put two fingers in my chest, and threatened to kick my ass. Carly said she was going to call the police and I told her, don't, I got this handled. At this point I let twenty-five years of turning the other cheek out. My brother and I were raised in a boxing house. Our dad loved boxing, he put us in boxing classes at a young age and we kept in them all the way until high school.

Even then my brother and I would spar a little here and they're just to keep up with it. In high school, I was your stereotype popular guy. I was smart, well-liked, and a three-sport star, football, wrestling, baseball. I had a girlfriend I had since middle school and we were each other's first everything. It was early in my senior year, I was the starting QB on the team, and we were pretty good. Notably we had two guys on the team, Tyler and Zach, who were really good and were getting recruited by a few division two schools. They were best friends and honestly two of the biggest jerks I had ever encountered. They played a lot of mean pranks, constantly talked trash to anyone about anything,

and would try to get with the girlfriends of the guys on the team they didn't like, just all-around d-bag behavior. They thought they were really tough too, I mean they were big and strong, but you could tell they were the kind of guys who had never been punched in the face before. I guess going into our senior year my girlfriend was starting to feel like she was, wasting her youth, being in a long-term relationship with me. which I could have moved past if she would have told me this or just broke up with me in the first place. She decided, though, to just go ahead with her exploration, without informing me

of the change in our relationship status. It was the night after our first win and of course there was a house party. I typically didn't go to these in season, or very often. I also had to work this night, movie theater. I get a call from a friend of mine that my girlfriend was seen making out with Tyler, and that they just went into one of the bedrooms together. In a knee-jerk reaction M. I tell my coworker I got to go and head that way. It was about 15 to 20 minutes to get to the party. The second I walked and I could see eyes go on me, some people felt that overwhelming awkwardness you feel when you know something crazy is about to happen. Others laughed and made comments. Zach blocked me from going down the hall and we were getting in each other's

faces when Tyler came out in just a pair of compression undershorts. They both stood over me trying to intimidate me, then threatened to beat my ass if I didn't leave. I turned around and headed for the front door. Tyler and Zach began calling me derogatory names and making a show. Other people laughed and made comments. Once out the front door I pulled my cell and called Kyle. He was there in ten minutes. When we walked back in together Tyler and Zach were standing there in the middle of the room together,

Tyler was redressed, and my girlfriend was standing with them. When they saw us she just turned and ran out the other side of the room. I will never forget the shocked face on Tyler and Zach. We didn't say anything, each of us just walked up and shoved them against the wall then stepped back, giving them the universal, come on, sign. I could see in their eyes they wanted nothing to do with us. They had always built themselves on being the big badasses. Really they were just bullies, they picked on smaller guys and easy targets.

Now they messed up, here were two guys, that weren't as big and strong, but were fit and confident saying, let's find out. They had no choice, it was either fight or give up that bad boy reputation. I mean there were a couple dozen people standing around watching. When they charged us, it wasn't a fight, it was a massacre. In addition to the usual bloody noses and black eyes, I had also broken Tyler's jaw. Kyle had cracked Zach's ribs. Each of them missed a few weeks of the season.

When the colleges inquired as to why they were injured, it didn't take long for them to find out it was because of a fight. They stopped calling. We always wondered if law enforcement would get involved, they never did. they never did. Our father gave us one hell of speech, though. I've carried that with me ever since. Those two were jerks, but I felt like I took their future away. They both came from broke homes and were just scared kids. They didn't have what me and Kyle had. They never ended up going to college and here 25 years later I know they never left our hometown or really amounted

to anything. I have been the bigger person every day since then. Now I was standing here being threatened by the person I despised the most in this entire world. I shoved him back and when he stepped forward again he got met with a quick jab and hard right hook. He flopped on the floor like a fish. Trying to get up but too woozy to steady himself. Carly came over and he started to cry a little. We walked him out to his car and put him in the driver's seat. About seven minutes later he started it and drove off. I don't feel the least bit bad. In fact, I feel amazing. I have wanted to do that. for almost 10 years, and now only kick myself because I should have done that a long time ago.

Emily got into contact with me. She had a new email account. I did not read it, just blocked her again. Then she did the same thing again. This time I did read it. It was a semi-long email. It basically said thank you for your help, I'm sorry for the choices I made, I bet you are, I'd like to meet, catch up, and show a little appreciation for the help with my ex. Obviously it wasn't worded this way, but that's the gist. I showed it to Carly, and she said there is no doubt in her mind that Emily wants to get back together with me, telling me that the tone is flirty. She then asked me what I thought about that. I said, I would rather cut my own feet off. I'm just going to block her again. Carly said to me, I don't think she will get the hint any time soon,

she's not outright saying it, so I think you should meet and make it perfectly clear you're not interested, give you a little more practice at being petty. She said the last part with a laugh. I agreed to give it a shot. I responded to the email and said I'd be willing to do a friendly one-time meet-up. She asked if the next day would be fine and I replied yes. She then sent back to meet her at noon at the Starbucks on Spring Mill Road. The very Starbucks we met at all those years ago. I told her under no circumstances was she to bring Paul, and she swore she would not. She ended up sticking to that because had she not, I would have walked out. I arrived before she did, grabbed a drink and a table. When she came and she walked over to me and went

for the hug. I rejected it and gave her the handshake. She seemed a little sad, and I began question this choice. She excused herself to get a drink and then came back. I sat there staring at her, waiting for her to say something first. She finally began, you look really good. I replied, thanks, I go hit the bags with the MMA guys sometimes. Emily, I thought you were into boxing. Slightly annoyed by the small talk, I am, but the MMA gym is close to the house and they obviously work boxing too, but I doubt this is why you wanted to meet. She began telling me about what she found out about Walt, I stopped her and told her I already knew.

I also told her about him attacking me a year ago. Then came what Carly told me to expect, I'm sorry for what happened between us. I made a huge mistake. I let this Hollywood ideal of lost love get in my head. It was a very traumatic time for me as well. I just can't begin to tell you how sorry I am. I was hoping you could find a way to forgive me, or give me a chance to earn that forgiveness. I deadpan said, I got over all of that a long time ago, my distaste for Walt was much stronger,

I'm glad your situation worked out, but I did that for your kids. She became a bit more overt, I just have this feeling, like there could still be something there. I have regretted losing you for quite a while now, and I just feel like fate brought you back. I mean, what are the odds you of all people would find those Reddit posts? I just have this feeling that the universe is trying to bring us back together. I was about to reply, but Carly's timing was perfect. She had been listening via speakerphone.

As she came in, she smiled at me and said, Hey, Kev, you ready to go. She then gave me a kiss that lingered a little longer than normal for public. She looked at Emily and extended her hand, you must be his ex-fiancee Emily. Emily looked a little annoyed, yeah, Kevin didn't mention he was dating, anyone, I guess he likes them young now." She said that like it was a dig at the both of us.

Carly laughed and said with a smile, Oh honey, you're sweet, I'm a thirty-nine-year-old mother of two, but I'll take the compliment nonetheless, I don't get called young too often, also, I'm his wife, of the last seven years. She then posed her stance in a way that really accentuated her amazing figure. Emily looked a little shocked, Kevin, why didn't you tell me you were married? I stood up prepared to leave with my wife, you never asked, plus I wanted you to know no one was waiting around for you. At that point we headed out. I guess I'm realizing now that I never mentioned that in my post either. I met Carly about a year after my engagement

ended. We've been married almost seven years, but I want fault my wife for rounding up. We have five-year-old daughter and her 14-year-old son from her first marriage, his dad is not a D-bag and we get along well. My stepson calls me Kevin, probably always will, but we still have a really good relationship I wouldn't trade for anything. When we got back into the car, Carly looked at me and said, see, it's fun to be petty sometimes. I just nodded and thought to myself, yeah, it really was. I haven't gotten another email from Emily, so I'm thinking she got the hint. Hello everyone. My name is Minister Kay. I'm a non-denominational preacher here in Alabama. I haven't always been a man of God, though. I've had my share of ups and downs, as we all have.

I always like to say that nobody hits as hard as life, it is merely one big learning experience where we are all forced to endure our mistakes in order to learn and achieve our God-given potential. Life is one big fight. Life is filled with many battles. One of my many battles took place in August 2016. A battle, that quite frankly, would change my life forever. When I was young, I lost both of my parents tragically. My mother died in a house fire and my father of a heart attack.

This caused me to be very rebellious at a young age. I'm not sure if many of you can relate, but growing up without parents will cause a child to be forced to stay in some pretty sketchy places, surrounded by some pretty sketchy people. It's almost as if these types of individuals take advantage of the fact that you don't have a guardian to protect you. And the world is filled with real monsters who prey on the innocence of children, as well as children whose parents have failed to protect them, so to speak. As far as myself, I was forced to experience what I can only describe as a living hell

and had been inflicted with a deep-rooted trauma, some of which I carry still to this very day. Anyways, I was 25 years old at this time. I did not have any support at all and began using drugs in order to cope with my trauma and to support my addiction and lifestyle. Honestly, at the time I was a tattoo artist. When you deal with tattoo customers, the majority of them are in the criminal underworld. Criminals just love tattoos. Bikers, gangsters, you get the idea.

I was not even dealing drugs at the time. However, I was an everyday smoker. There was a time where I loved smoking marijuana. Some of my customers were weed big-time dealers. I would often trade them tattoos for weed, sometimes half a pounds or more at a time. I would smoke on it for a couple of months and when I ran out I would just do the same thing. Having this much weight prevented me from having to go in and out the bad neighborhoods and it was just so convenient to never have to come off of cash for it.

I would just call the dealer and ask if he was ready to trade some ink. I'm going to be honest, though, I would help my friends out a lot. At the end of the day, I couldn't eat the weed so sometimes I would get rid of some to my close friends. Never to make a profit. Mainly to help them stay out of the hood. I never could have imagined that you could feed someone, sit down and eat dinner with their family, lend them money, only to be met with nothing but the most brutal betrayal. A lot of people don't know this, but it's always someone close to you that gets you.

You don't trust people outside of your circle. It's always someone you know, love, or trust. It just so happens that my close friends were the ones to take away my freedom. One evening, they came over to hang out. We smoked a bunch of weed and we talked as usual. I noticed that they were both acting real strange and when I asked them what was wrong, they told me that they were having personal problems at home. I had no reason to suspect them of anything else, as I said before, we had been friends

for over two years at this time. I even h-eyed them from the police once when they were being pursued. I lied to the police when they knocked on my door and told them that I had not seen them for weeks when they were in the closet right behind me hiding. I risked my freedom for these people and I would do a whole lot more for people, I have always been one of those loyal ones. Sometime during that evening, they asked me if I would sell them a 20 sack. I was a tattoo artist and piercing professional at the time, and at this time, I was making great money doing it. As God is my witness, I had no reason to deal drugs. But I have always been a really good friend and I have a good heart and in this particular case,

it would be my downfall big time. At the time, I did not realize the length that some departments will go through in order to catch a person selling drugs. They will send multiple confidential informants to purchase drugs from you. If you do not have drugs on you, they will even encourage you to go look for them in order to see a conviction. They use the dirtiest tactics imaginable. They will.

Even provide the cache to the informants and wire them up with hidden cameras and other hidden spy devices disguised as wristwatches, ink pens, hats, I've seen one of their cameras on the buttons of a shirt, and even one hidden in a package of cigarettes. On this particular day, I was out of marijuana. I wanted to smoke and I was going to get a sack anyway. These two friends of mine came over and asked me if I wanted to smoke with them and if I could get some weed so I called up our weed man. Shortly after, the weed man pulled up and I went outside. I purchased two $20 bags of weed from him and I came back inside where these two friends of mine were waiting. I put the weed on the table and asked them to pick whichever one they wanted.

My friend put the weed in her pocket and went straight towards the door. She was acting so strange. I told her to wait, we could smoke my bag of weed for free. But she was in so much of a hurry that she turned it down and I knew that was strange because nobody's going to turn down free weed. Nobody. L.O.L. Now that I think about it, I didn't recognize the vehicle they were using that day when they came over to my house.

It was just all wrong. I didn't recognize all of these signs at the time, because you don't suspect someone that you've shown so much loyalty to betray you so savagely. Anyways, she was hiding a hidden camera in her belt buckle. One of those spy belt buckles. This footage alone provided the narcotic squad with enough evidence to build a case against me and form a secret indictment. They take the evidence to the judge, and he will sign an affidavit of fact and issue warrant foreign an arrest. As I said, even though I wasn't a drug dealer, I got caught on camera.

The criteria for a distribution is simple. You cannot buy, sell, or give away narcotics. So, I went to jail on a secret indictment for selling weed. It wasn't even. Two days after they left my house about, at 9 o'clock in the morning 15 vehicles pulled up in the front yard and about 25 narcotic squad officers along with the local sheriff's department proceeded to kick my doors in. All of them were carrying automatic AR-style machine guns. Bulletproof vests. The works. They put my elderly uncle on his face with a gun and began to

tear our house to pieces as I sat in the back of a cop car and watched them as they proceeded with processing of the search warrant. It lasted over three hours. You have to be present on the scene while they are processing their warrant. Because they found nothing, they took it extremely personal. They tore my house to shreds. In Alabama, on a secret indictment charge, they will give you one chance to turn three other dealers that you know personally over to them on indictments and they will dismiss your case. This is what happened to those two people that came to my house. They did not want to go to jail and take their lick for a distribution that they committed so they worked with the DA and narcotics officers to form

three indictments against three other people they knew. I'm not a snitch and because I refuse to cooperate or snitch on someone else, they had the judge and the district attorney place a bond hold on me during the entirety of my case, which was almost almost two and half a years. This means I was being held without bond. While I was there, my cellmate was a known serial killer. He was responsible for the death of at least 17 people that they know about. His name was Wilmore Wiggins from Camden, Alabama. Although he was responsible for at least 17 murders, they only had enough evidence on one of the murders to actually prove it. This man had been terrorizing our community for years. I mean years. He was a voodoo practitioner, as were the rest of his family members.

One night, after lockdown, I was just staring at the roof of my bunk. He was on the top bunk, and I was on the bottom. We had already been locked down for a few hours. It was so quiet that you could hear the building settling if you listen intently. In jail, you have nothing but time to think. about life about the direction of your life about life in general I was doing just that one night I did not realize he was still awake

through the deafening silence I heard a voice ask the question hey big which is what they called me by the way you ever killed anybody I didn't even have to think about it and responded immediately never he asked me if I ever thought about killing anyone I responded no sir

never that is when he began confessing one of the murders that he committed, one here in my hometown that he was never even charged with. A murder that took place that is now a cold case. A murder that's never been solved. First off, as I said before, he practiced voodoo. So he began to describe in detail how he got away with his 17 murders. As I began to squint through the darkness of the cell, I noticed in the mirror above the sink that he was now sitting up on his bed.

He was looking for someone to talk to in order to release this burden. I was more than happy to listen as I am not only into true crime, but also I have always been an understanding person. I'm also a really good listener. And this was something that was very intriguing to me at the moment, it even kind of resembled a horror story or something like a scary movie. It had me on the edge of my bunk. I couldn't move a muscle as I listened with the fullest of intent.

Anyways, as I sat there, listening, he told me that his voodoo allowed him to get away with the crimes. He said that if you want to get away with murder, you should plant a rose to. bush in front of your house. He said you can go and get a piece of that person's hair, the person you wish to harm, and bury it at the foot of that rosebush. Then you take a piece of sewing thread and he would tie it and run the thread from the stem of one of the roses and tie it to the door knob of his home, which was 15 to 20 feet away. He told me that as long as that thread is in place, he could go out and commit any murder or crime that he wanted,

and there would be no retribution. He told me that there was an entity named Zombie. This entity would come inside of him and possess him, giving him supernatural knowledge, wisdom, and insight in order to conceal evidence after his murders. Personally, I am an ordained minister now, and I can tell you from experience that not only can God supernaturally empower a person, but also, Satan can as well. The consequences for this is a price that nobody would want to pay. The ones that do I'm sure regret it sorely eventually. Anyways, he told me that as long as that thread is in place the spell remains.

He told me that he did this every single time he killed somebody and he got away with over 16 murders that I cannot tell you as a matter of fact, whether this voodoo thing is real or not. All I can tell you that is factual, is that he 100% believed in it to his soul. My community was terrorized by this man for years and years. Everybody in my town literally knew this man was a serial, but they could never prove it. Ever. He was just so manipulative and con and clever and had the uncanny ability to be able to manipulate

evidence to his advantage in order to conceal his crimes. He told me that this particular night, he was in the bar room with his girlfriend. After he went to use the bathroom, after being gone no longer than five minutes, he came out of the bathroom and saw another man casually talking to his girlfriend and it infuriated him. After knowing this man for two years, I can tell you from experience that he's not the type to fight a man, but he would beat women and he was very abusive to them mentally and spiritually as well as physically.

He also had a knife on him at all times while he was in jail. He would not fist fight a man. However, he would not hesitate for even one single moment to stab you to death if you crossed him. He just was a snake. If you provoked him or threatened him, he would rather poison you than get physical with you. Anyways, he told me that whenever he saw this particular man talking to his woman in the bar, he got enraged.

But he did not do anything about it immediately. He waited an entire month until he had the perfect opportunity to exact revenge on this person. the course of of this time, he had a girl from the neighborhood get a piece of his hair from this man's pillow and deliver it to him for twenty dollars. One night, after being disgustingly patient, he told me that he finally got the perfect opportunity. The opportunity he had been waiting so patiently for. He told me that he was riding around one night after leaving the bar and he just so happened to sway that man walking home.

He said it was about one o'clock in the morning, so he pulled over and asked the man if if he needed a ride. The man was cautious at first, he told me, but agreed to accept the ride. He got inside of the vehicle and said hello, then he asked Wilmore, the killer, if he was mad at him for talking to his girlfriend because he had heard from the girlfriend recently that Wilmore wanted to hurt him. Everyone in our community would have taken this threat seriously. Wilmore assured him that everything was okay and that he did not take it personal.

Anyways, he asked him if he would like to go get some whiskey. The man said, sure, so Wilmore went and bought a big bottle of whiskey and they proceeded to ride around on dirt roads out here in the country getting drunk. That man drank and drank and drank. They played the radio and had a great time. Except, Wilmore was only pretending to drink. He proceeded to get the man drunker and drunker until he couldn't even hardly walk. That's when he pulled over out in the country and told the man that he needed to urinate.

The man said he had to as well so when the man got out of the vehicle, Wilmore grabbed a two by four out of the back seat, crept up behind the man, and bashed his skull with it. As he's explaining this to me, all I can do is listen in horror. I cannot believe my ears. This man is confessing a whole homicide to me in the most intimate detail, I got chills all over my body. I could not believe that I was listening to something that too much resembled to be something like a horror movie to me.

He told me that he hit the man so hard with that board that it knocked him out instantly. When he told me he bashed the man's head at least 25 times after he was dead. He threw the board in the trunk of his vehicle and grabbed the hammer and proceeded to bust this man teeth out of his head, one by one with a hammer. Then he shaved all of the man's hair off of his head, including his beard and eyebrows and put it in a bag. Then he reached down and grabbed the man by the legs and drug him off into a cow pasture in the middle of the country and left him there.

I was in shock. Utter disbelief. I almost didn't even feel real. I felt like I was in a dream hearing this. But I listened intently. People will tell you everything you want to know about them, plus more if you could only just close your mouth and open your ears. Most people do not have this ability, but it is a gift that I have been given, in this current

situation, it seemed to be a curse, though. Anyways, this man's family was looking for him. I was a tattoo artist at the time this happened. I remember it. I was really good friends with the brother of the man who was killed. He used to come and get tattoos from me and he would cry because they could not find his brother anywhere. They looked for this man for months but to no avail.

Here's the craziest part of all. One night, my friend's mother had a dream. God came to her in the dream and told her where to find her son. Like I said, their family literally for search parties with hundreds of people to look for this man and could not find him anywhere anywhere. Anyways, my friend's mom said that God came to her in this dream and told her that her son was in the back of a cow pasture in Possum Bend. Way out in the middle of nowhere.

She got out of a dead sleep, called her entire family and told them to be waiting outside. She drove by their houses one by one and picked them up in a minivan and drove them out to the exact location that God showed her in the dream. He was right there at the tree in the back pasture almost nothing left to his remains. When I say that he beat this man's skull flat, it's an understatement. As I said before, I was truly disturbed when I heard this. It still haunts me at night even. He told me about a few other murders that he did that he never got caught for.

They are truly disturbing. His final victim, a woman and her baby were burned alive in a trailer. That's not the disturbing part, though. The woman had been dead a week before she was set on fire, and he actually positioned her sitting upright in his car with the seatbelt on, as he drove around town so they could be seen together as if she was still alive. He was a master at manipulation in confusing times, dates, and locations of the murders he committed. He was also an expert at manipulating evidence and disposing of it perfectly in order to conceal his crimes.

The 17th murder that were more committed was the one that put him away for life without parole. He told me that on this particular day, the day that he killed this woman, he sat the house on fire. He told me that he tied that thread from the rose bush to the front door, but the thread perished when the house burned up. The curse went up in flames with it. He told me that when the police pulled up after the house was burned down, he was in the yard, fake crying and it was as if the police knew exactly what he did the moment that they got out of the car.

They just knew he did it again. I spent hundreds of hours alone in a dark cell with this creepy psychopath. I'd love to share the details, if anyone is interested in listening. He is still alive and in prison somewhere here in Alabama. He was actually given life without parole after being held in the same jail I was in for all almost four years. I have most interesting experience to share. During the daytime, we would be released from the cell to move freely throughout the day room, watching TV and taking showers. But at 8 p.m. each night they would lock both of us in a two-man cell in the door would not

be reopened until 8 a.m. During this time, we had a lot of free time to talk and it was always dark in the cell at night. The details of some of the crimes he committed are so horrifying and the details are so disturbing that I have to use a nightlight and take sleeping medication in order for me get to sleep, even to this very day. As God is my witness, everything I have testified up until this point is 100% factual. The day that Wilmore Wiggins was sentenced to prison was a day that I will never forget as well. I don't know if many people understand this, but sometimes a trial can last for an entire month. In his case, it was a week long. He had been locked up for almost four and a half years awaiting this trial. On the last day, he was a lot of

of his trial, I prayed with him before he went to court. The second to last day of the trial was the day that the jury was done deliberating. It did not take them long. They found him guilty. His sentencing took place on that final day. I'll never forget that day until I die. This man was being escorted back to our dorm by four police officers. When they opened the door to our dorm and removed his shackles, the door slammed loudly behind him. With a smile on his face, he looked up and said these exact words, words that I will never forget. He said, Well, shit, I guess I got life without. Anybody want to play a game of spades? I began to shuffle the deck and we played a game of spades with him as he continued smiling, acting like he did not

just receive a sentence where he will never be able to see the light of day again. That night, when they locked us down in the two-man cell at 8 p.m., he asked me if I would consider writing a letter for him to forensic files so he could be on the show. I told him, sure, I'll do it for you in a couple of days. When really I was just dumbfounded, and was thinking to myself, I am just going to pretend as if I didn't even hear the most disturbing and utterly stupid question that I've ever heard in my life over the course of the next five days, he continued on with his life the same way he did for the two and a half years I spent with him. Smoking cigarettes, watching forensic files, and playing spades. On that sixth day, five guards came down the hall with shackles

where they called him to the door, chained him up, and carried him off to state prison where I would never see him again. Most importantly, where he would never be able to hurt another woman or another family again. This man had bodies all the way up in South Carolina, North Carolina, Georgia, and Virginia. Escaping accountability from all of them. On the day they shipped them to prison, everybody in my dorm led out a huge sigh of relief. The nightmare that loomed over Camden, Alabama for so many years had finally come to an end. And although he got away with so many different murders, and the families of those people he killed will never truly receive the justice they deserve, this serial killer would finally no longer be able to walk freely

amongst our community, free from accountability, feeling invincible for getting away with all of the vicious murders he committed. Most importantly, our beautiful little community can finally somewhat feel safe from this subhuman person, and try to get back to some sense of normalcy, free from the bondage of a very dangerous man that I can only describe in the most intimate detail, as a real-life monster. Hello everyone. My name is a Minister K. I'm a non-denominational preacher here in Alabama. I haven't always been a man of God, though. I've had my share of ups and downs, as we all have. I always like to say that nobody hits as hard as life, it is merely one big learning experience where we are all forced to

endure our mistakes in order to learn and achieve our God-given potential. Life is one big fight. Life is filled with many battles. One of my many battles took place in August 2016. A battle, frankly, would change my life forever. When I was young, I lost both of my parents tragically. My mother died in a house fire and my father of a heart attack. This caused me to be very rebellious at a young age. I'm not sure if many of you can relate but growing up without parents will cause a child to be forced to stay in some pretty sketchy places, surrounded by some pretty sketchy people.

It's almost as if these types of individuals take advantage of the fact that you don't have a guardian to protect you. And the world is filled with real monsters who prey on the innocence of children, as well as children whose parents have failed to protect them, so to speak. As far as myself, I was forced to experience what I can only describe as a living hell and have been inflicted with a deep-rooted trauma, some of which I carry still to this very day. Anyways, I was 25 years old at this time. I did not have any support at all and began using drugs in order to cope with my trauma and

to support my addiction and lifestyle. Honestly, at the time I was a tattoo artist. When you deal with tattoo customers, the majority of them are in the criminal underworld. Criminals just love tattoos. Bikers, gangsters, you get the idea. I was not even dealing drugs at the time. However, I was an everyday smoker. There was a time where I loved.

Smoking marijuana. Some of my customers were weed big time dealers. I would often trade them tattoos for weed, sometimes half a pounds or more at a time. I would smoke on it for a couple of months and when I ran out I would just do the same thing. Having this much weight prevented me from having to go in and out the bad neighborhoods and it was just so convenient to never have to come off of cash for it. I would just call the dealer and ask if he was ready to trade some ink. I'm going to be honest, though, I would help my friends out a lot.

At the end of the day, I couldn't eat the weed so sometimes I would get rid of some to my close friends. Never to make a profit. Mainly to help them stay out of the hood. I never could have imagined that you could feed someone, sit down and eat dinner with their family, lend the money, only to be met with nothing but the most brutal betrayal. A lot of people don't know this, but it's always someone close to you that gets you. Every time. You don't trust people outside of your circle. It's always someone you know, love, or trust.

It just so happens that my close friends were the ones to take away my freedom. One evening, they came over to hang out. We smoked a bunch of weed and we talked as usual. I noticed that they were both acting real strange and when I asked them what was wrong, they told me that they were having personal problems at home. I had no reason to suspect them of anything else, as I said before, we had been friends for over two years at this time. I even h-hied them from the police once when they were being pursued.

I lied to the police when they knocked on my door and told them that I had not seen them for weeks when they were in the closet right behind me hiding. I risked my freedom for these people and I would do a whole lot more for people, I have always been one of those loyal ones. Sometime during that evening, they asked me if I would sell them a 20 sack. I was a tattoo artist and piercing professional at the time, and at this time, I was making great money doing it. As God is my witness, I had no reason to deal drugs. But I have always been a really good friend and I have a good heart and in this particular case, it would be my downfall big time. At the time, I did not realize the length that some departments will go through in

order to catch a person selling drugs. They will send multiple confidential informants to purchase drugs from you. If you do not have drugs on you, they will even encourage you to go look for them in order to see a conviction. They use the dirtiest tactics imaginable. They will. Even provide the cash to the informants and wire them up with hidden cameras and other hidden spy devices disguised as wristwatches, ink pens, hats, I've seen one of their cameras on the buttons of a shirt, and even one hidden in a package of cigarettes. On this particular day, I was out of marijuana. I wanted to smoke and I was going to get a sack anyway.

These two friends of mine came over and asked me if I wanted to smoke with them and if I could get some weed so I called up our weed man. Shortly after, the weed man pulled up and I went outside. I purchased two $20 bags of weed from him and I came back inside where these two friends of mine were waiting. I put the weed on the table and asked them to pick whichever one they wanted. My friend put the weed in her pocket and went straight towards the door. She was acting so strange.

I told her to wait, we could smoke my bag of weed for free. But she was in so much of a hurry that she turned it down and I knew that was strange because nobody's going to turn down free weed. Nobody. L.O.L. Now that I think about it, I didn't recognize the vehicle they were using that day when they came over to my house. It was just all wrong. I didn't recognize all of these signs at the time, because you don't suspect someone that you've shown so much loyalty to betray you so safe. savagely. Anyways, she was hiding a hidden camera in her belt buckle. One of those spy belt

buckles. This footage alone provided the narcotic squad with enough evidence to build a case against me and form a secret indictment. They take the evidence to the judge, and he will sign an affidavit of fact and issue warrant for an arrest. As I said, even though I wasn't a drug dealer, I got caught on camera. The criteria for a distribution is simple. You cannot buy, sell, or giveaway narcotics. So, I went to jail on a secret indictment for selling weed. It wasn't even. Two days after they left my house about, at 9 o'clock in the morning 15 vehicles pulled up in the front yard and about 25 narcotic squad officers along with the local sheriff's department proceeded to kick my doors in. All of them were carrying automatic AR-style machine guns.

Bulletproof vests. The works. They put my elderly uncle on his face with a gun and began to tear our house to pieces as I sat in the back of a cop car and watched them as they proceeded with processing of the search warrant. It lasted over three hours. You have to be present on the scene while they are processing their warrant. Because they found nothing, they took it extremely personal. They tore my house to shreds. In Alabama, on a secret indictment charge, they will give you one chance to turn three other dealers that you know personally over to them on indictments and they will dismiss your case. This is what happened to those two people that came to my house. They did not want to go to jail and take their lick for a distribution that they committed,

so they worked with the DA and narcotics officers to form three indictments against three other people they knew. I'm not a snitch, and because I refused to cooperate or snitch on someone else, they had the judge and the district attorney place a bond hold on me during the entirety of my case, which was almost almost two and half a years. This means I was being held without bond. While I was there, my cellmate was a known serial killer. He was responsible for the death of at least 17 people that they know about. His name was Wilmore Wiggins from Camden, Alabama. Although he was responsible for at least 17 murders, they only had enough evidence on one of the murders to actually prove it. This man had been terrorizing our community for years. I mean

years. He was a voodoo practitioner, as were the rest of his family members. One night, after lockdown, I was just staring at the roof of my bunk. He was on the top bunk, and I was on the bottom. We had already been locked down for a few hours. It was so quiet that you could hear the building settling if you listen intently. In jail, you have nothing but time to think. About life. About the direction of your life. About life in general. I was doing just that one night. I did not realize he was still awake. Through the deafening silence I heard a voice asked the question, Hey Big, which is what they called me by the way, you ever killed anybody. I didn't even have to think about it and responded immediately, never.

He asked me if I ever thought about killing anyone. I responded, no, sir. Never, that is when he began confessing one of the many murders that he committed, one here in my hometown that he was never even charged with. A murder that took place that is now a cold case. A murder that's never been solved. First off, as I said before, he practiced voodoo. So he began to describe in detail how he got away with his 17 murder.

As I began to squint through the darkness of the cell, I noticed in the mirror above the sink that he was now sitting up on his bed. He was looking for someone to talk to in order to release this burden. I was more than happy to listen as I am not only into true crime, but also I have always been an understanding person. I'm also a really good listener. And this was something that was very intriguing to me at the moment, it even kind of resembled a horror story or something like a scary movie. It had me on the edge of my bunk. I couldn't move a muscle as I listened with the fullest of intent. Anyways, as I sat there, listening, he told me that his voodoo allowed him to get away with the

crimes. He said that if you want to get away with murder, you should plant a rosebush in front of your house. He said you can go and get a piece of that person's hair, the person you wish to harm, and bury it at the foot of that rosebush. Then you take a piece of sewing thread and he would tie it and run the thread from the stem of one of the roses and tie it to the door-knob of his home, which was 15 to 20 feet away. He told me that as a little bit of the rose and he told me that As long as that thread is in place, he could go out and commit any murder or crime that he wanted, and there would be no retribution. He told me that there was an entity named Zombie.

This entity would come inside of him and possess him, giving him supernatural knowledge, wisdom, and insight in order to conceal evidence after his murders. Personally, I am an ordained minister now, and I can tell you from experience that not only can God supernaturally empower a person, but also, Satan can as well. The consequences for this is a price that nobody would want to pay. The ones that do I'm sure regret it sorely eventually. Anyways, he told me that as long as that thread is in place the spell remains. He told me that he did this every single time he killed somebody and he got away with over

16 murders that I cannot tell you as a matter of fact, whether this voodoo thing is real or not. All I can tell you that is factual, is that he 100% believed in it to his soul. My community was terrorized by this man for years and years. in my town literally knew this man was a serial, but they could never prove it. Ever. He was just so manipulative and con and clever and had the uncanny ability to be able to manipulate evidence to his advantage in order to conceal his crimes. He told me that this particular night, he was in the bar room with his girlfriend. After he went to use the bathroom,

after being gone no longer than five minutes, he came out of the bathroom and saw another man casually talking to his girlfriend, and it infuriated him. After knowing this man for two years, I can tell you from experience that he's not the type to fight a man, but he would beat women and he was very abusive to them mentally and spiritually as well as physically. He also had a knife on him at all times while he was in jail. He would not fist fight a man. However, he would not hesitate for even one single moment to stab you to death if you crossed him. He just was a snake.

If you provoked him or threatened him, he would rather poison you than get physical with you. Anyways, he told me that whenever he saw this particular man talking to his woman, in the bar, he got enraged. But he did not do anything about it immediately. He waited an entire month until he had the perfect opportunity to exact revenge on this person. During the course of this time, he had a girl from the neighborhood get a piece of his hair from this man's pillow and deliver it to him for $20.

One night, after being disgustingly patient, he told me that he finally got the perfect opportunity. The opportunity he had been waiting so patiently for. He told me that he was riding around one night after leaving the bar and he just just so happened to sway that man walking home. He said it was about 1 o'clock in the morning, so he pulled over and asked the man if he needed a ride. The man was cautious at first, he told me, but agreed to accept the ride. He got inside of the vehicle and said hello, then he asked Wilmore, the killer, if he was

mad at him for talking to his girlfriend because he had heard from the girlfriend recently that Wilmore wanted to hurt him. Everyone in our community would have taken this threat seriously. Wilmore assured him that everything was okay and that he did not take it personal. Anyways, he asked him if he would like to go get some whiskey. The man said, sure, so Wilmore went and bought a big bottle of whiskey and they proceeded to ride around on dirt roads out here in the country getting drunk. That man drank and drank and drank.

They played the radio and had a great time. Except, Wilmore was only pretending to drink. He proceeded to get the man drunker and drunker until he couldn't even hardly walk. That's when he pulled over out in the country and told the man that he needed to urinate. The man said he had to as well so when the man got out of the vehicle, Wilmore grabbed a two by four out of the back seat, crept up behind the man, and bashed his skull with it. As he's explaining this to me, all I can do is listen in horror. I cannot believe my ears.

This man is confessing a whole homicide to me in the most intimate detail, I got chills all over my body. I could not believe that I was listening to something that too much resembled to be something like a horror movie to me. He told me that he hit the man so hard with that board that it not. knocked him out instantly. Then he told me he bashed the man's head at least 25 times after he was dead. He threw the board in the trunk of his vehicle and grabbed the hammer and proceeded to bust this man teeth out of his head, one by one with a hammer. Then he shaved all

of the man's hair off of his head, including his beard and eyebrows and put it in a bag. Then he reached down and grabbed the man by the legs and drug him off into a cow pasture in the middle of the country and left him there. I was in shock. Utter disbelief. I almost didn't even feel real. I felt like I was in a dream hearing this. But I listened intently. People will tell you everything you want to know about them, plus more if you could only just close your mouth and open your ears. Most people do not have this ability, but it is a gift that I have been given, in this current situation, it seemed to be a curse, though. Anyways, this man's family was looking for him. I was a tattoo artist at the time this happened. I remember it.

I was really good friends with the brother of the man who was killed. He used to come and get tattoos from me and he would cry because they could not find his brother anywhere. They looked for this man for months but to no avail. Here's the craziest part of all. One night, my friend's mother had a dream. God came to her in the dream and told her where to find her son. Like I said, their family literally for search parties with hundreds of people to look for

this man and could not find him anywhere anywhere. Anyways, my friend's mom said that God came to her in this dream and told her that her son was in the back of a a cow pasture in Possum Bend. Way out in the middle of nowhere. She got out of a dead sleep, called her entire family and told them to be waiting outside. She drove by their houses one by one and picked them up in a minivan and drove them out to the exact location that God showed her in the dream. He was right there at the tree in the back pasture almost nothing left to his remains. When I say that he beat this man's skull flat, it's an understatement. As I said before, I was truly disturbed when I heard this. It still haunts me.

at night even. He told me about a few other murders that he did that he never got caught for. They are truly disturbing. His final victim, a woman and her baby were burned alive in a trailer. That's not the disturbing part, though. The woman had been dead a week before she was set on fire, and he actually positioned her sitting upright in his car with the seatbelt on, as he drove around town so they could be seen together as if she was still alive. He was a master at manipulation in confusing times, dates, and locations of the murders he committed. He was also an expert at manipulating evidence and disposing of it perfectly in order to conceal his crimes.

The 17th murder that were more committed was the one that put him away for life without parole. He told me that on this particular day, the day that he killed this woman, he sat the house on fire. He told me that he tied that thread from the rosebush to the front door, but the threat perished when the house burned up. The curse went up in flames with it. He told me that when the police pulled up after the house was burned down, he was in the yard, fake crying, and it was as if the police knew exactly what he did the moment

that they got out of the car. They just knew he did it again. I spent hundreds of hours alone in a dark cell with this creepy psychopath. I'd love to share the details, if anyone is interested in listening. He is still alive and in prison somewhere here in Alabama. He was actually given life without parole after being held in the same jail I was in for almost four years. I have most interesting experience to share. During the daytime, we would be released from the cell to move freely throughout the day room, watching TV and taking showers. But at

8 p.m. each night they would lock both of us in a two-man cell in the door would not be reopened until 8 a.m. During this time, we had a lot of free time to talk and it was always dark in the cell at night. The details of some of the crimes he committed are so horrifying and the details are so disturbing that I have to use a nightlight and take sleeping medication in order for me get to sleep, even to this very day. As God is my witness, everything I have testified up until this point is 100% factual. The day that Wilmore Wiggins was sentenced to prison was a day that I will never forget as well. I don't know if many people understand this, but sometimes a trial can last for an entire month. In his case, it was a week long. He had been locked up for almost four

and a half years awaiting this trial. On the last day of his trial, I prayed with him before he went to court. The second to last day of the trial was the day that the jury was done deliberating. It did not take them long. They found him guilty. His sentencing took place on that final day. I'll never forget that day until I die. This man was being escorted back to our dorm by four police officers.

When they opened the door to our dorm and removed his shackles, the door slammed loudly behind him. With a smile on his face, he looked up and said these exact words, words that I will never forget. He said, well shit, I guess I got life without. Anybody want to play a game of spades? I began to shuffle the deck and we played a game of spades with him as he continued smiling, acting like he did not just receive a sentence where he will never be able to see the light of day again. That night, when they locked us down in the two-man cell at 8 p.m., he asked me if I would consider writing a letter for him to forensic files so he could be on the show. I told him, sure, I'll do it for you in a couple of days. When really I was just dumbfounded, and was thinking to

myself, I am just going to pretend as if I didn't even hear the most disturbing and utterly stupid question that I've ever heard in my life over the course of the next five days, he continued on with his life the same way he did for the two and a half years I spent with him. Smoking cigarettes, watching forensic files, and playing spades. On that sixth day, five guards came down the hall with shackles where they called him to the door, chained him up, and carried him off to state prison where I would never see him again. Most importantly, where he would never be able to hurt another woman or another family again. This man had bodies all the way up in South Carolina, North Carolina, Georgia, and Virginia. Escaping accountability from all of them. On the day they

shipped them to prison, everybody in my dorm led out a huge sigh of relief. The nightmare that loomed over Camden, Alabama for so many years had finally come to an end. And although he got away with so many different murders, and the families of those people he killed will never truly received the justice they deserve, this serial killer would finally no longer be able to walk freely amongst our community, free from accountability, feeling invincible for getting away with all of the vicious murders he committed. Most importantly, our beautiful little community can finally somewhat feel safe from this subhuman person, and try to get back to some sense of normalcy, free from the bondage of a very dangerous man that I can only describe in the most intimate

detail, as a real-life monster. I am absolutely losing my shit here, people. This is so fucked up. My, Lyndon 24M, wife, Bridget 23F, has an identical twin sister, Sandra 23F. They have always been weirdly close. I just thought it was a twin thing. I had a couple friends that were twins and they were really close. I just figured it was even more standard for them to be even closer when they were identical twins. To give a little background, I met my wife two years ago. I work as a bartender at a place my uncle owns. She came in one night and we just hit it off from the word go. She actually asked me out. The romance was a real whirlwind and we got married after just eight months. Didn't even have a real wedding, just courthouse. She moved in with me

because I have a two-bedroom house I was renting from a different uncle and she was still living at home with her parents. I met her sister right away, and we have always gotten along. The only thing that I ever found weird was how alike Bridget and Sandra were. Honestly, the only difference between them is Bridget is a little more thoughtful with what she says, and Sandra is a little more sassy and crude. Otherwise, they are like the same person. They look exactly alike obviously, but they actively maintain that. They go to the same hairstylist, and get the exact same cut and color on the exact same day. They have been doing this their whole lives. They work out at the gym together, they shop together, they do just about everything together. They like all the same

things. We go out to eat together and if it's a familiar place they order different dishes then split them between each other. They have the same taste in movies, music, and all sorts of things. They even have the same taste in men. Sandra was in a year-long relationship that has since ended. I met the guy a few times before they broke up and it was odd. The dude could literally have been my brother. I even noticed we had the same sense of humor. I liked the guy, but I didn't mind when Sandra and him called it quits because it felt kind of creepy. Anyway, this is where things get fucked up. About a month ago we had a small house party over at our place.

Just friends, obviously Sandra was there. I had a little bit much to drink that night and was pretty tipsy. Bridget was too. As the night was winding down, the booze really caught up with me and I told Bridget I was going to lay down. She told me Sandra was going to stay over. This was not unusual, she had stayed over plenty of time. I actually expected it because any time they drank they would stay at each other's place.

What was surprising was that they were going to watch a movie together. I knew they both had plenty to drink and figure they would just both pass out as like I was. I had just laid down when Bridget came in. She didn't turn on any lights or anything, she got into bed with me. I said, changed your mind on the movie. She just said, yeah. Then climbed into bed. I noticed she had stripped all the way down, and that got me excited.

I rolled into her and she just started stroking me. I went along with it and we had sex. Afterwards I fell asleep pretty quickly. I woke up around five because I had to use the bathroom. When I came back to bed she initiated sex with me again, which was odd, but I wasn't complaining. I should note we don't use condoms because Bridget is on the pill. I also don't usually finish in her, usually just when we know the likelihood of pregnancy is low. On this night she was insistent I did so both times.

I passed out again after the second romp, and woke up around ten mildly hung over, but not too bad, I wasn't wasted after all. Bridget was already up and Sandra had gone home before I got up. We had a pretty normal day. Bridget came on to me again later that next day, and pretty much every day for the next week. We have a fairly healthy sex life and doing it several days in a row isn't that odd. The three times in what was essentially one day was, but I just figured she was feeling extra sexy. This leads me to what happened earlier today.

Sandra called me and asked if I could come over and help her with something. Her and one of their good friends from high school just got an apartment together. She told me she needed a few shelves hung, but when I got there she told me she lied about that. Sandra then pulls out a pregnancy test and hands it to me. It's positive. I shake my head a little bit and say, congrats, I don't know what to say, have you told Bridget because she didn't say anything to me. I thought it was strange that she lied to get me over to show me this.

I assumed she was wanting to surprise tell Bridget and wanted my help. She said, no, I haven't told her yet, I needed to tell you first. I looked at her and said, why would you need to tell me first? She looked at me with big eyes and said, because you're the father, from the two times at the party. My chest started pounding. I stared at her for a long minute and said, what? What the fuck are you talking about? She looked at me and said,

What do you mean, you had sex with me twice at that party, Don't play dumb now. I exploded, I thought that was Bridget. Why the fuck would you do this? She got defensive and said, You were flirting and giving me the eyes all night. We were going to watch a movie, but Bridget passed out right away.

I wasn't tired, so I thought I'd ask you if you wanted to watch. When I came in you weren't wearing a shirt and I don't know I just got turned on, I was drunk. You didn't seem to mind, I couldn't believe what I was here. I was not flirting with you, what the fuck possibly made you think that." She said, I don't know, just seemed like you were, and then I got in bed with you and you had your dick in me in less than two minutes, then fucked me again in the morning. Seemed like you wanted me, I felt like I was going to hyperventilate.

I just said, I'm out of here, I want a paternity test, I don't believe you, and I'm telling Bridget what you did, you have fucked up everything. At that point I stormed out of her apartment and headed straight home. I came into our house pretty upset and was about to spill it all to Bridget. She was way too excited, though, and it gave me just a moment's pause. She said she had something super exciting to tell me. I kind of froze. I didn't want to ruin her big news, and didn't really want to tell her what just happened.

I knew I had to, and would, but I welcomed at least the slight delay in the inevitable. I said, go ahead, babe, what's up? She sat me down on the couch, and looked at me with these big bright, radiant eyes. Then she handed me a positive pregnancy test and said, You're going to be a daddy, I totally chickened out of telling her about Sandra, and did my best to feign excitement. I am excited about this, but I can't with Sandra. She has lost her mind.

I'm going to tell Bridget everything tomorrow, I just want her to have this day. After that I don't know what I'm going to do. Part two, the past two days have been incredibly hard. Yesterday I told Bridget what Sandra did to me. She seemed upset, but not to the degree I would have thought. She immediately called Sandra. I was trying to be supportive and followed her, but she told me to give her space. She went into our bedroom and locked the door.

After about forty minutes she came out and told me she forgave me. Forgive me. I stood there dumbfounded by that. What do you mean you forgive me? She tricked me into sleeping with her by pretending to be you. She basically raped me. Bridget got this disgusted look on her face and said, I can't believe you would use that word. were not raped.

Sandra told me what happened. I remember you flirting with her most of the night, so I can't say this is totally her fault. You were there too. I was absolutely livid at this point, I was not flirting with her, I feel like I'm going insane, what is wrong with you? How can you be okay with her doing this? Bridget responded, I'm a little hurt, but she has apologized to me, she's my sister. It's a little bit my fault, I may have shared too much during girl talk.

She was worked up and apparently you were two. I just like to forgive you both and move on. I don't think harping on this is good for my health or my sisters. You are about to be a father for both of us and we're going to need you to be there. I told her, I am not the father of Sandra's child, this is Asinine, I can't believe you are taking her side. I will never be that kid's parent, she took advantage of me, and now you want me to just put it in the past.

Forgive and forget, I can't do that, I will not let this go. She escalated and we got into a huge fight until she told me. me she felt weak and needed a break. She said I was going to cause her to miscarry. We spent the rest of the day not speaking to each other. This morning I woke up and the whole thing has been weighing on me heavily. I'm not okay with being used like this. I despise cheaters, and my wife's attitude that this is somehow my fault has me considering divorce. I decided to file a police report and press charges this morning. That was just as frustrating as everything else. As I told the officer what occurred, I could tell he was not taking me seriously. He even made some

comments that implied that I was not assaulted, that I should be thankful, and that this will never stick. He told me another officer would be in touch shortly to follow up. When I got back home Sandra was over and the two of them tried to ambush me. They kept telling me that we all needed to talk this out and come up with a plan for the babies. I just shook my head, turned around and went back out the door. I can't believe Bridget would be okay having her over at all. I went to my uncle's bar and grill. I've been hanging out here for the past couple hours, my shift starts soon. I am really hoping they don't try to come talk to me here at work.

I think all this has been enough for me, and I need to figure out how to separate from Bridget. I can't believe all this is happening. Part 3. I used my meager savings to stay at a motel for two days. My wife was constantly trying to contact me during that time. She was leaving a lot of voicemails, and sending a lot of texts. They were mostly her just trying to get me to reach out. She kept saying she was worried about me and wanted me to come home. The only thing I sent back was me asking that she not come to my work.

I told her I needed time and this whole situation is really messed up. On the morning of the third day I got a call back from a detective. They had followed up with Sandra and with my wife Bridget. The detective told me they would not pursue any charges in the case. He told me that both Sandra and Bridget made statements to the effect that this was planned, consensual, and that I must just be, freaking out, because they were both pregnant at the same time. He tried to be a little sympathetic to me, and said, if nothing else, you can at least divorce and move on. Their story sounds a little too perfect, and matched way too closely. But this is

just a he said-she-said situation, and unfortunately there's more of them saying their side of things. I finally had it and went home. I needed to know why my wife would side with her sister and lie to the police. When I got there, Sandra was there too. I'm not proud to say I immediately snapped, what the fuck is wrong with you too. You're lying to the police. You both know what happened that night.

My wife started trying to calm me right away. Babe, babe, stop, just come sit. I was not calming at all, and no, I want her gone, and I want her gone now. Bridget said, she's not going anywhere. This is what we wanted, I just stopped. I stood there, I felt unable. to move. I had this long pause of processing and finally replied, you wanted this to happen.

Why, would you want this? Bridget led me over to the couch, I hadn't noticed, but Sandra ducked out of the room. Bridget took my hand and looked me in the eye, we have always wanted to have children at the same time, that were the same age. We've been talking about this for the last few months. The party just gave us the chance to make it happen. I said, you set me up, you are just as bad as her. Bridget, I love my sister, we do everything together, having me means having her and vice versa. That will never change. I love you, but you will always come after her. Just exasperated, I said, that's fine, you can have each other, I want a divorce. Sandra returned at that point, don't be like that. I looked up at her with disdain. You can

shut the fuck up. I said scornfully. Bridget, no listen, we want to make this work. There is no we. I yelled. Bridget lost her cool at this point, just stop. You're pissed off, you are going to be more pissed off paying double child support. Fuck this, and fuck you both. I am out of here. I stormed out of the house at that point and just drove off. I went straight to a divorce attorney.

That consultation was eye-opening. I explained all the circumstances of my situation. When I was done, he looked at me and said, I don't think you come out ahead on this one. There ain't much to your divorce, you guys don't have any assets. I can probably do this divorce for about $3,500, if it goes smooth. It's the after that's the problem. From the sound of things these two will spin anything their way.

If everything you said is true, they got you. You're going to be looking at child support for both kids. Even if we contest this all the way to a hearing I don't see a judge siding with you. Those police statements are not helping you. I left that office feeling defeated. I needed a lot of money, and probably a better attorney than the one I just talked to. I decided to talk to my uncles and see if they could help me. I've met with both of them over the past few days.

Neither of them was any more reassuring. They both just made jokes about Minaja Truwa and told me I should suck it up. When I said to one of them that Sandra sexually assaulted me, he said, What are you a gay? Don't be such a pussy, every man I know would love to be able to say they fucked twins, having exhausted every avenue, my last-ditch effort was to call my dad. I was hoping that just one more time in my life he would act like a dad. I hadn't thought that from him since my mom died ten years ago, but I was hoping just this once he would.

I was again disappointed. With my head down I went back to my house. Bridget and Sandra were both there. I told them I would listen. The conversation was just them tagged teaming me with their grand plan. The main piece being that we moved Sandra into our house. It's a two-bedroom house. That's three adults with two newborns on the way.

They kept saying this was just temporary, that with three incomes we would be able to get a new bigger place soon. Then they tried to lay out all these benefits for me. Three parents means more time for ourselves, having all of my kids under the same roof, no child support, no custody nonsense, just a loving home. This devolved as they spat their sales pitched to the point they were just planning decorating for the house, and what types of baby supplies we would need. I have been staying in the house at this point with Bridget.

Sandra is still at her place for now. I know they've got me in a tight spot. I need to make a decision. I keep wavering between just filing for divorce and taking the bullshit that comes with it, or trying to ride this out a bit farther until I have enough save to make a better break. I know I'm getting away from these two, they will be the death of me, it's just about how quick I can do this. I may just have to endure for a little while.

I think I can handle that, maybe even wear them down. some and get a better deal for myself. Years ago my Lyndon 30M, wife, Bridget 29F, and her identical twin sister, Sandra 29F, set me up. They had the most extreme twin bond you can imagine. They tricked me into impregnating them both at the same time. I was extremely upset and felt violated. Everyone L. told either laughed at me, downplayed, or told me to man up. I went to the police, they couldn't help. I wanted to divorce my wife, and the lawyer explained. how financially fucked I would be. Bridget and Sandra ended up getting what they wanted.

Sandra moved into the house Bridget and I rented. During their pregnancies things had at least a sense of normalcy. Sandra had her own room, and Bridget and I shared the other. I knew we needed a bigger place, and that once the babies were born this wouldn't work out at all. I hated being around Sandra, but Bridget always insisted on her joining us for everything. Eventually I just gave in to this being the norm. We got two of everything and began setting up Sandra's room as a nursery. The sisters just kept telling me that one of them would sleep in there each night to be

close to the babies, which were both confirmed to be boys. We got to the 38 weeks mark, and they both scheduled C-sections for the same day. They were adamant that the boys be born on the same day. The boys, Trevor, Bridget's, and Terence, Sandra's, were born a few hours apart. I am ashamed of this, but I really didn't want to acknowledge Sandra's child. Once I saw him I couldn't help but fall in love with my son. The two babies look so much alike. A doctor did explain that genetically speaking they are full siblings since their mothers are identical twins and they have the same father.

Mom spent two days recovering after the birth in the hospital. Their mother, Robin 54F, who used to be so sweet to me, now acts like I am some monster who has taken advantage of both her daughters. She was there the whole time, and kept making snide comments that I mostly ignored. Their dad, Carrie 56M, however, has kind of become a kindred spirit over the past few years. That all began in the hospital during the births. I guess I never noticed how broken he was. Robin just never lets up on him, and you can tell he's miserable.

The girls are pretty hard on him too, not as bad as Robin, but still hard on him. I get it now. He's been doing this for like 30 years. I am starting to feel like he looks and I've only been doing it a fifth of that time. Once we got home, the mood turned hard. They both seemed to have a lot of needs and were asking me for help constantly. I was trying to be supportive to both of them, even though I still harbored a lot of anger toward Sandra.

I wanted to make things work for a while because I wanted the boys attached to me. This kind of backfired on me, though, because I didn't pick up on the signs. The twins were grooming me for the life I've been living. It began small, with the sleeping arrangement. I quickly got relegated to couch sleeping. The boys would be in bed with both Sandra and Bridget often. The other thing that would happen is one of them would sleep in the boys' room, while the other proclaimed they needed a break and would sleep alone in the master bedroom.

Our arrangement became me staying at home with Trevor and Terrence during the day while the twins were at work. Then I worked nights at my uncle's bar. With three incomes the financial side of raising two newborns was easier. While this was physically draining, I was okay with it because it gave me a lot of one on two time with my sons. My marriage to Bridget did not recover. While she was still making some effort to play husband and wife, it was very self-serving. She had her sister at home with her, so she leaned on her emotionally. We would still cuddle and have sex, but that was on her terms only.

I endured it. It got weird about a year post-birth. One night I was asked if I would get Sandra off. The girls had been talking and Sandra had revealed that she hadn't had much time to date and was getting a bit frustrated. I was against it at first, but they managed to convince me, it was pretty easy. I hadn't had Bridget in three weeks when they asked. Everything was fine, but once she got hers, she just stopped. The next day they told me that they thought it best that I'd not finish, because it would make it weird. As if it wasn't already fucking bad

shit crazy. Two years went like this. I was relegated to Butler slash living sex toy they weren't mean, they were manipulative. I didn't even realize it at the time. I would get used and used until I became really depressed, then Bredigit would pick up the sex frequency and Sandra would start finishing me off. The affection would also pick up. I'd get compliments, they'd come home with a gift or something for me. Take the kids out for a whole day and tell me to enjoy the game. I only agreed to not divorce and run because I was trying to save myself financially and have a shot at custody of Trevor. I had completely lost myself in this process,

and didn't even notice that I was becoming a shell of my former self. Then it took another wild swing. Both Bridget and Sandra moved up to manager positions at work. The raises were good, and they decided we finally needed a bigger place. We found a four-bedroom house to rent. It was spectacular having my own bed, and designated play space for the kids' things. For the first time in two years we weren't living in clutter.

It was at this time they became overly nice to me. I thought it was because we had more space and that made things less stressful. I had one of them taking me to bed seemingly every night. That lasted a few weeks. Then they told me they were both pregnant again and things immediately went back to normal. You would think that would snap me out of my fog, but it didn't. I went along with all of it even longer. I was back to being the live in Nanny and Butler.

I thought everything would be okay, I had the boys and soon would have two more kids. kids. Bridget and Sandra made a special appointment at the 12-week mark to determine the sex of the baby. This is almost as early as this can be done with ultrasound. I thought it was premature and also asked if we could be surprised. They let me know that was completely out of the question. The day of the ultrasound I was not included. When they got back it was just minutes before my shift and I was trying to get info out of them. They just ignored me and said they didn't want to talk about it. I had to go to work and wonder, knowing everyone would be asleep when I got home. I got home at my usual time of about 1.30 a.m. No one was still

up, but they had left an envelope on the table. I opened it up and it showed that Bridget was carrying a little girl and Sandra another little boy. I was excited, I always hoped to have both boys and girls. The next day I was watching the boys, and decided to take them out to lunch in the afternoon. When we returned Bridget and Sandra were both home. This was highly unusual. They seemed to be having a lot of discomfort. I asked them if they were okay, and Sandra said, we're fine, just supposed to take a day and recover. I responded, recover from what? Bridgett began, look, I don't want you to get all upset, so can you just not? We had to abort. With a quivering voice I said, what? Sandra said, they weren't the same sex, they couldn't be identical twins.

Bridget finished, we will try again next month. Now please, don't make a big deal, we're both really uncomfortable, my heart fell out of me. I could not believe they would do this. I wanted to scream, no, I wanted to beat them senseless. I instead went into my room. I let the emotion, and I felt the fog lift. It was weird, it felt like a literal fog had been removed from inside my head and in front of my eyes. I for the first time in years was seeing clearly. The way I was treated, used, manipulated. The way I didn't matter to them. I vowed that day to get vengeance for what they had done. It's taken years of work and planning, but I finally pulled it off. I'm finally rid of them, and served those bitches a big dose of karma. After Bridget

and Sandra terminated their pregnancies because they weren't the same sex, I decided I had reached my limit. No amount of financial burden was too much for them to receive some form of retribution. In the days that followed I did confront them about this and they stuck to the idea that it wasn't a big deal, and that we could all just try again next month. I secretly scheduled a vasectomy consultation for the following week. My appointment was nine days later. I hired an Uber driver to bring me home. When the twins asked me what was wrong, I told them I pulled something working out.

That was step one, now they couldn't hurt me again. Step two was to turn on Super Dad mode. Bridget and Sandra both got raises when they became managers. These were pretty good size raises, which yes mostly went towards the new rental. This whole time I have been working Tuesday to Saturday nights at my uncle's bar. They always complained that they didn't get to go out anymore. Which wasn't true they did, just not together as much, or hardly ever really. One would stay home with the kids while the other went out.

I proposed that I switched to part-time. Only working Friday and Saturday nights. Then I could stay at home with the kids more and they could go out together some. Thursdays are ladies' nights at a lot of local places. They liked the sound of it and when I showed them we could afford it, especially since I was keeping the two nights that brought in 75% of my income, they agreed. Now I was really the primary caregiver to both kids. Spending every day and five nights a week directly raising Trevor and Terrence.

The twins took the newfound freedom and ran with it. I kept a log of all their nights out, including receipts and bank statements. I let this roll for a whole year. About six months into this they decided it was time to try. and get pregnant. Obviously it never worked. They didn't know I was shooting blanks now. I knew eventually they would grow frustrated.

It took six months for them to just really snap at me. I knew it was time. My last act of vengeance was to drive them apart. While Sandra was allowed to use me for sex, we never had an affectionate relationship. Bridget did still make some effort at actual intimacy. It was one-sided, but she did like to be cuddled and still talk to me about her life. I knew if that dynamic changed she would come unglued. I began to ignore Bridget, while simultaneously focusing my attention on Sandra.

Sandra was definitely not receptive initially, but I persisted. No matter what she did I made a big deal out of it. If she brought dinner home, I made it seem like it was exactly what I needed and she was the most generous of women. If Bridget did the same thing, I didn't praise anything, and usually made up at least one complaint. I absolutely refused to tend to any of Bridget's needs. No more cuddling, no more listening to her talk. If Sandra needed something, no matter how frivolous, I jumped to it. Over the months I could see it all taking a toll on Bridget.

At the same time, with all the undivided attention, Sandra began to soften to me. Bridget took notice and I began to see the tension between them grow. That led to maybe the most fucked up thing I pulled. I got a Viagra prescription. It wasn't hard, I just lied to my time. doctor about having trouble. I had lost all feelings for Bridget, and she really kind of disgusted me, they both did, but the plan was more important than my tastes. It wasn't difficult to start having trouble in the sex department with Bridget. No matter what she tried

to get me going, I would just think about all the pain she had caused. From her perspective, she just couldn't get me aroused anymore. To pour salt into the wounds, whenever Sandra needed that it scratched, I would pop a Viagra and be absolutely maxed out since I didn't actually need it. Their relationship strained more and more as I played favorites with Sandra. I began to see them argue, which never happened before. When Bridget changed her hair color to not match Sandra's, I knew I had one. With all the praise Sandra was getting at home she was staying in more often. Bridget meanwhile was going out more often. I figured it was only a matter of time before she began to cheat. I tried to keep a close eye on how she was acting, looking for all the

cliche signs. Eventually she started working late, and spending huge amounts of time on her phone, which she hit otherwise. Then I dropped the bomb on her. I asked for divorce, but that we keep our current situation. I said, I think it best if we divorce, I love you, but I'm not in love with you. I'd think it best if we kept everything the same, but I was married to Sandra instead. She lost her fucking mind. She was screaming and yelling at me nonstop. Eventually Sandra came in to see what was going on. Bridget turned her attention towards her sister immediately. I had never seen either of them like this. Sandra looked completely bewildered, because while she enjoyed my attention, it was largely on a subconscious level. I played it up, stating I only loved

Sandra. Sandra looked at me like, WTF. Before she could say anything, though, Bridget clocked her right in the mouth, knocked out a tooth, and sent blood spatter flying across the room. Sandra, enraged, lunged back at her. It was a full-on fight. I called the police at that point. They ended up taking them both to the ER, then arresting them. Bridget's nose was broken, both had bruises and cuts, it was crazy. With her phone left behind, I collected any evidence of infidelity on Bridget's phone, and any evidence of our pseudo-thruple. I didn't want Bridget coming back saying I was a cheater too. They were both bailed out by their parents the following morning. I found it hilarious that they had to stay the night in jail.

That same week I filed for divorce from Bridget. We went all in on the demands. I asked for spousal support and full custody of Trevor. At the same time we filed for full custody and child support of Terence as well. The month since have been hard, mostly just dealings with legal stuff. I did find my own place pretty quick, and landed a decent daytime job at a lumber company. Both of them fought me pretty hard, but not being a united front hurt Bridget and Sandra. In the end, I was awarded primary custody and child support from both of them.

I did not get spousal support from Bridget, but that's no big loss. I'm really excited for what the future holds. Still embarrassed about my past, but I have come away with a newfound sense of self. Sky's the limit from here. My name's officer Justin Badger. Every day I clock in, hit the streets responding to calls. Usually, they're nothing too wild, sort of the standard, everyday stuff. that any season cop can handle without breaking a sweat.

Thanks to my training and the mileage I've put in, I've got a solid handle on things. I show up, assess, and act, diligent, confident, dependable. But one particular afternoon. That day started like any other, and ended up being a trip, where I thought I was rescuing someone, only to later realize I've been played, used as a pawn in someone else's serious wrongdoing. Here's how it all went down. One, a warm afternoon, a concerning text.

It was a warm day, sunny, the kind that feels like nothing big could go wrong. Then dispatch put a call through, a woman named Jamie was outside the station. She was upset, worried about her son, John. The texts he'd been sending, coming from his own number, said he feared for his life. instantly, Jamie's voice was shaky, tense, her eyes darting around as she waited near my patrol car. I stepped out of the station, ready to calm the situation down. Jamie showed me the texts, short lines, all twitchy and defensive, all saying he was in danger. She told me, if you can just talk to him and get him in the back of your car, she trailed off, hopeful.

But I cut in, he's a grown man. He's not getting in my car if he doesn't want to. I was polite about it, but firm. Jamie bit her lip, eyes glistening. You don't understand, he's scared. Right then, I wanted more clarity. I told her I needed a moment to think. Went back inside.

Meanwhile, Jamie calls dispatch again, escalates the urgency, wants another officer. I volunteer, I'm right here, let me handle it. 2. Instructions from another officer. I head back out to Jamie. She's pacing by the curb, foam glued to her ear. I ask what's up, and she says she's on the line with an officer from another agency. That guy instructs me, go to John's house, pull him aside gently, ask if he wants to leave. I catch a hint of hesitation in my gut, but hey, another officer giving directions. I follow protocol. We coordinate, I swallow any misgivings, and head out.

3. At John's house, tension on the porch, we roll up to the address. I approach the front door calmly, knock. An older man answers, maybe John's father-in-law. I ask if John is home. The man steps aside, young John, his wife, and father-in-law shuffle out onto the porch. I introduce myself, say we're here because Jamie is well. worried. John looks drained, his voice barely above a whisper. Tremors in his posture. I ask, are you okay? He doesn't answer. I ask everyone else to go inside so I can speak to him privately.

They linger a moment, then reluctantly retreat. Now it's just John and me. He's stiff, scared, but silent. I feel that tension. He reminds me of an animal pinned in a corner. 4. The phone, his voice, his fear, John, what's going on? His hands shake, he's clutching his phone, thumb hovering, thumb tapping. He says others are sending him stuff, saying his wife did something illegal. They messaged him saying she wronged them, that she's dangerous. They're feeding him lines, telling him what to believe. I tell him, your mom's waiting at the station. She wants to help. Want to come with me? He keeps staring at the screen, jaw tight. Doesn't answer. While we talk, he checks his phone constantly. I don't see what he's reading, but I sense it's tearing him.

I've seen panic before, I've seen coercion, but this feels deep. Five, the hidden puppet masters. Later, I'd learn what those messages on his phone were, written by people manipulating him over encrypted apps. Don't tell your wife. She's not to know where you're going. Turn your phone off once you get in the car. We need this to hold up better.

They were writing the script of his escape, and making me the hero of a setup. These people, they had a larger agenda. They wanted to pin something shady on John's wife, build a case around false allegations so they could win custody or some legal leverage. His compliance helped them stage their narrative, make him look like a victim being rescued by a good cop.

Six, the walk to the car, fear unmasked. Finally, after endless scrolling and typing and more scrolling, John powers his phone off. He turns to me, voice raw, okay. I'll go. Relief? Not really. Walking back to the patrol car, he's hunched over, body coiled like he's still running from

something, maybe remembered threats, maybe flashbacks of someone. telling him to run. I open the back door. He slides in, face pale. I shut the door behind him. He exhales, like he thinks he's survived something horrific. I realize later, on the dash cam, he looks like he just escaped a firefight. I return him to the station. Jamie rushes out, tears, hugs him tight. I breathe easier, think job done. Seven, the revelation, I will. I will, was a pawn, but it gets twisty. Next day, dispatch calls me in. They've traced messages.

The fear John had. Manufactured. Paul, Linda, Carlotta, people feeding him lies, making him doubt his spouse, making him say things to build a case. They defamed her, set her up. They even told John, if she knew you were going with cops, she'd do something stupid. they used my authority to make it look real. I was their accessory, unwittingly.

John's actually safe. His wife was innocent. But thanks to those messages, thanks to me showing up, he was pulled out of his home on false pretences. Eight, aftermath, questions, guilt, clarity. That night I couldn't sleep. What did I miss? What could I have done differently? Should I have probed more?

asked questions about who was messaging him. Asked John if he'd blocked anyone. Should have spotted messages directing him, tell him, let's see the messages, maybe call them out. Wondering about legal fallout. John's wife, does she have claims? Defamation. Emotional distress. Did my superiors cover our liability?

Did I act in good faith? Technically yes, I was responding to a. a concerned parent, following protocol, obeying instructions. Yet I worry, could I be held accountable, even if unknowingly complicit? Nine, what I've learned, red flags and training gaps. This case changed me. Now when someone says they're scared via texts, I ask, who's been messaging you? Did your own number get hacked? Show me the texts. Have you heard from the person directly? Sometimes deep fakes and spoofed numbers are signs. Especially with apps like Signal, they can mask identities.

I take screenshots, I ask suspicious follow UPS. 10, a note to fellow officers. We train for domestic disturbance, mental health crisis, DWI, etc. But digital coercion. Emotional manipulation from the cloud? That's new frontier. I think law enforcement training needs modules, digital forensics at the scene, understanding manipulated messaging, how to question motives behind fear, texts, coordination with cyber units

on verifying who's behind pressure campaigns. 11. A word to families. To parents, spouses, loved ones, stay in the loop. If you think someone's being manipulated, physically or digitally, work with police, mental health experts, tech-savvy allies. Don't just tell your loved one to leave. Look at the bigger picture. Keep channels open so you don't become a weapon in someone else's plan. 12. What's next for me?

I'm pushing for, better policy on handling digital evidence in real time, training on persuasion tactics via messages, mechanisms for verifying identity of remote actors. I've launched internal memos, suggested IG's office review. Hoping the department adopts new training. 13. Reflections, light and shadows. I still wear the badge with pride. I still believe in stepping out there every day to help people. But now I carry wariness, too, knowing there are puppet masters in the shadows, ready to manipulate earnest officers and scared citizens alike. 14. Final word, the truth beneath the rescue. What began as a simple, I think I'm rescuing

someone, call transformed into a reminder, things, especially success stories, can be illusions. A complicated dance of fear, technology, desperation, and deceit. So yes, I rescued John, sort of. But the bigger rescue now. Making sure truth comes first, that justice cuts through digital smoke screens, and that no one, citizen or cop, become someone else's tool in a false narrative. That's the real win. That's what matters. The end. C.W. child death, I live in a big city and I live so close to the building next door we can see directly into each other's windows. There's an alley in between that causes sounds to echo. I've been subjected to a handful of wild noises since I moved in over a year ago, but the most

disturbing of which started several months ago when a small family moved in. In February I started to hear kids crying 24-7 and then things started escalating with the mother violently screaming back telling them to shut the fuck up among other things. It was upsetting to hear every day and when thing started sounding really horrific, I called CPS to file a report and they told me I needed at least the apartment number to file a report. I searched for the property manager's contact online and called her and explained I needed information on what unit it was. I described what I was hearing and she knew exactly who I was talking about and told me the exact apartment number and told me her estimate of the children's ages, as I suspected they also live on the fifth

floor, but not within my direct eyesight. She also asked me to email her about it. I filed the report with CPS and they sent police for a wellness check and the police told me everything was fine and essentially called me a liar and said, yelling at your kids isn't a crime. After the wellness check they were quiet for a bit and then things started escalating again, more screaming and I could hear her hitting them. I did everything I could do. I tried emailing the property again also and she said it's not her problem because it wasn't coming from her building and mine instead which has no children. She didn't want anything to do with it. Skip to Tuesday of this week June 25th. I'm working for from home and I hear a woman screaming and crying. At first I thought

it was the woman screaming at her children again, but I look outside to see a baby on the ground unresponsive in the alley. The exact age of the child I called CPS about, around two years old. I kept thinking what the fuck is a baby in diaper doing in the middle of the alley. There is only EMTs there and the mother screaming nearby. I see the EMTs do CPR and a defibrillator and then pronounce him dead. They pulled a sheet over his body as the police showed up and a helicopter circled overhead. I see them speaking to the mother and taking notes on a note pad, taping everything off with crime scene tape and looking around the alley and up the building.

It was, in fact, one of the children I called CPS about. It seemed he came out of the fifth-story window. I've never seen a dead body before, definitely never a child. Definitely never a child I tried to help through the system. I'm still in shock and can't even wrap my mind around it or what I saw. I feel consumed by it. And I cannot shake the feeling that it wasn't actually an accident. I had to finish out work while this was happening, the entire scene still outside my window

for the rest of my shift for over four hours. I'm trying to make it through the week, but I feel like a shell of a human. I spoke to my neighbors who heard the abuse too and tried to report it, but it seems like I'm the only one who witnessed what happened on Tuesday. I'm glad they didn't have to see it, but I keep it. wondering what is the reason why I had to. And what do I with myself now? I'm scared she is going to be free and maintain custody of her youngest child who is under

one year old. Everyone around me is acting like everything is normal. I'm sorry if the format is terrible I'm on mobile and I'm sorry if I didn't word this the best and it's choppy I'm just not even really all here. I also am not sure if this is an appropriate subreddit for this I just don't know where to put it. Small update, I called CPS again yesterday morning as some comments suggested. I gave them my info, referred back to my report and said one of the children I called about

died and I was concerned about the well-being of the other baby. I was put on hold and when she came back she just kept repeating, I can't tell you anything. I told her I wasn't asking for information that I was reporting a concern to which she responded, I can't say anything, all I can say is that we do work with the police. You can always file a police report. Sounds like there's an investigation happening now, at least that's what I gathered from it. My neighbor and I haven't made it to the police station since we are both really struggling after everything.

It was years and years ago. I was at a bar and some rich frat trash Jeep brothers came in and immediately acted like they owned the place and started multiple confrontations. Everyone gave them their space and they sort of reveled in the fact they basically took over the bar. Me and my date were pseudo-regulars and just moved away from them. Eventually a bunch on Mexican bikers came in as well. One of the brothers tried his rich kid shit on one of them and bowed.

up to one of them. And one of his friends pulled him back. I think Mr. Alpha thought they were doing the You're lucky my friend is holding me back, routine. The bikers were not. The guy he started with just stood there not moving a muscle. Two of his friends put their hands inside of their jackets. And one guy held the door shut. The kid walked back to his group and the bikers stood down. I looked at my date and made the, let's get out of here, look. She nodded. We got up and started to walk out and ran into a friend who was way too drunk to be left on her own. So we drove her home and passed by the bar again on the way back. There was a crowd outside and we could see it was the brothers and the bikers. My date says, oh shit, want to watch, and I say, yeah, kinda, there's a

bunch of posturing and pointing in bullshit. Then one of the two on the side started swinging. One of the bikers' girlfriend gets in the face of Mr. Alpha and starts screaming. Mr. Alpha starts wailing on her as hard as he can, holding her up while she's clearly unconscious, and punching her in the head while she dangles limp. A car comes barreling through the parking lot and Mr. Alpha see it coming and throws the girl on the ground in front of it. The car runs over her legs, with her head and body under the car. The girl is the car screams, get in the fucking car.

Mr. Alpha scream, fuck that, or something. I don't think he finished what he said. Because while that is happening the biker he started with pulled out a knife. stuck it in his neck, then sought it out leaving a massive hole going clear through his jugular. At this point we are flooring it and running through a red light. Last I saw was within three seconds his white shirt was almost completely covered in blood. We talked about it when we got home and decided that Mr. Alpha was not worth ending up on the wrong side of said bikers and never talked about it again.

Later that week it was in the papers about what a great guy he was and how he was this big victim. There was a huge shrine made on the spot where he was killed. I never told anyone about this, but my brother who thinks I should have come forward. And I won't say what city this happened in, but let's just say it's not exactly one where locking up a murderer would make much difference. Oh great, another day of waking up and not wanting to go to work, I think to myself. The rat race of just trying to get out of the house begins with my wife, Carissa, and my 14-year-old daughter, Sienna. First, I have to drag myself out of bed. I give myself a motivational speech thinking to myself today is Tuesday and I only have four more days to go.

I get out of bed and I make my way down the stairs. I hear scurrying going on the kitchen, which is the typical daily ritual of Carissa and Sienna making their lunches for the day. I make my way to the kitchen and Carissa says, Jack will be home later than usual today. I do a double take, as I see a young man standing besides my wife preparing a sandwich. Hi, are you a friend of Sienna? I asked the young man. He giggles and says, what are you talking about dad? I remember growing up and going over a friend's house and I would tread lightly, where

instead this young man is making jokes at 6.40 a.m. I bite my tongue and I ignore whoever this Jack character is. Is Sienna still sleeping? I ask Carissa. Ed, why are you fixated on Sienna? And who is she, our daughter? That's who I'm talking about. In a slight angry, confused tone, Ed, I have five minutes before I have to leave to go to work. April Fool's Day was six months ago, so please stop. Okay, I get it, funny, uh. I respond. Carissa seems to get more and more agitated and says, remember to bring your lunch to school. Then she kisses, whoever this Jack character is, on the side of the head and heads out the door. As she leaves, she barely says, by Ed. I'm now alone in the kitchen with this Jack character, who casually moves around the kitchen like he's a

regular guest here or that he owns the place. I feel awkward in my own kitchen, so I leave to go in the dining room, where I see the picture of Sienna was taken down and replaced with Jack. Real funny. I say out loud, as I look around for hidden cameras. I proceed into the living room and I rub my head in a confused state, where I see two other pictures of Jack, where the ones of Sienna were taken down. Clever, that must have taken five minutes to replace the photos. I say in a loud manner, so Jack can hear what I'm saying. I head back upstairs to get my clothes to change into. Before I go into my room, I decide to look into Sienna's room. What the hell? I say out loud as my teenage daughter's room was changed into a teenage boy's

room. I stand in this room, which was painted a light pink yesterday, but now is a royal blue today. Something is definitely strange as I do a 360 around the room and I see an array of photos of that Jack character and what seems to be his friends. I hear the bus come and the front door slam as I assume Jack has left. I sit on what was Sienna's bed and I try to figure out what's going on. Where's Sienna? I just saw her last night.

I keep thinking to myself. I look through my phone and all the pictures I had of Carissa were replaced with this Jack person. With the phone in my hand, I call Carissa at work. What is it, Ed? Where's Sienna? Ed, I'm really busy right now. I don't have time for this. Then she hangs the phone up.

She doesn't have time for our missing daughter. What the hell is going on? I say out loud to myself. I think about calling Sienna's school, but I decide to hold off because I don't want to embarrass her if this is just some type of joke they're all playing on me. Then as I put my phone down, I see that it's no longer Tuesday, September 9th, but instead it's Friday, October 29th. What the hell happened to the last 20 days?

I blurt out to myself. Not only has the last 20 days disappeared, but Sienna's existence has been wiped clean and I'm not sure why. I leave the house to look around and this is the one time, where I wish I had neighbors, but instead my house is surrounded by government land. Both of my parents are dead and my sister died in a car accident ten years ago, so there's no one I can talk to about the absurdity of what's going on. I don't show up to work because I figure that my daughter's safety is more important. I decide to go to the hospital which is about 15 minutes away to look at Ciena's birth record. As I get into my car, I realize that my Honda appears to be the wrong model, where this

in a cord and I drive a civic. The change in car models puzzles me, but I have bigger fish to fry as I pull into the hospital's parking lot. I head for the medical record department and I fill out the paper to get my minor daughter's records released. I pay the $20 fee and five minutes later the straightforward woman says, we don't have any records of a Sienna Kilper being born here. That's impossible. I was here the day that she was born. Can you please do a search with using just her birth date? I can tell that the woman is thinking whether my request fits the hospital's protocols. Okay, give me a minute. She finally says, as the woman looks in her computer, I try to jog my memory to try to figure out, how I got into this mess. My mind is drawing a blank,

then the woman approaches me and says, for March 12, 2007, we have a Sienna Moss on file, but not a Sienna Kilper. I stand there with a look of shock on my face, then I ask, can I look at the Sienna's file you have on record? No, because you're not listed as Sienna Moss's father. Great, thanks. say, as I stomp my feet out of the office. I get into the parking lot and I type into Google possible scenarios that I could be experiencing right now. Personality dysmorphic syndrome comes up, where I read about a situation similar to mine, where a father mentally replaced his own son with a daughter. Obviously, that Sienna was born probably on the same

day as Jack and maybe my brain had somehow dissociated itself from Jack and replaced it with Sienna. That's crazy. Why am I even entertaining these thoughts? All my memories consist of Siena's first steps, her dance recitals, and everything else that we have done, where I can't even recall this Jack character. Then I think back when Carissa was in the hospital and I remember that she shared a room with another new mother that gave birth to a son. That can't be. I blurt out. Did my brain develop some type of fantasy world involving Sienna, where it erased any resemblance of Jack? Do I have a personality disorder or am I schizophrenic or something. Why did I wake up almost a month later with no recollection of what

happened in that time period? Are the questions that I can't figure out? Then I remembered the 4th of July parade that was held by my township that I reside in. I went on to the township's website and I see Sienna marching with her dance company, where I even see myself standing in the crowd. That's my daughter. How I pictured her looking the last time I saw her. The only thing that I can't explain, is why is that Jack character standing not that far away from me? I think back to the time of the parade, where I can't even picture Jack being there, because he was just another face in the crowd to me. Was that just a coincidence that he was standing so close to me, or have I rejected him as being my son and replaced him with an imaginary daughter? As I get into the

car and start to drive, I get a vague memory of driving in a car and hydroplaining into a telephone pole when it was raining out. I wonder if that was my accord and did I have some sort of concussion, which I didn't realize at the time of the accident. The odd thing is that I can't picture if there was a passenger in the car at the time of the accident. Just when I couldn't think of anything else, the note. I yelled out, which is referring to the note that Sienna buried along with her dead hamster. I remember specifically the location in the backyard where I buried the hamster in a shoe box about four years ago. It's a long shot because more than likely the shoe box and the note has disintegrated,

but I rush home as fast as possible anyways. I park my car and run into the backyard where I knew the hamster was buried. I dig through the dirt with my bare hands and when I get close to two feet down, I start to see pieces of orange cardboard from the shoebox. With my filthy dirty hands, I carefully excavate around the shoe box. My fingertips are bleeding, but my free-flowing adrenaline allows me to ignore the pain. I get to the point where I have the mangled cover of the box fully exposed, so I carefully remove the cover and I see the skeletonized remains of the hamster and remnants of a torn-up

piece of pink paper. I gather the pieces of the pink paper and my eyes light up when I see the paper was signed, Sienna. You fuckers, I instinctively yell out. Followed by, you didn't know about this. My joy about being right quickly fades as I try to figure out what the hell is going on. My mind drifts back to this morning and I picture myself in the kitchen and I say out loud, was that Carissa. This was the nightmare that took place years ago when I was a park ranger. I still remember standing there, feeling dissociated and strange as I looked down on the eerie seen below us. Oh, God in heaven, Ace whispered in the purple light of the cave. Before us, the bright red hand shot forward and grabbed the body of the headless man.

It lifted the corpse up with ease. I watched the beast open its jaw wide enough to throw the corpse in without difficulty. We need to go deeper in, Jansen said, looking for me to Ace with a serious frown on her face. What are you, insane? Ace said, Do you want to die? There could be thousands of those things down there. But the decision was quickly taken out of our hands as we heard screaming, young, high-pitched voice. We all looked down at once and saw the white humanoid mutants dragging out a young boy, one that I recognized from pictures on the trailer park crime scene wall.

He had cuts and scrapes all over him and was shivering, either from hypothermia or fear or both, but he was alive. His eyes were huge as he was dragged forward by his small hands towards the great red insectile beast in the corner. God damn it, I whispered, looking at Ace and Jansen. Okay, Jansen and I will take point positions. Ace, you guard the rear. We will form a triangle and start shooting.

When one reloads, the other two cover. Ace, you'll need to swing back and periodically check our backs to make sure there's no ambush. Now let's go, they didn't question my command. Neither of them had time to. To save the boy, we needed to move immediately. We started down the smooth stone floors, only a couple hundred feet away from unknown numbers of enemies. I fired first, aiming my shotgun at the group of mutants nearest to me as quickly as I could pull the trigger. The first shot blew the chest of one open, kept going, hit another

in the leg, and ended up blowing chips of stone from the wall behind them. I saw it all in slow motion, my adrenaline pumping in the heightened awareness of battle taking hold. The second shot hit the nearest one in the head. It exploded like a shattering vase, bits of blood and bone flying out in all directions. I saw the one holding the boy drop as Jansen hit it with a shot from the Ruger. It was an amazing shot, missing the boy entirely in taking off the head of the creature. It looked fairly risky, especially with a pistol, but I could tell she had experience and marksmanship. And yet, personally, I would never have tried from that distance with a hostage in tow with anything less than a rifle. The chance of

blowing the hostages head off seemed far too great. It made me wonder about her impulse control and risk-taking mindset. Who was this woman, after all? The white mutant continued holding the boy's hands for a second, standing on its feet as its mutilated, half-destroyed head kept pumping sprays of blood in the air. Then it fell, crumpling slowly to the floor. The black beast in the corner appeared enraged by this point. It gave off a banshee wail that sent out powerful blasts of sound, rising and falling in distinct waves. It sounded like a choked, much deeper version of a steam whistle. Instinctually, I wanted to drop my gun and cover my ears to stop the painful shrieking. It seemed even louder than the gunshots, something I would have said was impossible

before hearing it. And, worse than all that, the beast was rising to its feet. While it looked fat and slow, and while I knew it to be full of eggs since we had seen it lay some, it turned out to be much faster than all that would have suggested. It had a huge, blood-red belly, but it moved with the grace and speed of a cat. It rose on its six legs, its upper body sticking up from the lower insectal carapace like some sort of demented centaur. Its branched legs skittered forward in a centipede-like motion that gave me an instinctive revulsion. But it wasn't running towards us. It was moving away from the gunfire towards a huge entrance. As it went, it grabbed the boy with its inhumanly long, thin arms.

I feared it would open its giant maw and pop him inside, and that would be the last we would ever see of him, but it didn't. It disappeared, making that shrieking, steam whistle cry as it went. My ears were ringing so badly from all the gunshots, the echoes of the gunshots and the cries of the beasts that I was afraid I had gone deaf for a moment. A. stood in front of me, moving his lips, but I couldn't tell what the hell he was saying. What? I screamed.

My hearing slowly returned. We have to follow the boy, he said. We can't lose his trail. I knew he was right. The existence of a live hostage had totally changed the situation. We had no back-up coming and no way to call for help. We would have to take him ourselves. It seemed an insane proposition, and the creatures here vastly outnumbered us, but letting

a hostage die was not an option. Yeah, no shit, I said glumly. I sighed deeply. We had more ammo in the snowmobiles. I had filled my pockets with extra slugs, but I hadn't expected this. Ace was likely in a similar situation. We faced the choice of either going back and trying to grab as much ammo as we could, and possibly losing the hostage, or going forward and running the risk of using up all our ammo.

Which was, after all, a risk either way, since we had no idea how many of those things lived in the tunnels. I saw the same thoughts running through Ace's mind as he looked back towards the snowmobiles, then forward to the tunnels. Let's go, I said, motioning for us to go forwards. We can't risk losing the trail. We'll put breadcrumbs down as we go, metaphorically. Slice off tiny pieces of a jacket or something so we can find our way back. Based on how many of those goddamn things I saw, he responded, I think we'll be able to just follow the empty shell casings alone.

Jansen had already started running forwards by this point, and we had to sprint to keep up. We ran past the eggs, some empty and others throbbing with inner life. I saw the one nearest to me pulsating with blood-red veins, a thin, luminous skin revealing the silhouette of a monstrous insectoid creature inside. It writhed and squirmed, twisting its six legs and pushing against the membrane that kept it entombed within the egg from time to time. Soon, I knew it would push through. How many others had already hatched?

How long had this been going on? I had a feeling that we would soon find out. We sprinted into the tunnel, turning on our LED headlamps as we went. Jansen was in the lead, then ace, then me at the rear. Periodically I checked our backs, but nothing seemed to be following us, not yet, anyways. All the commotion was in front of us. That creature was still shrieking, though the sound was much more muffled and distant now. To my horror, I heard dozens of responses from all around, deeper in various tunnels that branched off from the main chamber or from this one.

Some sounded very far away and barely audible, but others seemed much, much closer. I also heard the cries for help from the young boy, though these, two, grew fainter. We tried running faster, but what could a human's two legs do against that skittering monstrosity's six legs? Not much, I thought to myself. The tunnel looked empty. That strange mold grew everywhere here as well. We barely even needed the LEDs to see, though it had so many curves and branches that it was difficult to see far anyways. Every hundred feet or so, another wall appeared, always curving to the left or the right.

As we ran, I saw glimmers of what looked like red eyes from some of the smaller side tunnels, but whenever I turned to look, they were gone. It was the same with those who might have followed us. I thought I saw glimpses of a long, white hand or a lipless face for a moment, but when I pointed the gun, the thing had slunk back into the shadows where deeper into one of the endless branching tunnels that disappeared around corners in an instant. The shrieking of the beasts had faded into the distance, and an eerie silence descended like a fog. We had all stopped by this point at an intersection of the cave system. One tunnel went

off to the left at a right angle, the other to the right at a right angle, and then we had the larger main tunnel we were following that extended in front of and behind us. Luckily, we hadn't yet deviated from the main tunnel, so finding our way back should be relatively easy. It felt substantially hotter down here as well. We had descended deeper into the chain of mountains that ran northwards, parallel to the Arctic Ocean. I had opened all of my jackets and taken off my hat, but I still felt boiling hot. I could tell the other two did as well. Trickles of sweat beaded their faces, and they were ripping off layers of clothing.

They threw a couple jackets on the ground, not wanting to carry them for God knows how long. If we made it out of here, I thought they might regret it, but after miles of walking, I too threw a couple jackets on the ground and left them. After all, when we came back this way to return to the snowmobile, we could just grab them again. Except, of course, we never did come back that way. God damn, A said. Well, we've lost the kid. Let's go back and report.

We should be able to find a signal with the sat phone somewhere in the area. I wish we had, but at that moment, circumstances beyond our control sealed our fate. It started with a small tremble, almost imperceptible. I looked around at the glowing purplish walls and the strange mossy molds that covered everything. Some of them lost connection with the walls as the shaking group. stronger. As soon as their root system stopped touching the stone and earth, the round cluster of detached mold would instantly go dark, their black light illuminations shut off like a switch when it stopped being anchored to the stone tunnel. Earthquake. I shouted,

but Jansen and Ace clearly already knew. We looked around for someplace safe. We ducked into a side tunnel where the ground was more stable. Behind us, rocks smashed into the ground, knocked out of place after who knows how many years. It became a continuous cacophony. We ran faster, and finally, something behind us seemed to let go. The entire main tunnel sounded like it was collapsing. Some small pebbles and rocks dislodged and hit me in the face and chest as I ran, but it became increasingly clear that whatever fault line had slipped had been further back, running underneath the main northwards tunnel. It sounded like tons of dirt and stone had collapsed. And then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

A few small aftershocks shook the area slightly, but as a whole, it seemed like we were safe. We all had our LED headlamps on as we made our way back to the main tunnel, hoping there was a way out. We had to get to the snowmobiles, and more importantly, we needed help. There might be more people imprisoned or taken hostage down here for all I knew. Is everyone okay?" I said. Fine, Jansen said, wiping dirt off her face. A small trickle of blood ran down her forehead. Jesus, the main tunnel. A. said, walking slow, Slowly out of the small tunnel we had sought refuge in. Look at it.

I came up behind him, unsurprised to see tons of rock spilling out towards us, with smaller boulders and pebbles nearest and huge pieces as tall as a man appearing further in. We're going to need to find another way back, I said. We can't go back. Jansen said, There's a hostage in here, and how do you expect us to find him? Ace asked. These tunnels could go for a hundred miles in every direction for all we know. I felt another tremble below our feet as a small aftershock passed through the area, sending

a few smaller stones rolling and tumbling around us. But we had come this far, after all. We're going to get that kid back, I said. We've already come this far, and the way back is blocked anyways. We're going to need to find another way out. There has to be other entrances to this cave system, but what I really thought about was the horror stories I had heard about the Paris catacombs, how occasionally someone would find themselves lost in them.

Countless random twists and turns through the darkness below the city combined with many miles of tunnels meant that very few who found themselves alone and lost down there made it back. They often starved or died from dehydration, their bones inevitably mixing with the hundreds of thousands of others resting eternally under the bustling cityscape above. After resting, we started moving forwards together. Morale felt low, and even Ace looked sullen and thoughtful. We continued on in the main tunnel, hoping that the boys still lived somewhere in these endless

tunnels. But we hadn't heard a single sound from the creatures in so long that I began to give up hope. The tunnel ahead of us started to open up, and massive growths of the luminescent molds began infesting the floor and walls, growing in shapes like ant mounds that reached nearly up to my neck. A soft sound began to echo back. It sounded like the babbling of a subterranean brook. Running forward, I shone the light into the stream and felt relieved to see it was full of pure, clean water. I began to greedily shove handfuls of water in my mouth. I saw Ace and Jansen follow my lead.

After all the running and fighting, I felt hungry, thirsty and tired. Looking up, I saw there was a primitive bridge against the stream made of a slab of granite. And beyond, I saw something that took my breath away. There was a cathedral down here, or at least something close to it. Hundreds of eggs stretched across the right and left sides of the chamber, like pews in a church. They were organized in lines with a ten-foot wide empty path leading further in. Hundreds of feet above us, sharp stalactites hung from the ceiling, glowing in the purplish light of the mold who climbed the walls in thin streamers.

At the end of the open chamber, a few hundred feet away, I saw a carving that stretched to the ceiling. Hewn from pure stone, it showed one of those insectile, egg-laying monsters. It showed it standing up straight, with its thin, branching arms stretched out to the ceiling above it, its oval eyes wide and its huge mouth stretched open wide to show its countless predators' teeth. Below it, I saw one of the white, humanoid creatures. This one wore a coarse, brown robe, the first one of its kind I had ever seen clothed. It was so still, I thought it was part of the carving at first that they had created a religious icon

showing these creatures serving their great and horrible masters. But then, it turned towards us. We all raised our guns at once. Freeze! I saw her finger tighten around the trigger. Don't. I said. It's unarmed. Wait. I felt eyes on me from all around me, but when I turned to check our backs, I saw nothing.

We started walking forwards towards the robed mutant. As we got closer to the front, I saw more and more of the eggs appeared empty. The ones in the back all had life inside, life that pushed against the thin membranes and whose legs skittered eerily in the amniotic fluid they breathed. Why should we let it live?" Jansen objected angrily under her breath as we moved forward in unison. These bastards killed that family, and who knows how many others. When I think back to all the unsolved missing persons' cases in this county, I knew what she meant.

The same thought had occurred to me. How many people had these creatures killed? The mutant in the brown robe stood there, his lipless mouth forming a cold sneer as he looked me up and down. strange eyes seemed to bulge from its emaciated face. When I got close enough, I realized they had an almost albino look to them, with blood-red irises that faded towards pink as they neared the center. The pupils seemed to glow, reflecting the eerie light of the mold. I didn't know what to do next. The creature in front of me spoke first, however. They are, our gods,

he croaked. From the depth of his voice and the cast of his body, I had figured out that this was probably a male among his species. The way he spoke reminded me of how deaf people sometimes sounded when they spoke. The word sounded strange, with random pauses and changes in cadence making it hard to understand at times. But it was definitely English. Who are you? I asked. What is this place? He shook his head, pointing to the huge carving behind him. Gods, he said. We feed, and they protect. They haven't done a very good job so far, Ace whispered in my ear. Those huge bugs just ran screaming when we started shooting. I ignored this.

What are you? I asked, hoping for an actual response. This time, I got one. We are, the keepers, he said slowly, thoughtfully, looking up at the huge carving. And these, are necrophores. He shook his head again, an expression crossing his face that looked very human. Was it, regret? Fear.

And they're hungry. So hungry. As if on cue, I heard the skittering of many legs behind me. Spinning around quickly, I saw that while we had been distracted, some of what he called the necrovers had surrounded us in a semicircle, cutting off any retreat. These looked much smaller than the original one we had seen, and I assumed they were likely juveniles. Behind you!

I screamed to my team, but they already heard what I had. I raised my shotgun, firing a slug into the nearest one's curved red face. It went between its eyes, and for a moment I could see a clear hole all the way through behind it to the stone walls surrounding us. Then it crumpled, its leg shaking spasmodically in its death throes, its arms moving back and forth in small arcs quickly as if it had a seizure in its last dying moments. Dozens of them appeared, and the speed at which they ran at us looked eerie. All I would see was a red blur and the flash of many branching legs, and an instant later,

I would see one of those abominations flying through the air with jaws opened and claws raised forwards. The guns fired quickly, dropping a dozen in the space of a few seconds and slowing the ones behind enough for us to have a chance. But they skittered so fast, like huge spiders. Their many legs shuffled and cracked against the stone floors, and they leapt at us. I dodged one, sidestepping it and shooting it in the head with a shotgun blast. Its dark red eyes looked at me from its angular face as a giant exit wound exploded from the back of its mouth. Shrieking, it fell. Ace wasn't so lucky. One jumped at him, slashing with its sharp claws and unhinging its jaw.

In a blur, I saw it grab his left arm, slicing through the cloth and skin easily. A spray of blood shot into the air. Ace. No. I screamed, chambering another round and firing. I hit the beast in the center of its body. It gurgled and spit as blood poured out of its body. It tried to get up and keep fighting, but its legs gave out underneath it, and I watched it

for a moment as it lay on the floor, kicking and dying. Ace had reloaded and turned, taking down another one with a direct shot. Jansen dropped the last two, and then suddenly, everything was quiet again. Only the ringing in my ears from all the gunfire broke it. I ran over to Ace, looking at his arm. He winced, pulling back his sleeve. I saw a deep gouge mark, the slice cutting nearly to the bone. Blood spurted out in time with his heartbeat, but it didn't look like any arteries had been severed.

We quickly applied pressure and a tourniquet, and after many minutes of resting in attending to his wound, the bleeding slowed. We sat among all the dead necrovers. The strange priest had disappeared in the fighting, slinking away in one of the tunnels behind the carving. We need to find food and water, I said. There may be more underground streams, if we're lucky, but food? What are we going to do, cook a necrovor? I looked at the corpse of the nearest one disdainfully as I spoke. If we have to, Jansen said.

I'm not dying down here. Not unless I have to. That's funny, A. said, looking at his injured arm, because you were the one who acted all gung-ho to come down here in the first place. Even before we saw the boy. Who, by the way, we have seen no sign of. This has all been a wild goose chase. An insane, wild goose chase to God knows where.

Probably death, or the seventh circle of hell, maybe, I said jokingly, but no one smiled. We continued walking. Eventually, we heard a soft babbling, and found a small stream running through a side tunnel. We cleaned Aces wound as best as we could, drinking as much of the clean, clear water as possible. But hunger began affecting me. I wondered if we really would have to try eating those strange red beasts if it came down to it. Maybe they'd taste like lobster, I thought to myself with a wry smile. But our problems only got worse from there. Ace's wound looked terrible. Red, inflamed patches of skin rose all around the slice, and the veins seemed to be discolored

as they led away from it. Nothing to worry about, Ace said, smiling. It's only a flesh wound. But in fact, I did worry. And it got worse as we went on. After a couple more hours of walking, it started to really smell, and I saw pus and black spots beginning to spread on his arm. I had never seen an infection set in so rapidly and spread so quickly before.

I wondered what kind of exotic, alien bacteria might be on those creatures, and shuddered. We rested, finding an empty side tunnel and laying down. Ace and I were far away from Janssen, who had wandered away down the tunnel a few hundred feet, maybe to use the bathroom in private. I don't trust her, Ace whispered. Neither do I, I said. I think she knows more than she lets on. The whole thing seems weird, Ace said, looking down at his arm for the hundredth time,

frowning and wincing. But I think you might find you need her. I'm certainly not in much of a condition to help you. After resting for a while, we got back up and started on down the tunnel again, the endless growths of mold still giving us enough illumination to see a head without our LED headlamps. I tried to conserve the battery as much as possible. Ace quickly grew so sick that he staggered, bending over and retching occasionally.

Sweat poured down his forehead, and he swayed on his feet whenever he stood up straight. I looked at his wound and gasped. I thought about the medical terms I had heard. Supuration, the wound discharging pus, draining the fluids of dying tissue and leaking it all over his skin. Necrosis, the living flesh being eaten as the man watches. None of these words covered the true horror of what we saw. Ace walked for as long as he could, but as we went on, I could smell the wound more and more. Soon, it became all I could smell.

It was nauseating, like raw meat rotting on a wet summer day combined with a strange, fetid bacterial odor. It drove me crazy, made me want to vomit. I couldn't imagine what Ace felt in those last dark hours. I had once seen a movie called Requiem for a dream, where the heroin addict's arm had gotten infected. Streaks of black and purple spread across his skin, leading back to his heart, the central point of the infection rotting and spreading throughout his body as he watched it eat him alive. I had never seen anything like it, at least until this moment. Looking at the wound on his arm, the red, inflamed veins bulging out, the black rotting skin in the center, the flesh separating and falling off, it tore at the limits of my sanity.

I had to look away, but when I closed my eyes, I still saw it. And I always smelled it. I'm dying, he said. We'll get you help, I said, not believing it. He shook his head. I can't do this anymore. I can't take that smell, the smell of my body decaying. I can feel my skin separating, I can feel the pus running out. I can feel my body rotting from the inside. I can see it, he began to cry. Just go. Leave me with the shotgun and one slug. I'm not going on. I can't take it anymore. No, no, I started to say, but Jansen interrupted. He's right, she said. He is dying. Even if we had medical attention, at this point, I don't know if they could save him. The sepsis has spread and the limb needs to be amputated. But we have no antibiotics,

not even a single capsule of penicillin. He needs immediate intravenous antibiotics to have any chance. Leave me the gun, he said. I did. I dropped the shotgun next to him, putting a lead slug carefully on the ground next to it. He laid down, his face pale and sweaty, his eyes wide and terrified. Now go. You shouldn't have to see this. You don't have to do this, I said, making one last feeble attempt to change his mind. He shook his head. I'm not afraid of dying, old friend. I'm not afraid of suicide.

I know some of those Jesus freaks say it ruins your eternal soul or whatever, but I think we both know an infinite God, if he exists, probably doesn't give a damn. Every man owes a death, after all, and we'll all get there somehow. But at least I took down a lot of those damn necrophores in the end. Maybe that will be enough to get me entrance into Valhalla. Do you think? I felt a tear creeping down my cheek. Blinking quickly, I brushed the tears away.

I think you'll have a front row seat in Volhalla, Ace. Save me a seat. Take care, I said, knowing he could do nothing of the sort. Turning sadly, we walked away. And as Jansen and I went down the tunnel, I heard a single shot of a shotgun blast echoing from behind us. He's gone, I said slowly and sadly, the sound of the gunshot ringing through my head. Jansen shook her head, as if clearing it.

We need to get out of here, she said, or we'll be joining him. We have no food, no guaranteed access to water, no medical treatment, we'll probably starve, but if anything happens, we might die much faster. I sighed. My stomach churned and felt tight. I was so hungry that it hurt. A dull pain arose in my midsection, a constant reminder that I hadn't eaten a meal in far too long. Starvation, I knew, could take at least a few weeks, especially if the person had some body

fat and muscle before they began. And yet, with us walking dozens of miles beneath the earth in these caves, that optimistic projection of a few weeks until dying from starvation narrowed to significantly less. Just as bad, and perhaps worse, I had run low on ammo. I felt in my pocket for more shotgun slugs. I counted seventeen left. I would keep one for myself, in case I were facing some horrible, slow death and needed a way out.

This meant that, when we were inevitably attacked, I had only 16 shots I could fire. These problems circled around my head over and over as we walked. Janssen spoke little. Her breathing sounded heavy, and her posture looked much more slump than the gung-ho, straight-backed woman I had first met. It looked to me like she was giving up hope. I tried to cheer her up. There must be dozens of exits in this place, I said.

Think about it. Those white mutant humanoid things, the keepers, they're feeding those huge red beasts which they call the necrophors, right? At least, they're feeding them sometimes. I have a feeling that the necrovores could easily hunt for themselves. They're a clear apex predator. Perhaps the keepers just want to keep them secret, though, get to the point, Jansen said. What about the exits?

We have seen exactly one exit and entrance to this goddamn place. Okay, I said, the keepers have to be bringing in meat from multiple. openings. It wouldn't make sense for them to just have one opening, the one we came in, and then walk hundreds of miles under the ground. They presumably try to feed the necrovers in this stretch of tunnel as well. So they must be going up and out, hunting or stealing food or whatever, bringing it back. So, you're saying that if we can find one and follow it, then maybe, Jansen began, but her words cut off quickly as a shriek came from behind us. I spun, raising my already loaded gun and snapping the safety off.

The sleek, black Benelli shotgun felt like an extension of my body by this point. Until I ran out of bullets, that was, and it became just an expensive metal club. Jansen reacted as fast as myself, snapping on an LED light to give us more illumination. The white light shot out, blinding me for a moment. In comparison to the dull, purplish light of the fungus that grew on the sides and walls of the tunnels, it looked like the sun itself. A massive red blur disappeared down the hall from behind us, its eerie, cry reminiscent of a steam whistle receding with it. I looked around for more signs that we were

being followed and stalked, but it looked empty behind us. We kept moving forwards, and the main tunnel ended, splitting into left and right corridors, both the same size and without any indication of which one to take. By this point, I had given up any hope of seeing the kidnapped boy again. I wasn't even sure I would survive. We went left, and further up, the tunnel split again. We went left again, and eventually, I smelled something new, roasting meat. My stomach immediately began to flip and ache as the scent wafted through the tunnel. I smell food. I said quietly, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice. Food. Meat. Oh, thank God. We walked forward side by side, going faster by this point. Even Janssen's eyes gleamed.

I am so hungry, I could eat one of those necrophores, she said. I bet they taste like chicken. They look more like lobsters, I said. Nice and red, with a thick shell. I bet if you boiled them alive, and got a little melted butter, suddenly, I found the tunnel blocked by a necrovor. I instinctively jumped and raised my gun, almost firing straight into it. Then I saw that it had a bullet through the center of its chest.

It looked dead, laying on its back with its dark red eyes staring up at the ceiling, its branching, insectal legs curled up in a pathetic way like a desiccated house spider. What the fuck? Jansen asked, her expression twisting into confusion. Who shot this one? You. I shrugged. It had to be one of us, I said.

Perhaps the last time they attacked us, one of us hit one in the stomach and it ran off, then once it got here. It finished dying from blood loss or organ failure or whatever took it out in the end. That would be my guess. Jansen had knelt beside the corpse of the Necrovor, moving one of its stiff legs aside to get closer to its open mouth full of hundreds of sharp teeth. I saw her feeling around for something in her pocket. I have to use the bathroom, I lied, now genuinely curious as to what kind of scheme Jansen was up to. I had had a feeling, ever since I first met her, that there was something more to her being here than just a state cop wanting to tag along with Rangers.

I walked down the tunnel, and when it began to curve, I pretended to move against the wall and start urinating. But I was watching Jansen. She reached into her inner coat pocket and took out a clear glass veil with a black top. Kneeling down in front of the necrovor, I saw her dip the vial in its mouth, presumably to collect some of its bloody saliva, then screw on the top. I started walking back, and she quickly tucked the vial back into her inner coat pocket. Jansen quickly backed up a couple steps from the necrovor, changing her facial expression into the pale, in different looks she had worn for what felt like days now.

But the real Jansen was under there. I had seen it. And she was up to something. I debated bringing up what I had seen, confronting her directly, but I decided against it. I would confront her when the time was right, but for now, survival seemed more important. We left the Necrovor behind and began to go down the tunnel, towards the delicious smells of roasting meat that had grown much stronger now. Up ahead, I saw a ray of light shining into the cave.

My heart soared. It was real sunlight. And that meant only one thing, an exit. I was going to run up ahead when I heard Jansen clicked the safety of her gun off, cocked the hammer and tell me two words, don't move. She was only a few feet behind me. I still had my shotgun strapped around my shoulder, and I was looking forwards, away from her.

She had all the advantages. I knew that, most likely, I was doomed, and would die right here, on the floor of a cave, without my family ever knowing what happened. your shotgun and drop it on the floor, slowly, Jansen said. If you turn, I will shoot you. I did as she asked. Keep looking away from me. Now, I saw your expression when you first saw the necrovers at the entrance of the cave, and you didn't even look the slightest bit surprised. So I'm going to ask you one question, and one question only. Have you seen them before? Yes, I said softly, remembering.

About half a year before the events with Ace and Jansen in the cave, I had been alone in my log cabin. I made a full pot of coffee, cleaned and oiled my guns, and decided to go shooting. After pouring a huge thermos of boiling hot coffee, I grabbed my Winchester 30-30, a beautiful gun with a polished walnut stock. I headed outside, setting up targets to shoot. I had gone to the dump, grabbed an old air conditioner and a metal trash lid, and I set these up at different distances. Because this was summer, the air smelled fresh and clean.

The nighttime had come, and with no pollution and no clouds, all of the stars in the sky seemed to radiate a bright, pure light. It seemed as if blue flames shot out of my gun for a split second when I fired in the darkness. I'd instantly hear the ping of metal as it connected with one of my targets. I had gone on this way for a while when the crying and shrieking had started from the woods nearby. No one lived near me, so I instantly went on high alert. For a few seconds, I tried to convince myself it was just a fox or a fisher cat, but I had heard

both, and it sounded different. This seemed much louder, and almost synthetic. I reloaded my gun, stuffing an extra clip into my pocket, and began to follow the sounds. Then I heard a gunshot, then too, and the screaming grew louder. I sprinted ahead, dodging roots and rocks, moving between the evergreen and birch trees growing thick in this part of the forest. The insects had mostly fallen silent after the gunshots, and the wilderness had an eerie, silent quality to it now, as if everything in these woods were staying quiet so they could hear what happens next. And then I caught glimpses of them, two men in a red, insectal beast that stood over eight feet tall. The men looked panicked and certainly had no sharpshooting skills.

They had emptied their clips from the look of it, but I only saw a couple small trails of blood on the insectoid creature, namely from shallow grooves that ran over the side of its chest and above one shoulder. It moved forward in a rage and used its razor-sharp fingers to slit the nearest man's throat. Then it moved on to the next man. I was running as fast as I could, trying to get within range to save the man's life. In horror, I watched the beast jerk its head forward, its mouth opening wide as its jaw disengaged, and bit off the surviving man's legs at the knees.

I screamed, no, and stopped running, looking through the sight and opening fire. I hit the red creature a few times in the head, right between its dark, staring eyes, and after a few seconds of screaming, it fell back. I ran forwards, going to the injured man and shaking him. What was that? I yelled at him. Who are you? What are you doing?

He shook his head slowly, as if trying to clear it, then looked up at me. My name is Constantine, he said in a thick accent. I am an agent for the FSB, an agent for my home country of Russia. I would not normally tell you this, but I am dying. That creature dash, he pointed at the huge red thing lying dead on the ground, has a bacteria in its body that has immense potential as a biological warfare agent. It can cause septic shock in any human, and most antibiotics have no effect. A millionth of a drop of what that creature has could kill a man, and when the postmortem is done,

it will look like just a runaway bacterial infection, something anyone could get. Thanks, I said, putting a bullet into his head. Then I buried the two Russian agents and the red creature in a single mass grave. The soft Alaskan soil covered them all quickly. No one would have access to any biological weapons from these creatures while I was alive, not if I could help it. I told all this to Jansen, if that was her real name, trying to kill as much time as possible. My only hope was for some deus ex Machina, some sort of fortuitous savior who could stop her.

Because, in my heart, I knew she would not let me live, no more than the Russian FSB agents would have let me live if they had succeeded in killing the necrovor and knew I had seen. Jansen went pale, her face turning into a deep scowl. And then she nodded. So, the Russian somehow heard about the necrophores, she said to herself. And now they want to take samples, just like us. Who are you with, really? I asked.

I know you're no cop. I'm CIA, she said, smiling wide. I really do feel bad about this, but orders are orders. I was explicitly told that no witnesses should survive. The CIA wishes to take some necrow. survivors alive and see if they can't be used as biological weapons in themselves, if released in an enemy country for instance, but for now, even just the extremely powerful bacterium is enough.

Goodbye, and I'm sorry. I closed my eyes, breathing fast. My time was up. I knew I would die now, shot in the back like a common criminal. But no shot came. Instead, I heard a surprised grunt of pain, and then a horrible gurgling, spitting sound started. I turned my head slowly, wondering if this was some sort of trick, and then I saw it, Jansen stood there with her throat cut, a fountain of blood pouring down the front of her clothes.

Her eyes looked amazed and surprised, as if she had just seen the world's greatest magic trick. And then she fell, her body landing hard on the stone floor of the tunnel. Behind her, I saw Ace, his bloody folding knife held tightly in one trembling hand. His other hand looked black and dead, the fingers twisted strangely. Oh my God, Ace. I yelled in shock and bliss. I thought you were dead, soon, he said, falling himself on top of Janssen's body. I ran over to him, the smell of the rotting meat of his arm covering the entire area,

but I was so happy I could hug him. How? I asked Ace. He looked up at me, his eyes watery and unfocused, and then he vomited up a stream of watered down blood. It fell on the hand of Jansen. I, was attacked, Ace said. That one single slug, I had to use it to shoot a necrovore that tried to ambush me immediately

after you guys left. And then someone started cooking, and I smelled meat. I had made my way slowly in the direction of the smell, and found one of those white mutants roasting a deer on a fire. They had stores of food in one room, mushrooms, ferns, meat and nuts, and it was huge. I hid behind a pile of deer skins, eating as much as I could, waiting to die, sipping some water that trickled down from the ceiling. And then I heard you and Jansen nearby.

Your voices echoed. You scared away the white mutant, the keeper, who was cooking. I heard Janssen's confession. And I killed her. He pointed to his arm. The black and purple rot had spread past his shoulder and begun to eat into his chest. I'm almost done. Almost done.

Will you give me peace? Will you do the coup to grace? I nodded, putting a slug in the chamber. Ace looked up at me, his eyes tearing up, his face reflecting the sadness and uncertainty deep within him. I'll tell everyone of your bravery, old friend, I said, pointing the gun at his forehead and pulling the trigger. There was a splash of blood and gore, and then I was alone.

I took all the ammo in the gun off of Jansen, which gave me nineteen rounds for the Ruger. And then I began to walk towards the sunlight I still saw streaming across the hallway, praying for an exit. I turned into the room and saw what Ace had seen. A deer roasted over a dying fire, a pile of edible mushrooms on a dearskin in the corner, a pile of fiddleheads next to it, and a variety of edible herbs from the forest on the other side. Some dried, jerky-like meat also lay on a huge, flat rock under the sun. I saw with horrifying disappointment that the light came from a small hole in the ceiling,

one where the smoke from the fire could escape. There was no way to get up there, unless I could transform into a spider, and the hole seemed too small to crawl through anyway. But it still gave me hope. It meant I wasn't thousands of feet below the ground, and that a real exit might be right around the corner. If only there weren't so many branching caverns to get lost in, I thought. I ate well, and then took a deerskin and began to wrap up as much food as I could carry.

It was undoubtedly the best meal of my life. After starving in the darkness for so long, even the most tasteless food seemed like ambrosia. I tied the deerskin to a long stick, like a hobo going off to a train, and, balancing it on my shoulder, went off by myself. I wandered for weeks, eating as little as I could from the food. I found another kitchen, in which the keepers stored food on the second week, with elk meat and more dried mushroom stored there, and took what I could. Cold mountain streams flowed through the caves periodically, giving me water to drink. And yet, I found no exit, and though I caught glimpses of white hands or red shells behind me, the enemy seemed happy

to simply stalk me and watch. Until I neared the end, that was. It came suddenly, a huge archway up ahead passed a bend in the cavern. Because it was night, I didn't even realize at first what I saw. But the light of the moon looked so different from the dull, purplish light of the mold that I realized with ecstasy that I must be close to the end of this eternal cave. I started to run, and that was when the ambush was sprung. They came from everywhere, keepers in coarse brown robes and flashes of red from the necrovers surrounding me.

The necrowors spat and hissed while the keepers rambled in their strange, high-pitched stammering language. I dropped my remaining food on the ground, seeing it spill out on the floor in slow motion as my adrenaline spiked, then in a blur, I had the Ruger.454 in my hand. I ran towards the door, emptying all six rounds at those necrovores closest to me. I aimed for their dark red eyes, a technique which had worked well in previous battles. I tried to clog the tunnel with the corpses of those nearest, but the smaller ones behind writhed and wriggled past the twisted, bleeding bodies of their siblings. I was almost at the exit, however.

I could feel the fresh air by this point. I felt hands grabbing at me from behind. Grabbing the Ruger, I began to pistol whip anything and everything near, eventually feeling the hands release after a couple seconds. One of them grabbed at the pistol and it fell to the floor. I had no time to pick it up. Now I had necro-vores on each side of me, and they moved in a blur, their legs skittering forwards as their bodies twisted from side to side in hungry anticipation. Their mouths opened wide and their claws began to whip through the air as I grabbed the shotgun, opening fire.

The first one, I blew off its hand. It shrieked, looking down as blood pumped out of the stump, then began to backpedal, knocking the necrovore behind it down. The second one jumped straight at me, its huge maw opened wide. I could see down its sleek, wet throat. It aimed at my face, and I began to shoot blindly, hitting its open mouth three or four times. It fell to the floor a few inches from me, and I heard a click as the shotgun ran out of ammo.

As I ran, I put my last bullets in the shotgun, shooting behind me and hitting a couple of those who would kill me. I felt in my pocket and realized I was now down to two bullets. I sprinted through the exit, grabbing for the very last rounds. I saw those creatures coming through the stone door, and, after slamming a slug in the chamber, dropped a large necrovore at the threshold. It fell noiselessly, blocking the door to those behind him, and I ran. I ran for what felt like hours, until I saw a small curl of smoke up ahead.

I found a small Eskimo village on the coastline. An elderly woman in a little shack opened the door. Someone in the town had a ham radio, which they used to call for help and get me evacuated. When I first got back and saw myself in a mirror, I was horrified. I had lost many pounds and looked thin and frail, my cheekbones sharp and angular, my haunted eyes sunken deep in my skeletal face. I could count every rib on my chest, and my legs looked like sticks covered in skin. I didn't tell my boss the whole story, or anyone else, for that matter. I had been missing for weeks, and mostly said I got lost in the tunnels when looking

for a missing boy, which was true, to an extent. I did not tell them about the necrovors, however, or the brave actions of ace that saved my life. That was a story I kept to myself until now.