Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Terrifying 9-Hour Horror Journey

Episode Date: December 3, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #nosleep #paranormal #creepy #truescarystories #darkencounters #fearpodcast #midnightterror “Terrifying 9-Hour Horror Journey” takes you on an unrelenting ride through fear itself — a chilling compilation of real-life horror tales, paranormal encounters, and spine-tingling mysteries that refuse to fade with daylight. Each story drags you deeper into the abyss of the unknown — haunted places, eerie whispers, unseen watchers, and moments where reality bends under terror. It’s not just a listening experience… it’s a descent into pure dread. If you dare to make it through all nine hours, you’ll never look at the dark the same way again. horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, truescarystories, hauntedchronicles, darkjourney, chillingnarration, nightmarishencounters, paranormalactivity, ghostlytales, supernaturalhorror, eerieexperiences, mysteriousstories, terrifyingmoments, horrorcompilation, fearcollection, midnightchills

The time was ticking forward, and Tracy Roberts began appearing everywhere. She was on the radio, the TV, in magazines, and newspapers. Practically everyone saw her as a hero. Here was a mother of three who had found strength in the most desperate of situations to save her children's lives. A mother willing to pick up a gun and shoot a man who likely intended to harm her kids. But the police? They weren't so sure. This story, the one that captivated the nation, had some puzzling parts that just didn't add up.

Hashtag hashtag hashtag the beginning of the incident. It all started on the evening of December 13, 2001, in Iowa, USA. For the Roberts family, that evening seemed like it would be just another ordinary day. Michael Roberts, the father, was away on a business trip. Tracy, his wife, was at home with their three kids, Bert, aged 11, Noah, 3, and Baby May, just one year old. Around 6 p.m., Tracy and the kids went upstairs. Burt and Noah settled into a room to watch cartoons, while Tracy carried May to the

bathroom for a bath. About half an hour later, Tracy heard heavy footsteps ascending the stairs. At first, she thought it was Michael back early from his trip. She called his name, once, twice, but there was no answer. The footsteps, however, continued. That's when a cold realization hit her, these footsteps didn't sound like Michaels. Could it be an intruder? acting swiftly, Tracy dried off May and bolted down the hall to Bert and Noah's room.

She placed May on the bed and instructed Bert to lock the door and not open it no matter what he heard. What happened next would spark one of the most controversial stories in recent American history. Hashtag hashtag hashtag the attack. As soon as Bert locked the door, Tracy was attacked from behind by a stranger. She never saw his face, only felt his grip as he dragged her down the hallway. Thinking quickly, she used her body weight to slam him repeatedly against the wall. After several hard hits, he released her. But in the struggle, Tracy lost her glasses, leaving her vision blurry.

Desperate, she bent down to retrieve them, only to feel a pair of stockings being wrapped tightly around her neck. The man was strangling her with all his strength. Everything went black. Hashtag hashtag the fight for survival, Tracy doesn't remember how long she was unconscious. she came to, she was greeted by the sound of heavy pounding, three loud bangs followed by silence. She followed the noise and discovered two men, one taller than the other, attempting to break into the room where her children were. Their intentions were clear, and Tracy knew

she had to act fast. Running to the master bedroom, she opened the safe. But this wasn't for money, the Roberts family didn't store cash there. Inside were two guns. If Tracy could get to them, she might be able to save her kids. Her first attempt at opening the safe failed. So did her second. On the third try, she managed to unlock it. But before she could grab a gun, the same man wrapped stockings around her neck again, attempting to strangle her once more. In a moment of panic and desperation, Tracy flailed her arms, reaching into the safe. She grabbed one of the pistols, placed it over her shoulder, and fired three shots. Her attacker dropped to the floor, gravely wounded. Hashtag hashtag the aftermath. Shaking with fear, Tracy dragged herself to a wall

and sat with her back against it. She then witnessed two critical moments. First, the second intruder, whom she described as tall and wearing a specific outfit, ran past her down the stairs. She couldn't see his face but was convinced he was the man who had tried to break into the children's room. Second, the first attacker, who was still alive, began to move. Consumed by terror, Tracy reached back into the safe, retrieved the second gun, and fired one more shot, killing him instantly. When the police arrived, the house was in chaos. Tracy's story painted her as a brave mother defending her children, but certain details didn't align with the evidence. Hashtag hashtag-hastag inconsistencies begin to surface.

The police found no signs of forced entry, no broken windows or damaged doors. And nothing in the house appeared to be stolen. This didn't look like a robbery but rather an intentional attack. When asked if she knew anyone who wanted her dead, Tracy didn't hesitate. Yes, she said. John Pittman, my ex-husband, according to Tracy, John had been fighting for custody of their son Bert for years. She claimed he would stop at nothing to win.

Michael Roberts, upon returning from his business trip, was also questioned. Surprisingly, he gave the police a completely different name, Dr. Joseph Lasbeza, a former employer of Tracy's and a man with a troubling history. Hashtag hashtag hashtag the ex-husband and the former employer. Dr. Joseph Lasbeza was a dentist in Chicago, where Tracy had once worked. According to Tracy, their professional relationship turned dark when she underwent a cosmetic dental procedure in his clinic. She claimed that when she awoke from anesthesia, Lasbeza was touching himself while staring

at her. Tracy sued him, and on December 10, 2001, just three days before the attack, Lasbeza lost his license and was ordered to pay Tracy $6,500 in damages. The timing made him a plausible suspect. Meanwhile, John Pittman, Tracy's ex-husband, had his own reasons to be viewed suspiciously. Tracy had accused him of abusing their son Bert and fought relentlessly for sole custody. She had even requested $5,000 a month in child support. As the investigation progressed, another shocking discovery came to light.

The man Tracy had killed wasn't a stranger. He was Dustin Weed, the Roberts' 20-year-old neighbor. Dustin had a learning disability and a troubled past. He had been bullied throughout his life, had few friends, and often retreated to his basement to play computer games. His mother, Mona Weed, worked for the Roberts family and had a close relationship with Tracy and Michael. But Tracy didn't trust Dustin.

She claimed Mona had once confided that Dustin was unstable and could be dangerous. Tracy even forbade Michael from spending time with him. Hashtag hashtag hashtag the diary. The night of the attack, the police discovered a pink notebook in Dustin's car. Inside was a diary entry detailing a sinister plot. John Pittman had allegedly hired Dustin to kill Tracy and her son Bert. The entry outlined specific plans and motives, seemingly providing the missing link in the case. But something about the diary didn't sit right with investigators.

The handwriting didn't match Dustin's, and his mother, in fact, insisted he didn't write much because of his learning disability. Could the diary have been planted? Hashtag hashtag hashtag a closer look at Tracy. As suspicions around Tracy grew, her past was scrutinized. Born in 1966, Tracy had married John Pittman at a young age. According to John, their marriage was tumultuous. He claimed Tracy drained their bank accounts and once threatened him with a gun during an

argument. Tracy, however, painted herself as the victim, alleging that she was only suicidal, not homicidal. After divorcing John, Tracy married Michael Roberts, whom she met online. Their marriage seemed solid at first, but cracks began to show. Neighbors described Tracy as volatile, with frequent screaming matches echoing from their home. Michael even spent a night in jail after Tracy accused him of domestic violence, only for her to later drop the charges. Hashtag hashtag hashtag the truth unfolds. In 2008, the case landed on the desk of special agent Trent Valletta, part of the cold case unit.

Valletta found numerous inconsistencies in Tracy's story. For one, forensic evidence showed that Dustin had been shot nine times, not four as Tracy claimed. The bullet trajectories suggested he had been shot while lying on the ground, defenseless. Valletta also investigated the infamous diary. Handwriting experts concluded it wasn't written by Dustin. The entire plot seemed fabricated. Hashtag hashtag-h-h-h-tag conclusion.

the evidence painted a chilling picture, Tracy had likely orchestrated the attack to frame her enemies and paint herself as a heroic mother. In 2011, she was convicted of first-degree murder for the death of Dustin weed and sentenced to life in prison without parole. Today, Tracy Roberts remains a divisive figure. To some, she's a mother who did what she had to do. To others, she's a master manipulator who went to horrifying lengths to maintain control. Hi guys this is, like my first story so please if you may give constructive criticism after you completely read the story in joy. Once upon a time, there was a daughter, who thought that she was neglected, after her mother

died her father had started to take care of her. She absolutely hated him and would refuse to respect him. She would act nonchalantly when addressing him it was her way of saying, that she doesn't know him nor does she recognize him as her parent. She despised him so much, so just to get away from him she studied and studied to finally leave him and live her life, once she became a young adult at the age of 18 years. Her father worked as a bartender at a bar. One day after her mother had died and about five months had passed, he came home drunk

and brought home a woman from the bar saying she was his co-worker. Her heart sank, the thought that her father had already gotten over the death of her mother even though she died because of her father's mistake, disgusted her. The woman was trying to talk to her the whole time she was there, bringing up any conversation starter she could think of to talk to the little girl. Her father had gone ahead and passed out drunk in a separate room later once it was late at night the woman left after preparing food for the kid. She tried to call her grandparents, Mom sighed. They told her that they couldn't talk to her now as they were out to travel the country on a pilgrimage she was only

seven at the time. About a year later her father remarried to the woman, the daughter did not like this. One day when the woman was trying to help the girl change clothes, the girl accidentally pushed the woman and the woman had a hot pot that she was cooking fall on her, she was immediately hospitalized and was all okay but, that was the last she saw of the woman. About two years later, she realized what had happened properly and that the woman had divorced her father then. But he girl was weirdly happy as she thought that it serves her father right for trying to replace her kind mother with some nobody. Later when the girl was in high school one of her friends asked her whether her father will be coming for her graduation ceremony,

she doesn't reply and ignores her friend for saying that. At that point the person she hated most wasn't some school bully of some scary teacher like most high schoolers. It was a person that had been at home her very own father, but it was justified as after all, he was the one that caused her grief. At the day of the graduation, her day was going fairly well for her until her father showed up saying he heard from a guest that today was her graduation. He was wearing some shabby casual clothes for someone coming for a graduation. Her friends later kept teasing her about the clothes her father wore at her graduation. Even the teachers reprimanded her about it. Later the girl got a law degree and became a famous lawyer by the young age of only

25 she was known as a genius lawyer that could win any case. After fixing her life with saving money up, she found someone he was what many would call a corporate slave working overtime for months and working hard. He was working in a well-known company as a head so he had a sense of responsibility for his work. He met her in a bus returning from a water park on Sunday they sat in the same row and got to know each other and they kept contact for about a month and decided to start dating after dating. The kept dating had quarrels broke up, got back together and repeat for three years after they decided to get married they booked a nice banquet hall. Over the years the girl's father had tried to keep contact with her, but she wouldn't

pick up any calls made by him. She did not like even the sight of him, both her and her husband to be new of his wrongdoings and they decided to not to invite him to their wedding, as it was their day and they didn't want anyone unpleasant there, but they invited her grandparents to the wedding. On the day of the wedding the girl's father showed up with her grandparents when the couple saw him trying to enter saying that he wanted to meet his daughter, they went up to him and before he could say a thing they told him to leave the place as he wasn't invited to the wedding after a minute of silence he tried to say something but saw his daughter's look of utter disappointment and left when he got to the road

his daughter shouted at him that he ruined her childhood and now her wedding and that she hated him very much and that she suffered so much because of him. He stopped and looked back and was about to say something when, I'm sore dash, thud, a truck with a sleeping driver rammed over him, everyone was in shock. Someone called the ambulance and he was immediately hospitalized, the doctors did the best they could and saved his life, but due to damage to his brain he fell into a deep slumber, a coma. His daughter visited him once to see how he was, but she just couldn't forgive him after all her dear mother passed away because of him she had lost her and her childhood was ruined all because of him she just could not feel any sadness for his accident. The doctor came to her for asking for blood as she had O-plus. She thought that her father was now paying the costs of everything he made her go through.

Later that evening she went to her grandparents to talk to them about caring for, the guy in coma, but. Then her grandparents decided that this couldn't go on any longer, and first told her to care for her father herself, but she quickly refused, then they asked her why she hates her father so much. Then suddenly she received a call from the hospital and dropped her phone in shock and with a expressionless face asked her grandparents who was her father and that she received the call from the hospital that said that the DNA reports don't match. Then her face contorted in anger as she angrily asked them, to tell her with tears in her eyes and thoughts of why she suffered. Then her grandparent said you, you're the one that suffered. And she suddenly hit a

realization that her kind loving mother had to suffer that man, so she replied, no mom suffered more than me marrying that my dash. The grandparents cut her off as they say, that man, is the one that suffered the most, with your mother being the reason. The daughter shouted and said that there was no way that what they said was true and that he was the reason for their child's death so they avoided him as well, she said. Then the grandparents replied that they couldn't bear it how much he was suffering because of their daughter's faults, but still not once did he make you repay him for what your mother did to him, he loved you dearly when you pushed him away, they told her. She said that at the graduation ceremony. Then they replied to her, that

she said it herself that he had to come in a hurry because she didn't inform him. And that he was just a worried father and she was the one at fault. Then in denial she said, what about the death of her mother? How was that not his fault then? Then the grandparents started. To explain this to you let's go 28 years back before you were born. Your mother had confessed to your father one day, but he was already in a relationship and he was happy, so of course he rejected her but due to that the we came into contact with him for the first time. Then one day suddenly our daughter, story is from parents' perspective, came home and told us that she was pregnant and that she couldn't abort it anymore as the date for that had passed and saved to why

she didn't say anything before. She was just scared of our reactions, and what we would do. We, of course, yelled at her and said a lot of stuff, we locked the house and installed a tracking app on her phone just in case, she in the middle of the night left a note, saying that she couldn't bear it anymore and that someone rejected her and now she was pregnant and her parents didn't support her, at all. They called the boy that was proposed to as she was at a bridge near his house, probably about to jump. They called him and and he ran there as fast as he could even injuring his leg in the process, and when he saw her he stopped her from jumping and by racking his brain he got the idea of stalling her

by talking to her. She surprisingly calm replied to him that she would come down to him, only, only if he said that he loved her and proposed to her. In shock, thinking about the unborn baby he decided, then he let go of his happiness his friends just to stop her from falling to save not one but two lives that, the woman had put in mortal danger. Later in the hospital it turned out that one of the babies had died. was going to have twins.

Because of the mental state of the mother the baby boy had passed away without a sight of day but miraculously the daughter survived. Then while her parents and the boy were talking, the woman had set the boy as the father of her child without informing anyone and after that. The boy's world truly was destroyed. He tried to maintain friendships, but his girlfriend had told everyone that he was unfaithful and now he was even a father for some random girl's child they of course didn't know he wasn't the father and broke all contact with him.

He was sad, but just then he couldn't pursue further studies as he wanted to be a good father to his child so he started working as a bartender and slowly climbed up the ranks he had actually wanted to be a writer so he was good at storytelling. And became famous as Bardov the Bar. Then suddenly the married daughter of listening to the grandparents' story exclaimed that her mother died because she, the grandparents shut her up and continued the story with a pale expression. They said that she died when she went scuba diving with someone not your father.

But your father thought about how much you liked your mother and decided not to tell you that your mother wasn't faithful and was cheating on him with some rich scum. She accidentally let go of the rope she was holding onto while going over a cliff face she didn't even know how to swim, so she just went down and down and down. Later the people actually found her within the time period where she should still have plenty of air to spare, but she had decided to pull the plug herself thinking she didn't want to suffer. Then the grandparents told their granddaughter to leave and to never return to their house nor was she welcomed to visit her father, she deserved that after all, she was the reason

he was in a coma. All his pain, but he still loved her to the end. She was outed from their family. Then someone had come for a visit. The next day the news of the father waking up got to the grandparents and they went to see him but, upon seeing him he had lot his memories and not any memories but memories of the last twenty-eight years with close to no chance of recovering it. I woke up and immediately knew something was wrong.

You know that weird-got feeling you get before your brain even catches up to what's happening. Yeah, that. The bed was too still. Way too still. Usually, when I wake up, the first thing I notice is the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Jenna always breathed deeply, even in sleep. Sometimes it was almost like a lullaby, you know. That steady rhythm was comforting.

But this morning... Nothing. Just stillness. Unnatural, heavy stillness. I didn't even want to open my eyes at first. I think some part of me already knew, deep down. But habit won out, and I turned my head slightly, reaching out. My hand found her arm.

Cold. Not just a little cool like she'd kicked off the blanket. I mean cold. Like basement floor in the middle of winter cold. My fingers recoiled on instinct, like I'd touch dry ice or something equally wrong. My heart stuttered, and I sat bolt upright. Jenna? My voice cracked like it hadn't been used in weeks.

No answer. She always mumbles or grunts or something when I wake her up. But she just lay there. Limp. Still. Her head tilted back at a weird angle, her mouth a little open, eyes half-litted like she'd been caught in the middle of a blink. I said her name again, louder. Still nothing.

I shook her shoulder, gently at first, then harder. Her whole body moved in this sick, puppet-like way, no resistance. Just, flopping. I started babbling then, nonsense stuff. No, no, no, no, come on, Jenna. Don't do this. Wake up, please. You always wake up.

I don't remember pulling out my phone. My hands were shaking so badly I dropped it the first time. Picked it up, somehow managed to get to the emergency screen. I think I pressed 911 like five times. When the operator answered, I was already sobbing. Trying to explain something I didn't understand myself. My twin. She's dead, I think, no, she's not breathing, and we, look, we're conjoined, okay.

I need help. I need someone now, ma'am, please stay calm. Help is on the way. Stay calm. I was literally stuck to a corpse. You ever try to stay calm when the person who's literally part of your body has died? Because I promise you, it's not possible. I could already feel something was wrong inside me too.

Like our shared organs, those beautiful, weird miracles that kept us alive together, were starting to glitch. My heartbeat was out of rhythm. My breath came in shallow gulks. I was dizzy. Everything felt, slow. Every second dragged. I tried to sit up, tried to get away from her, but our body didn't work like that. Our torsos were fused from ribcage to hip.

We each had one lung, one kidney, one liver, and we shared a heart. One heart. That's what the doctors always said. That was the miracle and the curse. One heart between two people. And now half that equation was gone. Was the heart still mine? Still working?

Or just winding down? I could smell her. It wasn't strong yet, but it was there, the tiniest hint of death. Something sour and metallic. A smell I instinctively recoiled from, even though it came from her. From us. The paramedics burst in finally. I must have screamed when they opened the door, but I don't remember doing it.

I just remember their faces, the shock, the confusion, the pity. They were trained for trauma, but not this. Not a living girl sewn to a dead one. They surrounded me, careful, clinical. One of them placed a hand on my shoulder and said something, I don't remember what. I just kept saying, please, don't let me die too. I don't want to die, but they didn't promise anything. How could they? They couldn't separate us, not right then, not without major surgery, and we didn't have time.

My body was failing. Our body was failing. That one, overworked heart could only do so much. I felt it, every weak beat, every pause that lasted just a little too long. It was surreal. my vision swam and the room tilted one of the EMTs shouted something about blood pressure they were moving fast doing what they could but i knew i knew i wasn't going to make it i closed my eyes not because i was giving up but because i didn't want to see their faces anymore the mixture of horror and pity i didn't want to remember jenna like that either cold and slack her lips parted like that she tried to say something before she died. We'd always talked about what would happen if one of us died. It was one of those morbid twin jokes we used to make as kids, you better not die first, if you go, I go, that kind of thing. But we never really thought it would happen. Not like this. Not suddenly. Not without warning. I used to wonder what it'd be like to be alone. Just me. my own body my own space but this this wasn't freedom this was horror this was being marooned on an island

made of your own skin tethered to someone you love who isn't there anymore they kept trying ivies oxygen heart monitor pads i felt the jab of a needle in my arm but it was distant like it was happening to someone else everything was distant like the world was receding from me inch by inch i remember a voice a woman's voice soft and close maybe a paramedic maybe someone i imagined she said you're not alone we're here but i was alone jenna was gone and without her what was left of me my thoughts drifted i started thinking about stupid stuff, like the time we switched places in sixth grade to mess with our teacher. Jenna couldn't stop laughing and got us caught. Or the time we cried so hard at Titanic that our dad threatened to ban movies forever. Or how she used to hum in the shower. She was terrible at singing, but it made me smile every time. I didn't want to go. I didn't want to die. But I could feel it. The heart, our heart, was quitting.

They said my name. Over and over. I wanted to answer. I really did. But my mouth wouldn't move. My lips were heavy. My body, heavier. I thought maybe I'd see her again.

Wherever people go when they die. I hoped I would. I hoped she'd be waiting. Then, nothing. But somehow, that wasn't the end. I woke up in a hospital bed. Alone. Alone in a way I'd never been before.

It took me a minute to understand what had happened. My chest hurt like hell. My side felt like it was on fire. There were machines beeping. Tubes. Bandages. A nurse standing over me. You're awake, she said, smiling.

Like it was good news. Like it wasn't the end of the world. I didn't say anything. I just reached to my side. Nothing. Just me. They told me later that they managed to do an emergency separation. That the surgeons worked through the night.

That it was a miracle I survived. A miracle. I didn't feel lucky. I felt hollow. Half a person. Not in the poetic sense. Literally. My body had been really.

restructured, rebuilt. I had new organs now, donor pieces from people I'd never know. But they weren't ours. They were mine. Just mine. And I hated it. The silence was the worst part. The absence. Jenna had always been there, physically, emotionally, spiritually. She was the anchor to my every moment. And now she was just, gone. I couldn't hear her breathing, couldn't feel her shift in sleep. Couldn't reach out and know she was right there. The hospital offered therapy. Counseling. All the usual steps. I nodded through it all, said what they wanted to hear. But inside, I was screaming. I started dreaming of her. Every night. Some of her. Some of her, Sometimes she was alive, laughing, joking.

Other times she was like she was that morning, cold, slack, unreachable. I'd wake up sweating, gasping for breath, half convinced I'd died too and just hadn't realized it yet. They eventually let me go home. Or, well, to a new place. Somewhere accessible. Somewhere healing. I didn't care.

It was just a box with a bed. I didn't know who I was without her. People asked dumb questions. Do you feel different? Are you happy to be free? As if this was some Disney storyline where the princess gets to live her own life now. But it wasn't a fairy tale. It was a horror story with a weird epilogue.

I didn't feel free. I felt amputated. Sometimes I talked to her. Out loud. In the shower. in bed. I know it's crazy. I know she's not there. But I can't stop. I don't want to stop. She was my sister. My twin. My other half. And I survived her. I don't know why. But I did. And I'm still figuring out what to do with that. I had to grow up fast. Like, real fast. While other kids my age were still. still playing around, I was already navigating emotional landmines at home. Meanwhile, my little sister.

She was coddled like some sort of fragile treasure. My mom and sister. Both narcissistic as hell, and don't even get me started on the hypocrisy. If she screws up, it's just, oh, she's going through a phase, or she's sensitive. But if I so much as breathe wrong, I get treated like I'm the reincarnation of every serial killer rolled into one. That's not even an exaggeration. That's just the daily dynamic in our house.

So here's the story that really captures it all. I was in the middle of cramming for mock exams, like the kind of cramming where your brain feels like it's melting. My dad had come back from one of his business trips, and he'd claimed the downstairs TV like it was his throne, so I was forced to study in our shared bedroom. Not ideal, but whatever. I set up my desk, stacked my notes,

and went into full revision mode. Hours pass. It's late. I'm tired. I'm parched. I need water. Simple enough, right? Nope.

My sister, out of all the times in the day, decides that right now is the perfect time to do her damn ironing. Like seriously? Midnight ironing. In a tiny shared room. She props up the ironing board smack in the middle of, of the walkway. I figure, fine, let her do her thing. But then I need to get by. I ask her, politely, to move. She doesn't. I ask again. She refuses. Then she starts arguing for no

reason, just because she enjoys making a scene. I'm tired, thirsty, and not in the mood for a showdown. So I try to just lift the ironing board and pass. Wrong move. The second I touch it, she flips. Like, goes completely psycho. She starts pulling the board back like we're in a tug of war. Then she threatens to burn me with the iron, the iron that's hot and on. She slashes at my hand so hard, I still have marks. Real scars.

And while all this is happening, my brother hears the chaos and runs to get our mom. She finally drags herself into the room a solid three minutes. later and, brace yourself, blames me. Says I shouldn't have been studying in the room in the first place. Says, you know how she is. Like that justifies everything. Then, like an afterthought, she tells me to go show my dad the burn marks. I do. He says he'll deal with it. His solution. Take my sister's phone away and bring it with him on his next business trip. A whole month without a phone, sounds tough, right? Yeah, well, my mom kept the phone here and gave it back in like two weeks.

Classic. This whole punishment routine. A joke. My mom's been confiscating her phone for years and it's never made a difference. Because guess what? She did it again. Not just, again, like, same thing, but another attack. This time in front of my guest and my brother.

embarrassing and terrifying all at once same punishment too and again it didn't last but the best part i was the one who suffered in the end my birthday rolls around i want to celebrate right just a small sleepover with my best friends something chill but i can't i'm too scared she'll snap and attack me again my birthday the one day I should feel special, was almost completely ruined. I still had the sleepover, because I was desperate to feel normal, but I was on edge the whole time and nearly got in trouble for even daring to enjoy myself. And then there was the incident with the cut. Yeah. She cut me. No iron this time, just straight up use something sharp and sliced me. And not even in a fit of rage, but with the kind of cold, calculated calm that makes your blood run cold.

No rage, no excuse, and yet, no punishment. Nothing. It was like it didn't even happen. My mom's logic. She relies on me. Says she can trust me to be the mature one, to listen. Which is basically just code for, can you please deal with your sister for me because I'm too tired to parent. And that's exactly what it is. She dumps her emotional labor on me,

wants me to be a parent to my own sibling. And the second I say no or set boundaries, I'm suddenly the problem. I'm the disrespectful, disobedient, ungrateful child who needs to be screamed at and guilt-tripped. Meanwhile, my sister swears at our mom, calls her names, yells at her and nothing happens maybe a week half-hearted don't talk to me like that but no real consequences if i even raise my voice to explain myself all hell breaks loose i'm punished for even existing with an opinion i've tried talking to my mom about it tried offering real thoughtful suggestions on how to discipline her differently. Like real plans. She always nods and says, that sounds like a good idea, and promises to try them out. And then she never does. It's like talking to a wall,

except the wall gaslights you. My sister. She doesn't just dislike me, she hates me. She's told me to kill myself. Point blank. She's told my brother the same. She says she's cursed us. Not even as a joke, like actual rituals and spells. I've seen her do it. She mutters weird stuff, lights candles, draws symbols. Like some horror movie stuff. She told us she wished we'd both die. And my mom.

She laughs when I tell her. Like it's some quirky phase. I share a room with this literal demon child and I'm supposed to just suck it up because I'm the older sibling. And yeah, I could apply for council housing. I'm technically old enough. But I have no money. I've applied for every job under the sun and haven't gotten a single one. Not even part-time work.

Nothing. I'm stuck. And my sister. She's escalating. She leaves the front door open when she leaves the house. And I'm home alone. Doesn't tell me. doesn't care and we live in an area where my mom constantly says to keep the doors locked anything could happen

I could be hurt killed assaulted and my sister knows this she just doesn't care or maybe she does and that's exactly the point i feel like i'm living in a horror story that no one believes i have physical proof pictures videos from the night she attacked me I've kept it all but I can't post any of it I don't want my identity out there I don't want people recognizing me

knowing my business or painting me as dramatic but behind closed doors this is the nightmare I'm living in it's a ticking time bomb every day I wake up hoping I can survive long enough to escape I make lists. I research shelters. I refresh job listings. I dream about walking out and never looking back. I want peace. I want my own space. I want to stop walking on eggshells in my own home. But every day I'm reminded that wanting that, just wanting it, makes me the villain in their eyes.

What can I even do? My hands are tied. I feel trapped. like a prisoner who hasn't committed a crime. I try to breathe through it. Try to focus on the day when I'll be free. But that day feels so far away. And every minute between now and then feels like survival mode. All I can do right now is hang on. Quietly.

Anonymously. With my scars, my silence, and my hope. The end. This happened three nights ago. I'm a project manager for a large construction firm, and my job often involves visiting sites in the middle of nowhere. This particular job was a five-hour hall from home, a long day of reviewing plans and dealing with contractors that stretched well into the evening. By the time I finally packed my tools and laptop into my truck, it was past 8 p.m. The sky was a deep,

starless purple, and I was exhausted. Not just tired, but that deep in your bones wearing where your thoughts feel slow and syrupy, and all you can focus on is the singular goal of getting home. Home to my wife, to my own bed. Home to check on our two kids, sleeping soundly and safely. The first few hours of the drive were a hypnotic blur of asphalt and high beams. I listened to podcasts without really hearing the words, my mind already at home, picturing the familiar comfort of my front door. Sometime around 11.30 p.m., the few light on my dashboard blinked on, pulling me from my reverie. I spotted a sign for a 24-hour gas station a few miles ahead and pulled off the main highway into one of those lonely oases

of fluorescent light that seemed to exist only for desperate, late-night travelers. The air outside was cool and crisp, smelling of pine needles and damp earth. Inside, the station was sterile and silent, save for the low hum of the drink coolers. I grabbed a bitter, burnt tasting coffee, and a bag of beef jerky, hoping the caffeine and salt would be enough to get me through the last leg of the journey. The kid behind the counter looked like he'd been grown in that very store. He was young, maybe 19, with lank, dark hair falling into his eyes and an aura of profound, soul-crushing boredom. I tried to be friendly as he scanned my items. Long night, I said with a nod toward the oppressive darkness outside the windows. He offered a non-committal grunt in reply.

Hey, I said, pulling out my phone and looking at the map app, my GPS is telling me I've still got close to two hours left. You know this area, right? Is there any kind of shortcut? Anything to shave some time off? For the first time since I'd walked in, he showed a spark of life. He looked up from the counter, his bored eyes focusing on me. You're headed east on the main highway, yeah, toward the city.

He leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. as if you were about to divulge a state secret. All right, check it out. In about 10, 15 miles, the highway's gonna fork. Big time. The main route curves hard to the right. The sign is massive, lit up like a Christmas tree, you can't miss it. But there's a smaller road that goes straight, splits off to the left.

It's an old service road, not really on the maps anymore. He tapped a long, pale finger on the four-my-old. mic a countertop. It cuts right through the state forest instead of winding all the way around it. It's a little rough, you know, but it's straight as an arrow. It'll spit you back out on the west side of the suburbs, probably saves you a good 40, 45 minutes. My tired brain lit up at the prospect. Forty-five minutes meant being home before 1 a.m. It meant a few precious extra moments of sleep before the kids woke me up at dawn. Is it safe to drive? I asked, the last bastion of my common sense putting up a token fight. He shrugged, the veil of boredom descending over him once

more. It's a road. Paved in everything. Just, you know, watch out for dear. People use it, people use it. That was all the reassurance I needed. Thanks, man. Seriously. I appreciate it, I paid for my stuff, got back into the humming warmth of my truck, and pulled back onto the highway. The coffee was already working its magic, and the promise of an earlier arrival had injected me with a fresh dose of determination. True to the kid's word, about 15 minutes later, the junction appeared. A huge, reflective green sign pointed right, guiding the flow of traffic onto the familiar, well-lit highway. And to the left, there is a it was, a narrow, dark strip of asphalt that seemed to be swallowed by a solid wall of trees

just a few yards in. No lights. No signs. Just an open mouth leading into pure, unadulterated blackness. Every sensible instinct I possessed was screaming at me to stay on the highway, to stick with the known. But the exhausted, impatient man who just wanted to be home won the argument. With a flick of a turn signal that no one else would see, I turned my truck off the beaten path and into the throat of the forest. The change was instantaneous and deeply unsettling. The smooth, rhythmic hum of the highway vanished, replaced by the jarring, gravelly crunch of my tires on old, cracked pavement. The wide, open sky was gone, blotted out by a suffocating canopy of ancient trees whose branches knitted together overhead, blocking the moon

and stars. My high beams could only penetrate so far, carving a narrow, shifting tunnel through a darkness so complete it felt physical, like swimming through ink. The silence, too, was different. It wasn't peaceful, it was heavy, expectant. For the first half hour, it was just me and the road. It twisted and turned more than the kid had let on, and I had to slow down for potholes that were deep enough to swallow a small animal. I didn't see any deer. I didn't see any other cars. I didn't see a single sign of human existence. The unease that had been a small spider on my spine was now a monstrous tarantula, its hairy legs crawling all over my skin. This felt deeply, fundamentally wrong. The kid at the gas station, he made it sound like a local secret,

not a forgotten path to nowhere. I glanced at my phone. No signal. Of course. I told myself to just push through. Turning back now would be an admission of a stupid mistake and would add at least an hour to my drive. It had to lead somewhere.

It was a road, after all. I must have been on it for the better part of an hour when I rounded a particularly sharp, blind curve. And my world came to a screeching, rubber-burning halt. My foot slammed the brake pedal to the floor. The truck fish-tailed slightly, the anti-lock brake stuttering violently. The acrid smell of hot rubber filled the cab as I stared, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Blocking the road, from the overgrown ditch on the left to the crumbling shoulder on the right, was a house. I just sat there,

my mind refusing to compute the data my eyes were feeding it. It wasn't an old, the last It wasn't a ruin. It was a house. A perfectly normal, if slightly dated, single-story ranch house with pale yellow siding and white shutters. It was the kind of house you see in any quiet, middle-class suburb in the country. It looked like it had been surgically extracted from a peaceful neighborhood and dropped, with malicious intent, in the middle of this godforsaken road. My first coherent thought was a simple, profane what the fuck. My second was that I had finally broken. The exhaustion had one.

I'd fallen asleep at the wheel and this was a bizarre, vivid stress dream. I reached over and pinched the back of my hand, twisting the skin until a sharp, undeniable bolt of pain shot up my arm. I was awake. I was horrifyingly, impossibly awake. My headlights painted the scene in a sterile, hyper-realistic light. The windows were dark, glassy, glassy, voids. There was no driveway, no mailbox, no garden. The lawn was just the road itself. A small, concrete porch with a single step led to the front door. And the front door was open. Not a jar.

Not cracked. It was swung wide open, revealing a perfect, featureless rectangle of absolute blackness. It wasn't an oversight, it was an invitation. An invitation into the the suffocating darkness within. The predatory silence of the forest seemed to emanate from that doorway, a palpable vacuum of sound. My hands were trembling on the steering wheel. This was wrong on a level I didn't have words for. My flight or fight response was screaming flight. The plan was simple, reverse, turn this beast of a truck around, and get the hell out. I didn't care how long it took. I shifted the truck into reverse. That's when I saw it.

A flicker of movement in the black rectangle of the doorway. A figure was emerging. At first, it was just a silhouette against the deeper black within. Then, it took a step forward, moving out of the shadows and into the full, unforgiving glare of my high beams. My blood turned to ice. My breath hitched in my chest. My hand fell from the gear shift. It was my wife.

It was her. The same height, the same way her brown hair fell across her shoulders, the same slight tilt of her head. She was even wearing the soft blue dress she favored on warm summer evenings, the one with the little embroidered flowers on the collar. I was frozen, pinned in my seat by a spear of pure, unadulterated terror. My brain was a screaming chaos of denial. It was impossible.

She was at home, two hours away. She was in our bed, in our house, in our town. This thing in front of me was a paradox, a walking, breathing violation of all known laws of the universe. The thing that looked like my wife stood on the single concrete step and smiled. It was her smile. The one that could make my day better in an instant. It was warm, it was loving, it was perfect.

She raised a hand and gave a small, familiar wave. Honey, her voice called out. The sound was flawless, a perfect recording of her gentle tone, yet it echoed strangely in the dead air of the forest, like a sound clip played in a soundproof room. Every cell in my body was screaming. This was a nightmare. This was a trap. The white thing's smile widened a fraction.

It took another step, leaving the porch and planting its feet on the cracked asphalt of the road. Come on, dear, it said, Its voice laced with a playful, chiding affection that made my stomach churn. We were getting worried. You're late, we. The word hit me like a physical blow. The kids are already in their rooms, the creature continued, gesturing with its head back toward the dark, silent house. They kept asking when their daddy was coming home, the words were a precision strike, aimed directly at my heart.

But instead of luring me in, they ignited a spark of rage deep within my third. terror. It was a confirmation of the calculated, predatory nature of this, this performance. It knew I had a wife. It knew I had children. It knew what to say. How could it know? The kid at the gas station? Did I mention my family? I couldn't remember, my thoughts were a blizzard of panic. I had to leave. I had to leave now. My hand, shaking so badly I could barely control it, fumbled for the gear shift. And then, a light flickered on in the window to the right of the open door. A soft, warm, yellow glow, like a bedside lamp. And in the square of light, two small shadows appeared. Silhouettes. One taller, one a little shorter. The unmistakable shapes

of two children, standing side by side, perfectly still, looking out. My children. A choked saw, tore itself from my throat. This was a diabolical puppet show, and I was the sole member of the audience. The sight of those little shadows, so innocent and yet so profoundly wrong in this place, shattered the last of my paralysis. This wasn't just about my own fear anymore. This was a desecration. This thing was wearing the faces of my family, using my love for them as bait on a hook.

and a pure, protective fury surged through me, a white-hot fire that cauterized my fear. I slammed the truck into reverse, my foot stomping the accelerator to the floor. The tires screamed in protest, kicking up a shower of gravel as the truck shot backward. I wrenched the steering wheel, executing a frantic, clumsy turn on the narrow road. All the while, the thing that looked like my wife just stood there, it's placid, loving smile never faltering. The most of the most of the moment the back of my truck was facing the house, the moment my headlight swung away from the scene, it happened. A light erupted from the house. It wasn't the soft, yellow lamp light. This was a silent, concussive blast of pure, clinical white light. It poured from the open

door, from every window, a brilliance so intense it was like a sun had been born and died in that small, fake house. It bleached the entire forest in a sterile, shadowless glare, turning midnight into a horrifying, artificial noon. The world was stark black trees against blinding, soul-searing white. I couldn't help myself. I risked a single glance in my rear-view mirror. I had to see the truth. The thing standing on the road was not my wife.

The light illuminated its true form. The smile was still there, but it was a rictus of fury, stretched impossibly wide across a face that was melting and reforming. Its jaw was unhinged, dropping down to its chest to reveal a maw filled with rows of needle-thin teeth. Its eyes, once the warm, familiar brown of my wife's, were now just bottomless black pits radiating a hate so profound it felt like a physical force. It was a mask of pure malevolence, enraged that its prey was escaping its carefully set trap. I floored it. The engine roared as I tore down that dark road, fleeing the impossible light and the abomination it had revealed.

I didn't look back again. I just watched the terrifying white glow shrink in my mirrors, consumed by the trees and the night, until it was gone. I drove like a man possessed for what felt like an hour, but my clock insisted was only about thirty minutes. My knuckles were white, my shirt was soaked in cold sweat. Then, through the trees, I saw the comforting glow of electric light. The gas station.

Relief washed over me, so potent it nearly made me vomit. I'd made it back. I was safe. I pulled into the gravel lot, the crunch of the tires are welcome, normal sound. I killed the engine, and the sudden silence was absolute. But something was wrong. As I sat there, gasping for air, trying to slow my runaway heart, I realized two things. First, I hadn't passed the junction.

The fork in the road where I turned off was nowhere to be seen. I should have reached it before the station. Second, the gas station was deserted. Utterly empty. No other cars, no trucks at the pumps. Just my truck, the humming coolers, and the glaring lights. I peered through the large plate glass window of the store. I could see the kid behind the counter.

The same one. Same lank hair. same board posture. But he was still. Too still. He was looking down at the counter, frozen in place like a mannequin. I got out of my truck, leaving the door ajar, and just watched him. The seconds ticked by. He didn't move a single muscle. Not a breath, not a shift of his weight. A new dread, a more subtle and terrifying dread, began to creep in. This wasn't the end of the trap. This was part two. As if it knew I was watching, it moved.

Its head lifted. It didn't lift like a person's. It pivoted on its neck with a slow, unervingly smooth, mechanical motion. There was no humanity in it. Its face turned to look directly at me through the glass. And it smiled. It was the single most horrifying expression I have ever witnessed. It was not a human smile.

It was a grotesque facsimile, a wide, predatory stretching of the lips to reveal teeth that were too white, too uniform, too sharp. The eyes above the smile were black, vacant pools, reflecting the fluorescent lights with a dead, soulless sheen. It was the same fundamental wrongness, the same intelligent malevolence I had seen in a face in my rearview mirror. They knew. They knew I would run, and they knew where I would run to. The house was the crew. rude lure. The gas station, a place of safety and relief, was the real trap. I didn't think. I scrambled back into the driver's seat, slammed the door, and cranked the engine. I tore out of that fake, dead gas station, leaving the smiling thing to its silent vigil in its glass box. I just drove, my mind a blank slate of terror. I was back on the same dark, endless road,

heading away from the Mimic Station, completely lost in a nightmare that seemed to have no exit. Another half an hour of panic driving, my fuel light now blinking with genuine urgency. And then, I saw it. The junction. The massive green sign for the main highway. And beyond it, a river of red and white lights from other cars. Real cars. Real people.

Just before the junction sat the gas station. But this one was alive. A semi-truck was at the pumps, its diesel engine rumbling. A family was piling out of a minivan. The light felt different, warmer. It felt real. I pulled in, my body shaking so violently I could barely put the truck in park. I stumbled into the store, a ghost in my own skin.

The kid behind the counter had dark hair, but his face was rounder, his eyes tired but human. He was watching something on his phone. He looked up as I staggered to the counter. Whoa, dude, he said, his eyes widening at the sight of me. You okay. You look like you've seen a ghost. My voice was a dry, cracking whisper. The shortcut, the road.

The left fork. He gave me a confused look. What shortcut? The left fork. Man, that road's been closed for over a decade. The bridge washed out in a flood. It's a dead end, doesn't go anywhere. I just stared at him, his words echoing in the vast, empty space where my sanity used to be.

But, you told me it's safe to drive, and people use it. I was just on it. There was a house. He leaned on me and whispered, his expression shifting to one of wary concern. Are you sure it was me who told you that? And let's be clear here, a house. in the middle of the road. Buddy, you need to pull over and get some sleep.

You're seeing things. Seriously, grab another coffee and just stick to the main highway. It's the only way through. I nodded numbly, paid for a coffee I never drank, and left. I took the long way home. That last hour on a busy, well-lit highway was the most beautiful and comforting drive of my entire life. I got home just before 4 a.m. I slipped inside my real house. I checked on my real children, sleeping soundly in their beds, their small chests rising and falling peacefully. I crawled into bed

next to my wife, my real, warm, breathing wife, and I lay there in the dark, shaking until the sun came up. So this is my warning. I don't know what those things are, but they're out there. And they're getting smarter. They built a lure for me out of a house and my family. And when that failed, they had a second, more clever lure ready and waiting, a place of refuge. They are mimics. They learn. They use our deepest desires, the desire to get home, the desire for safety, against us.

So if you're ever driving late at night and you're tired, and someone offers you a shortcut that sounds too good to be true, it is. stay on the main road stay in the light because the things that live in the dark know exactly what you want to see and they're more than happy to build it for you the END there was this one time it's burned into my brain when I was revising for my mock exams my dad had just gotten back from one of his endless business trips

and was watching TV downstairs the only place I had left to study was my tiny bedroom I'd been at it for hours, locked in my own little world, trying to focus. Then my sister decided, out of nowhere, that she absolutely had to iron her clothes. And, of course, she had to do it right then, right there. Now, our room is small, so when she set up the ironing board, it took up almost all the free space. At first, I ignored her. She's always been a hassle, and I wasn't about to get into it.

But after a while, I needed a drink. The only way to get out was for her to move aside. Simple, right? Yeah, not for her. She refused, because why not? She thrives on making things difficult. I tried to reason with her, but she just kept arguing. I had no choice but to lift the ironing board to make a path.

That's when all hell broke loose. She grabbed onto it, pulling it. back, fighting me for it like her life depended on it. Then came the threats, she actually threatened to burn me with the iron. I could feel the heat dangerously close to my skin. She clawed at my hand so aggressively that I still have the scars to this day. I screamed, trying to get her off, and that's when my brother rushed in. He saw what was happening and ran to get my mom.

My mom took her sweet time getting there, almost three whole minutes. And when she did, she didn't yell at my sister, didn't even seem shocked. Nope. She blamed me. She looked right at me and said, you know how she is. As if that was supposed to justify everything. As if I was the idiot for thinking I could just exist without being attacked. She told me to show my dad the marks.

Dismissive, like it was just another inconsistent. convenience in her day. My dad, for once, actually seemed like he might do something. He took my sister's phone away and said he'd be taking it with him on his next business trip for a month. A whole month without her phone, that was supposed to be her punishment. But guess what? My mom, ever the enabler, couldn't even let that stand. She kept the phone herself and, surprise, my sister got it back way before the month was up. Classic. Because when my birthday rolled around, I wanted to have a sleepover with my best friends. But I had to second guess it.

Why? Because what if my sister attacked me again? What if she ruined the whole night? My birthday was already off to a rough start, but I still went through with the sleepover. And, of course, nearly got punished for it. Because apparently, me trying to have fun is a crime. My mom has absolutely no control over her own daughter. It's pathetic.

There was another incident, just as bad, if not worse. This time, my sister actually cut me. And not even out of rage, which would have at least made some twisted kind of sense. No, she did it with some weak excuse that I don't even remember anymore. The kicker. She didn't even get punished for that one. not even a slap on the wrist my mom always says she relies on me what she really means is give your sister whatever she wants because i can't deal with her it's so messed up if i ever push back even a little

i get treated like the worst person alive meanwhile my sister can scream at my mom curse her out say the vilest things and all she gets is a half-hearted scolding but the second i so much as talk back. My mom makes my life a living hell. I've tried, over and over, to get my mom to change the way she disciplines my sister. I've suggested actual solutions, things that might work. She always nods along, says, that sounds like a great idea, but never follows through. It's all empty promises. My sister doesn't just dislike me, she hates me. She's told me, to my face, I should just go ahead and Una live myself. She's even done these creepy rituals, full-on curses, trying to make sure me and my brother die. I don't know where she gets this stuff

from, but it's terrifying. I've told my mom, again and again, and every single time, she just laughs. Like it's some joke. Like it's funny that I have to sleep in the same room as someone who actively wants me dead. I'm old enough to apply for a council house, but I don't have any money. I've applied for jobs, dozens, maybe even hundreds, but I can't land a single one. Meanwhile, my sister keeps doing these dangerous things, like leaving the front door wide open when she leaves the house. She knows I'm inside alone. She knows my mom has always warned us about the dangers of unlocked doors. She knows it's a serious risk. But she does it anyway. And I can't help But think, what if someone broke in?

What if I got hurt? What if I got killed? Would she even care? Would my mom? All right, so this whole thing started when I was 15. Back then, I was just a regular teenager, edgy, dramatic, with all the usual teenage angst. But somewhere between May and June, everything changed. Everything spiraled into something darker, something that still lingers with me today.

I guess you could call that the beginning of it all. I remember my first real breakdown like it just happened yesterday. It wasn't something that built up gradually, it just exploded out of nowhere, catching me off guard. It all started with a fight between my mom and my grandma. That wasn't anything new, they argued all the time. But this one... This one was different. It escalated so fast that it felt like someone had pressed fast forward on a horn.

movie. One second, it was just a regular argument, voices raised, words thrown back and forth like knives. The next, my mom completely lost it. She started screaming, yelling so loud that it echoed through the whole apartment. It wasn't just anger, it was pure, raw, uncontrolled rage. I could feel it in the air, vibrating through the walls, wrapping around me like a thick fog. My body tensed up before my mind even had time to process what was happening. It was like an alarm went off inside me, screaming that something was about to go terribly wrong. And that's when the thought started, the irrational, terrifying thoughts that refused to let me go. I thought she was going to hit someone. I thought it was going to get physical, and before I knew it,

my mind was running wild, picturing scenarios straight out of a nightmare. I could see it happening could hear it, even though it hadn't happened yet. My breath hitched, my hands shook, and my heart felt like it was trying to break free from my chest. It was like something had hijacked my brain, forcing me to imagine the worst. I wanted to hide, but I also needed to know what was happening. So after what felt like forever, I slowly cracked my bedroom door open, just enough to peek outside. And that's when I saw her. My mom, standing there, her, her eyes locking onto mine. And the way she looked at me, God, that look, it was like she could see every single fear inside me, every thought that had been tormenting me, and she hated

me for it. I panicked. Slanned the door shut, locked it as fast as I could, and backed into the corner like a terrified animal. My breathing was ragged, my chest tight, and before I even realized it, I was sobbing. Not the quiet, gentle kind of crying, this was full-on. body shaking, gut wrenching. I didn't want her to see me like that. I didn't want anyone to see me like that. When I heard the doorknob turn, I lost it even more, yelling for them to leave me alone. I just needed to disappear. Eventually, things calmed down. My mom apologized. I said I forgave her. But I didn't, not really. Something inside me refused to let it go. My brain wouldn't let me believe that it was just a one-time thing. No, it whispered to me that it was going

to happen again, that I needed to be prepared for it. And that's when things really started to change. A few months later, I started noticing weird things about myself, things that didn't make sense. I became terrified of loud noises. Not just startled, not just uncomfortable, full-on terrified. Even the smallest sudden sound would send a shiver through my body, like my whole nervous system was on high alert, waiting for danger that wasn't there. And being alone in my room? That used to be my safe space, my escape. But now. Now I couldn't even relax.

I was always on edge, always staring at the door like I was expecting someone, or something, to burst through it. Sleep became a joke. I barely got any. And when I did sleep, it was filled with nightmares. Not the kind that fade away when you wake up, but the kind that stick with you, that cling to your skin like sweat. Blood, violence, fear, I saw it all, over and over again. Sometimes I woke up crying. Other times, I woke up gasping for air, my heart hammering like I'd just run a marathon.

As time passed, it only got worse. My anxiety became this monstrous thing that followed me everywhere. It got to the point where intrusive thoughts invaded my head constantly. I couldn't step into the underground without my brain whispering that someone was going to fall onto the tracks. Every time someone called my name, my first thought was that they were about to yell at me, or worse, hit me. And because of all this, I started changing in ways I never expected.

I became aggressive. Me. The person who used to avoid conflict at all costs. But now, I could snap in an instant. One second, I'd be fine, and the next, I'd be lashing out. And the worst part? The second after I exploded, I'd collapse into tears. It was like I had no control over myself anymore.

I didn't let anyone touch me. Even the idea of someone's hand on my shoulder made my skin crawl. And the one time my mom did touch me, completely out of nowhere. I lost it. I broke down so badly that she literally stepped away from me like I was something dangerous. Like I was broken. And maybe I was. That moment made me realize something was really, really wrong with me.

My relationships with my family started to crumble. I loved them, I really did. But something inside me kept whispering that loving them wasn't enough, that no matter what, things were only going to get worse. I didn't want to hurt anyone. I didn't want to be the reason things fell apart. But I could feel it happening. And it was killing me.

Guilt became my constant companion. Every time I lashed out, every time I cried, every time I pushed someone away, I felt like the worst person in the world. But no matter how much I tried to control it, I couldn't. I was exhausted. Emotionally, physically, just completely. drained. And the worst part? I started losing hope. Hope that things would ever go back to the way they were. Hope that I could ever feel normal again. I'm still scared of loud noises. Still scared of being surrounded by too many people, of feeling trapped, of not being able to escape. I tell myself

to stay calm, to be strong, but deep down, I know I'm not. My mind is a battlefield, filled with endless what-ifs, worst-case scenarios, fears that refuse to let go. My hands shake almost constantly now. I try to ignore it, but it gets to me. But there is one good thing in all of this, I'm getting help. I'm in therapy now. And for the first time in what feels like forever, I think I might actually be getting better. I know I still have a long way to go. I know that healing isn't a straight path, that there will be setbacks and bad days. But at least now, I have something I didn't before, the knowledge that I don't have to go through this alone. So yeah, that's my story. If you have any questions, I'll try my best to answer them.

I know this isn't something people talk about much, but if my experience can help someone else feel less alone, then maybe, just maybe, it was worth writing it all down. For the last two years, my life has been a repeating loop of gray. Wake up in my crappy, one-room apartment. Walk to my dead-end job stocking shelves at a big box store. Walk home. Eat something cheap. Stare at the stained ceiling until I fall asleep.

The defining feature of my existence wasn't sadness or anger. It was silence. A deep, profound, suffocating silence that filled every corner of my tiny apartment and my empty life. The hum of the old refrigerator, the drip of the leaky faucet, those were my companions. I couldn't afford internet, and my phone was a pay-as-you-go brick that could barely make calls. Entertainment wasn't in the budget. The loneliness was the worst part.

It was a physical weight. So, after a particularly brutal week of overtime, I took the extra 40 bucks I'd earned and decided to do something for myself. I decided to buy a television. Mew was out of the question. Even the cheapest flat screen was a month's worth of groceries. But on my route to work, there was this place. A junk shop, really. Its windows were caked with so much grime you couldn't see inside,

and a flickering neon sign just said, buy and sell. It smelled like dust and ozone and forgotten things. The owner was an old man with cloudy eyes who just grunted. mounted and pointed when I asked if he had any TVs. He led me to the back, to a graveyard of old electronics. There, among the dead VCRs and skeletal radios, was a TV. It was an old CRT model, a heavy, beige plastic cube with a bulging glass screen and clunky dials instead of buttons. It was probably from the early 90s. It was ugly, but it was big, and the old man swore it worked. 20 bucks. I hauled at the half-mile back to my apartment, my arms screaming in protest.

That night, for the first time in years, my apartment wasn't silent. I plugged it in, attached a cheap set of rabbit ear antennas I'd bought for a dollar, and after a burst of static, a picture flickered to life. It was glorious. The sound of a cheesy sitcom, the bright, saturated colors, it was like a window had been opened in my gray little prison set. It pushed the silence back. I felt, normal. Less alone. For the first few weeks, it was my lifeline.

I'd come home from work, turn it on, and just let the noise wash over me. I watched old movies, news channels, bad reality shows. It didn't matter what was on. It was just noise. It was a voice that wasn't mine. The channels were a strange mix. I was in a low-lying part of the city, so reception was spotty. I got the main local affiliates, a Spanish-language station, a 24-hour weather channel, and a bunch of fuzzy public access feeds.

It was while I was turning the stiff dial one night, trying to find a clear picture, that I found it. It wasn't a normal channel. There was no station identifier in the corner, no commercials, no sound. There was just a high-numbered channel, 87, that came to a station identifier in the corner, no commercials, no sound. came in with perfect, crystal clarity. The image was of a room. A completely white, seamless room with no doors or windows visible. In the exact center of the room sat a wooden chair, and on the chair sat a man.

He was wearing a simple, dark gray suit that was a little too big for him. He had thinning brown hair and a tired-looking face. And he was just sitting there, staring directly forward. Directly at the camera. directly at me. My first thought was that it was some kind of minimalist art project. One of those things you see in a modern art museum. Or maybe a prank.

I watched for ten minutes. He didn't move. He didn't even blink. The sheer stillness of it was unnerving, but also, compelling. In a house full of manufactured noise, this silent, staring man was the quietest thing of all. Eventually, I got bored and turned the channel, but the image of him stayed with me. A few nights later, my curiosity got the better of me. I turned the dial back to Channel 87.

He was still there. Same suit, same chair, same unwavering stare. I left it on as I made my dinner, glancing over at the screen every few minutes. It was like having a very strange, very still roommate. Then, he moved. It was a small movement, but after hours of total stillness, it felt like an earthquake. He slowly raised a hand and rubbed his stomach. A quiet, circular motion.

Then he sighed, a sound that was barely audible through the TV's tinny speakers. I scrambled for the volume dial, cranking it all the way up. A low hiss filled the room, and underneath it, I could just make out a voice. His voice. He was muttering to himself. Getting hungry, he mumbled, his voice raspy. He shifted in the chair, the wood creaking. Wonder how much longer.

Should have had a bigger breakfast. I froze, my half-eaten bowl of ramen forgotten in my hands. This wasn't just a static image. The man was real. This was happening now. Was it some kind of weird reality show? Like, a human. an endurance test. Last man sitting gets a million dollars. It seemed plausible. I found

myself hooked. This was more interesting than any scripted drama. It felt real. I started checking in on him every night. I called him, the man in the room. It became part of my routine. Come home, turn on Channel 87. Most of the time, he was just sitting there, but every now and then, He'd do something. He'd stretch his legs. He'd yawn. He'd talk to himself. Water, he said one night, licking his dry lips.

Could really use some water. He looked around the empty white room, a flicker of annoyance on his face. Said they'd be right back. That was, hours ago. He looked back at the camera, at me. His stare felt different now. It wasn't just vacant. It felt, expectant.

Like he was waiting for something to happen. A week after I first found a channel, things started to change. His monologues got longer, more desperate. He wasn't just complaining about being hungry or thirsty anymore. He was getting confused. Hello, he said one evening, his voice louder than usual. He was leaning forward in the chair. Is anyone out there?

The shoot was supposed to be over at five. What time is it? He paused, listening to the silence of his white room. Why isn't anyone saying anything? This isn't funny, I felt a nod of anxiety tighten in my stomach. This was starting to feel less like a game show and more like something cruel. I was the only one listening to him. He was talking to a film crew that, apparently, had abandoned him.

I felt a strange sense of responsibility, mixed with a morbid, can't look away fascination. The real horror began last month. I came home from a particularly draining shift, my feet aching, my mind numb. I turned on the TV to Channel 87 out of habit. The man was no longer sitting. He was on his feet, pacing the small area visible on the screen. His suit was rumpled, his hair was a mess, and his face was slick. with sweat. He looked frantic. Okay, that's it. I'm done, he yelled at the camera. You hear me?

This job isn't worth it. I'm leaving, he turned and strode purposefully toward the left side of the screen, as if to walk off a movie set. I watched, my heart suddenly pounding, expecting him to just disappear from the frame. He didn't. He walked about five feet and then ran face first into, nothing. There was a dull, fleshy thump that came through the speakers. He stumbled back, holding his nose, a look of pure, bewildered shock on his face. He reached out a trembling hand and pressed it forward. His fingers splayed out against a perfectly invisible, solid surface. He pressed his face against it, his cheek smushing against the barrier.

He looked to his right, then his left. His eyes were wide with dawning terror. He wasn't on a set. He was in a box. Panic seized him. He started pounding on the invisible wall. What is this? he screamed, his voice cracking with fear. What the hell is this?

Let me out. He scrambled to the other side of the frame and slammed into another wall. He ran to the back of the visible area and hit a third. He was trapped. A prisoner in his sterile, white cage. Then he stopped. He turned slowly, his wild, terrified eyes finding the camera again. Finding me.

The illusion of a TV show, of a set, of a crew, was shattered. He knew. He knew he was being watched. You, he whispered, his voice a choked sob. He took a stumbling step forward, his hand outstretched, until his face was huge on my screen, pressed right up against the glass on his side. You're watching me. I can't see you, but I know you're there. Please. Please, whoever you are, you have to help me. Can you hear me?

Please, get me out of here. I don't know where I am. Please, help me. I was paralyzed. This was real. This wasn't a show. This was a man, Trapped somewhere, his prison being broadcast on some ghost frequency into my living room. His screams were real. His terror was real. I was his only audience. His only hope. And I did nothing.

A cold, selfish fear washed over me. I couldn't help him. How could I? Call the police. Hello, officer. There's a man trapped inside my TV. They'd have me committed. What could I possibly do?

My hand, shaking uncontrollably, found the channel dial. With a click, I turned it. His desperate, screaming face was replaced by a smiling woman selling car insurance. I ripped the plug from the wall socket. The TV screen went black with a final, dying pop. The silence that rushed back in was heavier than ever before. It was no longer empty. It was filled with the ghost of his screams.

I didn't turn the TV on for three weeks. I couldn't. I worked extra shifts, anything to keep me out of the apartment. When I was there, I sat in the dark, the silence at constant accusation. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face, his hands pressed against the glass, his mouth open in a scream I had silenced. I told myself it was a hoax. A very, very elaborate and cruel prank. A deep fake. Anything but the truth. Last night, I finally broke. The loneliness was gnawing at me again,

and the silence was driving me insane. I just wanted to hear something else. I plugged the TV back in. I told myself I would not, under any circumstances, go to Channel 87. I'd say, stick to the news, to movies, to anything normal. I must have been turning the dial too quickly. My finger slipped. For a single, horrifying second, the dial rested on Channel 87. The image that flashed onto the screen will be burned into my memory until the day I die. The room was the same.

The empty, white box. The wooden chair was on its side, as if it had been kicked over in a struggle. and on the floor, next to the chair, was the man. Or what was left of him. He was lying on his back, his body bloated and discolored. His cheap suit was stained and torn. His mouth was open in a silent, final scream. And his flesh, his flesh was writhing. It took my brain a second to process what I was seeing. It was a shifting, squirming carpet of white. Maggots. I saw it. I saw a for maybe two seconds before I lunged forward and changed the channel, but the image was seared onto the inside of my eyelids. I stood there for a moment, my body trembling, and

then I turned and vomited the entire contents of my stomach onto my linoleum floor. He was dead. He had starved to death. Or died of thirst. Alone, in that box, screaming for a help that never came. A help that I had denied him. I didn't just watch a man die. I was the last person he ever spoke to. I was his God, and I had changed the channel. I don't remember much of the next hour. It was a blur of frantic energy and pure, animal terror. I ripped the TV from the wall, cords and antennas trailing behind it.

It was heavy, but adrenaline is a powerful thing. I half carried, half dragged it out of my apartment, down the three flights of stairs, and out to the alley behind my building. I heathed it into the dumpster, where it landed with a sickening crunch and a final sigh of cracking glass. I spent the rest of my savings this morning on a cheap, new flat-screen TV from the store where I work. It's still in the box. I'm afraid to turn it on. I'm terrified that I'll be flipping through the crisp, digital channels, and I'll find it.

Channel 87 I'm terrified of what I might see there now. An empty room? or a new occupant. The end. I do a fair bit of driving for work, sometimes late into the night. It's usually uneventful, just me, the road, and whatever podcast I've got on. This particular night, I was on a less-traveled state route, cutting across country to save some time. My GPS rerouted me due to an accident on the main highway, and this new route took me through some pretty remote, hilly terrain. It was well past midnight, maybe 2 a.m. The kind of dark where the trees on either

side of the road look like huddled figures and your headlights are the only proof the world still exists. I saw a sign indicating a tunnel about a mile before I reached it. No specific name, just a standard warning. Tunnels at night always have a bit of an eerie vibe, don't they? This one looked old, a simple arch cut into a massive slab of rock, probably built decades ago. The kind with those dim, yellowish light spaced out along the ceiling, casting long, flickering shadows. As I approached, I remember thinking it was longer than I expected, disappearing into the blackness of the hill. I slowed down as I entered, the rumble of my tires changing tone as they hit the tunnels concrete. The air grew cooler, damper.

My radio, which had been playing some low-key indie station, started to crackle and then hissed into static. Annoying, but typical for tunnels. I reached over to turn it off, plunging the car into a relative silence, broken only by the engine's hum and the rhythmic thwm-thwump of the lights passing overhead. I was maybe a quarter of the way through, it's hard to judge distances in these things, when I saw him. A figure, standing by the narrow walkway on the right side of the tunnel. Just standing there, his back mostly to me, looking towards the tunnel wall. My heart gave a little jump. You don't expect to see pedestrians in a remote tunnel at 2 a.m.

My first thought was that his car had broken down. I eased off the accelerator, my car slowing. As I got closer, he turned, and I saw his face in the dim, intermittent light. He was an older guy, maybe late 50s, early 60s. looked tired, a bit disheveled. He wore a simple jacket and jeans. He wasn't holding a sign, wasn't thumbing for a ride, just, standing there. But as my headlights fully illuminated him, he raised a hand, not in a desperate wave,

but a slow, almost hesitant gesture. Common sense screamed at me to keep going. Late night, remote tunnel, lone stranger. It's a recipe for a bad story. But he looked, more lost than dangerous. And there was a part of me, the part that hoped someone would stop for me if I were in a similar bind, that nudged me to slow down further. I pulled up alongside him, rolling down my passenger window. The damp, cool air of the tunnel, smelling faintly of wet stone and exhaust fumes, seeped into the car.

Everything all right? I asked, trying to keep my voice even. He leaned down a little, peering in. His face was lined, and he had weary eyes. Oh, thank goodness, he said, his voice a little hoarse. My car, it just died on me. Back a ways. Completely dead.

In the tunnel? I asked, glancing in my rearview mirror. The entrance was a distant, pale arch, but I hadn't seen any disabled vehicles. No hazard lights, nothing. He shook his head. No, just before it. It sort of, veered off into the ditch right as I was approaching the entrance. Engine cut out, lights, everything.

One moment I was driving, the next I was wrestling the wheel to keep it from hitting the rock face. It's probably not visible from the road, tucked down in the gully there. He gestured vaguely behind him, towards the tunnel entrance. Stupid thing. I figured my best bet was to walk through. There's a 24-hour service station on the other side of this hill, about two miles past the tunnel exit, according to the last road sign I saw. His explanation sounded plausible enough. A car going into a ditch in the dark, especially if it lost power, might not be easily seen.

And he didn't seem threatening. Just a guy down on his luck. Hop in, I said, unlocking the passenger door. I can take you to the station. Oh, bless you, he said, a wave of relief washing over his face. You're a lifesaver. Truly. He opened the door and settled into the passenger seat, bringing a gust of that damp tunnel air with him. He smelled faintly of wet earth and something else, something I couldn't quite place,

a metallic, coppery scent, very faint. I dismissed it as probably being from the ditch or his old car. No problem at all, I said, pulling away from the side and accelerating gently. Horrible place to get stranded. Tell me about it, he sighed, rubbing his hands together as if for warmth, though it wasn't particularly cold. One minute everything's fine, the next, well.

Just grateful you came along. We drove in silence for a minute or two. The tunnel lights continued their rhythmic flash overhead. I glanced at my dashboard. All systems normal. I kept expecting to see the bright arch of the exit looming ahead, but the tunnel just, kept going. It was a long tunnel, for sure. I tried to remember the sign, if it had indicated the length.

I didn't think so. This is quite the tunnel, I remarked, mostly to break the silence. It is, isn't it, he said, his voice quiet. He was looking straight ahead, at the seemingly endless tube of concrete and dim light. Goes on a fair bit. Another few minutes passed. I started to feel a little knot of unease in my stomach. I could see, far in the distance, what looked like brighter lights of the outside world, indicating the exit.

But it wasn't getting any closer. Not really. I'd been driving at a steady 40 miles per hour, which is the posted limit. We should have been out ages ago. I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. Are you sure that service station isn't too far past the exit? This tunnel feels like it's going on forever. I tried to laugh it off, but the laugh sounded hollow even to my own ears.

The man didn't turn his head. Not much further now, he said, his voice still soft, almost monotone. We should be seeing the end properly any second. But we didn't. The pinprick of light that I assumed was the exit remained stubbornly distant, like a star you can see but never reach. I checked my odometer. We'd driven nearly three miles since I'd picked him up.

This tunnel couldn't possibly be that long, could it? Not out here, in the middle of nowhere. A tunnel that long would be a major feat of engineering, something people would know about. My unease was growing, coiling in my gut like a cold snake. I glanced at my GPS. The screen was frozen on the point where I, I'd entered the tunnel, the little car icon stationary, the map around it unresponsive.

GPS is out, I muttered. Great. They never work well in these deep places, the man said. His voice was calm. Too calm. I risked a quick look at him. He was still staring straight ahead, his expression unreadable in the dim, pulsing light. That faint, coppery smell I'd noticed earlier seemed a little stronger now,

or maybe I was just imagining it. It really feels like we're not getting any closer to the exit, I said, my voice a little tighter this time. Look. I gestured ahead. It's been like that for miles. He finally turned his head to look at me. His eyes, in the flickering gloom, seemed darker than before, and there was something in

them, a stillness that was deeply unsettling. Patience, he said, his voice a low rumble. tunnels can be deceiving we'll be out soon very soon his reassurance did nothing to calm me in fact it did the opposite there was a subtle shift in his tone something that wasn't quite right a weird almost soothing quality that felt predatory then something else happened i glanced in my rearview mirror a habit when feeling uneasy the tunnel lights behind us stretch back towards the entrance I could no longer see, were, different. One of them, about a hundred yards back, flickered and went out, plunging that section of the tunnel into deeper shadow. Then, a moment later, the next one closest to it did the same. And the next.

A wave of cold dread washed over me. The darkness was creeping up behind us, swallowing the lights one by one. It was like the tunnel itself was being snuffed out from behind, and the blackness was advancing, chasing us. Did you see that? I asked, my voice barely a whisper. The lights, they're going out behind us. The man didn't look back.

He kept his eyes on me. Darkness comes for us all, eventually, he said, and this time there was no mistaking the strangeness in his voice. It was deeper, resonant, and held a chilling certainty. My heart was hammering against my ribs. This wasn't right. This wasn't a breakdown, this wasn't a long tunnel. This was something else.

Something terrible. The air in the car felt heavy, oppressive. That coppery smell was definitely stronger now, and it was making me feel nauseous. I pressed down on the accelerator, the engine winding as the car picked up speed. 50, 55, 60 miles per hour. The tunnel walls became a blur of streaking concrete. The lights overhead flashed by faster, thwm-thwump, but the pinprick of the exit remained stubbornly, impossibly distant.

What's going on? I demanded, my voice shaking. Why isn't this tunnel ending? The man was silent for a moment. Then he said, very softly, perhaps it doesn't want us to look at. leave. I risked another glance in the rearview mirror. The darkness was closer. Much closer. The last visible light behind us was now only perhaps 50 feet away, and the ones before it were gone, swallowed by an impenetrable blackness that seemed to pulse, to almost

breathe. I felt a primal fear, a desperate urge to escape this encroaching void. It felt, hungry. You need to slow down, the man said, his voice now holding a a distinct note of command. It was unervingly calm. There's no need to rush. No need to rush. I almost screamed. That darkness is gaining on us. We need to get out of here. The darkness isn't something to be feared, he said, his head tilting slightly. It's peaceful. It's an end to struggle. He paused, and then his voice dropped even lower, becoming almost a caress. You should stop the car. Just, pull over.

Let it take you. Surrender to it. It's so much easier if you just give in. As he spoke, a profound weariness washed over me. My eyelids felt incredibly heavy. The wheel in my hand seemed to weigh a ton. The thought of just stopping, of closing my eyes and letting whatever was happening happen, was suddenly, overwhelmingly appealing.

Peace. Yes, peace sounded good. The fear began to recede, replaced by a strange, inviting lethargy. My foot eased off the accelerator. The car began to slow. The encroaching darkness in the rearview mirror seemed to swell, to welcome me. But then, a different instinct, something raw and primal buried deep inside, screamed. Danger.

Wake up. Don't you dare. It was like a jolt of ice water. My eyes snapped fully open. The drowsiness vanished, replaced by a surge of adrenaline so potent it made me gasp. This wasn't peace. This was, absorption. I slammed my foot on the brake, hard.

The tires shrieked in protest, the car slewing slightly before coming to a jarring halt. The man was thrown forward against his seatbelt, letting out a small grunt. The darkness behind us was now terrifyingly close, a solid wall of nothingness just yards from our rear bumper, seeming to writhe and royal. My hand fumbled for the glove compartment. I always keep my licensed self-defense pistol in there on long drives through unfamiliar territories. My fingers closed around the cool metal grip. What are you doing? The man asked, his voice no longer soothing, but sharp, edged with something cold and angry.

I pulled out the gun, my hand shaking violently, but my grip firm. I thunded off the safety and pointed it at him. Get out, I snarled, my voice ragged. Get out of my car. Now. For a split second, he just stared at me, and then at the gun. The dim, pulsing tunnel light caught his face, and I saw it transform. The weary line seemed to deepen, to twist.

His eyes. God's, his eyes. They weren't human. They were pits of utter blackness, reflecting no light, only an ancient, malevolent intelligence. And then, he smiled. It wasn't a human smile. It was too wide, too predatory, filled with an unholy glee. The coppery smell was overpowering now, thick and cloying, like stale blood.

You can't escape it, you know, he hissed, his voice a dry, rasping whisper that scraped at my sanity. It's tasted you now. It knows your scent. Get. Out. I screamed, my finger tightening on the trigger. The smile widened, if that was even possible.

With an unnerving, fluid grace, he opened the car door. He didn't seem bothered by the gun at all. Very well, he said, stepping out into the dim, oppressive gloom of the tunnel. He stood there for a moment, framed by the open door, the wall of absolute darkness just feet behind him, seeming to curl around him like a welcoming cloak. This tunnel may let you go for now, he rasped, his dark eyes fixed on mine. But every tunnel you enter, every shadow you cross, it will be waiting. It has your scent. It will find you again.

You can't run from your own darkness. Then, he turned and, without a backward. glance, calmly walked towards the pursuing blackness. He took one step, then two, and on the third, he simply, dissolved into it. Like smoke. One moment he was there, a dark silhouette against a darker void, and the next, he was gone. Swallowed. I didn't wait. I slammed the gear shift into drive, my foot stomping the accelerator to the floor. The tires spun for a horrifying second on the slick concrete before catching, and the car lurched forward, rocketing away from that spot. I didn't look in the rearview mirror. I couldn't. I just drove, my eyes fixed on that

impossibly distant pinprick of light, praying, bargaining with any God that might be listening. The engine screamed. The tunnel lights were a strobing, sickening blur. I have no idea how fast I was going. I just knew I had to get out. The darkness I could feel it, even without looking. It was still there, still behind me, perhaps still gaining. And then, suddenly, impossibly, the pinprick of light ahead rapidly expanded. It grew, brightened, resolved itself into the distinct, arched opening of the tunnel exit, with the paler light of the pre-dawn sky beyond.

I burst out of the tunnel and into the cool, fresh air of the outside world like a cork from a bottle. I was gasping, sobbing, my entire body shaking uncontrollably. I didn't slow down. I kept accelerating, putting as much distance as possible between me and that a cursed hole in the earth. I drove for what felt like an eternity, though it was probably only ten or fifteen minutes, before I saw the blessed, fluorescent glow of a 24-hour service station sign. I pulled in, my tires screeching, and slammed the car into park.

I almost fell out of the driver's seat, my legs like jelly. I was covered in a cold sweat, hyperventilating. The attendant, a sleepy-looking kid, just stared at me from behind the counter as I stumbled in, probably looking like I'd seen a legion of ghosts. I bought a bottle of water, my hands shaking so badly I could barely open it. I didn't say anything about what happened. What could I say? Who would believe me?

I eventually got back in my car. locked all the doors, and just sat there until the sun came up, the gun on the passenger seat beside me. I never saw any sign of the man's car, no ditch, nothing. The road leading to the tunnel, and away from it, was just an ordinary, empty country road. It's been a few days. I haven't been able to drive through any tunnel since, not even short ones in broad daylight. Every time I approach one, I feel this cold dread, this certainty that it's waiting. His words echo in my head, it has your scent. It will find you again.

I don't know what that thing in the tunnel was. I don't know what the darkness was. But it felt ancient and it felt malevolent. And I know, with a certainty that chills me to the bone, that it's not over the END. It was a sunny and warm school day in Logan County, Oklahoma. I was in grade 9 of high school, and everything was normal, at first. Some time before the end of school, I decided to take a dump on the second floor boys' washroom, my classroom was located there too, and everything was normal.

Then, I smelt it. There was a sweet yet addicting smell coming from the ground. It was my first year in that school, and I didn't know the ins and outs of this place yet, but I decided to investigate. My plan was to tell the principal about this as soon as I figured out what it was. After that, the bell rang. You could hear students run out of the building, doors opening, and teachers reminding their pupils about homework. I went to my classroom, my teacher, Mrs. Punsfield had already left which was strange,

considering she always said she stayed at school until 5.30, to get my backpack and phone and heading down the stairs. That's when the strangeness started. The school was awkwardly quiet. You couldn't hear anything, at least on the second floor. I headed downstairs to get out, but all the doors were locked. The worst thing was that my phone had died, and I had no way to contact the outside world, at least until the next school day. I checked for any open windows on the first floor, but there were none. I decided to camp it out near my locker on the second floor, and that's when I remembered,

I hadn't figured out what was causing the smell yet. It seemed to be getting stronger. And it kept making me want to have more of it, which was weird. I checked the clock in the nearby classroom about a few hours later. It was 6.10, and I was a bit hungry. I ate the granola bar in my backpack, and I decided to move near the heater as it was getting cold. I lost basically all hope and I decided to sleep through the night, hoping the night janitor would find me. He didn't. In fact, there was no janitor at night. I didn't want to turn on any lights because it would cause suspicion.

Then, I saw it. There was a light coming from the first floor, there was a glass window where students on the second floor could see the lobby on the first floor. I headed there using the stairs, and realized the light was coming from a door. A sliver of it was open, and I decided to go in there. I eventually learned that I was inside the school storage room. It was quite dim, but I could clearly see a few crates. They seemed normal, and they looked like your average shipping crate. but one of them was open and I couldn't believe what I saw there were bottles and packages many

different things most of them were your regular school supplies paper pencils and whiteboard markers but a few of the crates were filled with illegal performance enhancing drugs that had the exact same strange smell so that's where the smell on the second floor came from was shocked about how the school was hoarding all of this up then I I heard two voices, one male and one female. They got louder and louder, and that's when the door opened. I thought I was being rescued, but it turns out I wasn't. It was the principal, and one of the lunch ladies.

I hid behind one of the crates, the one with the drugs in particular, but both of them came straight to it and took some of the drugs. That's when they saw me. I was doomed. What are you doing here, at this hour, behind this crate? the principal asks. I got locked inside the school, and I stayed here and I found this place. Ivy got half a mind to call the police.

I said, I was bluffing about the police because my phone was dead, but he didn't have to know. You are in big trouble, boy. You are not supposed to be here, and I will not let you go because you children love spreading stories like this. He said, but this isn't a story, I just want to know why. all of these drugs are here. I told him. His explanation was quick, but unconvincing. He said that in a couple of weeks the standardized tests were happening, and the school could be

demolished and he could lose his job due to plummeting test grades. Not only that, he said that the superintendent was coming that day, and he couldn't risk losing his job and facing embarrassment. He bought these drugs, he didn't specify where, but I didn't want to know, and planned to put them in our lunch the day before the test, in the hopes of not losing his job. I'm just trying to give you free grades, you should be happy, the principal said. But unfortunately, I can't let you free now. You will blab about this to everybody else, he said. He pulled out a pistol from his pocket.

My heart stopped for a second. I ran for my life, pushing the horrible principal and the lunch lady, past the door, heading towards the lobby. I hid behind a vending machine, and luckily they went upstairs, thinking I was there. That's when I saw it. The key to escape this nightmare. There was a phone booth on the other side of the lobby, near the school library. I sprinted there, and dialed 9-1-1.

I figured I had enough time to tell them about this, but I was unsure if I was going to make it out alive. 9-1-1, what's your emergency, said the opposite. Hello, I am a student stuck inside Guthrie High School. The principal is crazy, there's crates full of a legal performance-enhancing drugs in the storage room, and he's hunting me down with a pistol. This sounds a bit fake, considering there's still a few hours before the school opens, but I'll send a few patrols over. We'll come in about five minutes.

The operator replied, I don't blame him for thinking this was not real. It did kind of sound fake. But then, I saw the principal on the stairs, and he saw me. I ran for my life. He shot his pistol at me. Luckily, he missed. He shot it again, and missed, but was really close.

I took cover behind one of the couches, and ran into the cafeteria. The principal followed me there. I thought I was safe, hiding behind the serving counter. But then, the lunch lady came, and she was holding a pot of boiling water. I kept running, and tried to escape through a window in the classroom, but it was locked. Even worse, my foolish past self closed the door, and I couldn't open it. It was locked. I was finished.

Then, I heard sirens. They were distant, but they seemed to be getting closer. I heard one of the doors bust open, and a loud chatter. It was the police, I was saved. But then, the principal came towards the classroom I was hiding in. And I lost all hope. I took a lid from the trash can, and used it as cover. I ran towards the front entrance where the police broke in.

The principal fell for it. He was caught by the police. I was saved. The school was shut down for the day for a health inspection. A new principal took over, and later that he was saved. that night this incident was all over the news. I didn't know it at the time, but it would be forever known as the Oklahoma principal scandal. Two weeks later, the principal was arrested and imprisoned for life, and I never heard of him again. The lunch lady was also fired and fined a

couple thousand dollars. All seemed well, and business in the school was back to normal. The end, all right, so let me tell you something that still creeps me out to this day. I'll call myself Rodney for the sake of this story. This wild ride took place back in February 2011. English isn't my first language, so hang tight if I mess anything up here and there. I'm originally from Haiti, but at the time, I was a 20-year-old dude living with my parents just outside of London. Now, back then, I was dating this girl, let's call her Nicole. She was 19, and honestly, things were really sweet at first. We clicked on a lot of of levels. She was from Martinique, which is this small island in the Caribbean, and they speak

French there, which I also speak fluently. She lived with her older brother and a couple of her male cousins. I thought I had scored big. She was gorgeous, fun at the start, and we had a lot in common. I really believed she was the one. But as you can probably guess, things started to go downhill fast. Over time, she got clingy, like next level possessive. She would go nuts if I talk to any of my female friends, even just to play some online games. There was this one time she actually tried to throw hands with one of my friends because she thought we had a thing. My friend, who, by the way, has taken self-defense classes, absolutely handed her a beat down. That was the last straw. I called it quits with Nicole.

I figured that it'd be the end of it. Boy, was I wrong? About a month later, I started dating another girl, someone who would later become my wife. Let's call her Jennifer. When Nicole found out I had moved on, she completely lost it. My phone wouldn't stop buzzing. She spanned me with calls, emails, and even death threats. Her brother chimed in two, leaving me a voicemail that sounded like something out of a horror movie. I remember the words clearly, you, underscore, underscore, scum,

you're going to suffer for hurting my little sister. I know where you live, and I'm coming for you. Now, Jennifer was naturally freaked out, but I didn't think they'd actually do anything. I thought it was all just empty threats. Well, turns out I had no clue what kind of crazy I was dealing with. One night, both my parents were away visiting family. Jennifer came over and we were just hanging out, enjoying some time alone. out of nowhere we heard this loud banging at the front door not like a knock more like someone

trying to break it down i heard a voice yelling i told you i'd come for you i'm gonna kill you and that little underscore underscore you're with you should have never hurt my sister now you're gonna pay my heart dropped i instantly recognized the voice it was nicole's brother jennifer and i sprinted upstairs and locked ourselves in my bedroom. Then we heard the front door crash open, footsteps storming inside, and chaos erupting downstairs. Turns out, our neighbors had heard the racket and ran in to help before the police arrived. We dialed emergency services while hiding in the room. Cops showed up within a minute, thank God. Nicole's brother had a massive kitchen knife in his backpack. Both he and Nicole were arrested. The charges were attempted men.

slaughter. Yeah, no kidding. But since this is the UK, and the justice system here is soft as marshmallows, things didn't go as expected. They didn't get locked up for long, instead, both were deported back to Martinique. Here's the kicker, Martinique is a French territory. That means technically, they can fly to France and sneak right back into the UK any time they want. Jennifer and I moved on, we're married now, but I'll be honest, we still check over our shoulders sometimes. Now on to something even more bizarre. This story belongs to a guy who, at the time, was 27 and had just wrapped up a year working in San Francisco. He loved the Bay Area, but the cost of living was killing him and being so far from his family in Louisiana was an

ideal. He found a job back home and packed up his car for the long 2,000 mile journey. He figured he'd turn the drive into a mini-adventure. He stopped in SoCal, hit the beaches in L.A. and San Diego, and had a blast. But things started getting weird in Arizona. He was at a rest area, fueling up and stretching his legs, when he noticed this beat-up old white van with red and blue paint streaks on the side. The kind that looks like it's been used to kidnap clowns. There was a guy in the driver's seat smoking a cigarette. The guy gave off major creep vibes, grimy clothes, dirty fingernails, the whole deal. When he smiled and waved, something inside this dude twisted. You know that get feeling. He felt it hard. He nodded

politely, got in his car, and dipped. That night, he stopped in Tucson and noticed the same beat-up van parked outside his hotel. At first, he tried to rationalize it, maybe just a coincidence. But the red and blue smears weren't some design, it looked like someone had painted over rust or graffiti. It was the same exact van. He got spooked, went to his room, and didn't leave until morning. The van was gone when he checked out. Cool. Maybe it was a coincidence. So he continued his road trip and made a stop in Albuquerque. There was a local festival downtown, music, food trucks, good vibes. He's in line for some grub when BAM, that sick feeling hits him again. He looks around, and there he is. The same creepy van guy,

standing by a tree, smoking again, and staring right at him. He decided to walk toward the guy, but as soon as he made a move, the man vanished into the crowd. Okay, now it was officially not a coincidence. This man was following him. He called his parents while driving, and they had different takes. His dad waved it off, you're just being paranoid, man. People travel the same routes. His mom, on the other hand, was a little freaked.

She told him to keep his phone charged and to head to his brother's place in Dallas instead of driving straight to Louisiana. That night, exhausted and still miles from Dallas, he pulled into a remote rest stop in the countryside. It was pitch dark and creepy as hell. He dozed off at the wheel. Next thing he knows, bang bang bang on his window. He jolts awake, turns on the interior lights, and guess who's outside? Yep. The van guy. And oh look, his creepy van is parked right next to him. The man was grinning and motioning for him to roll down his window. I need help, the guy said. Roll it down. Yeah, not happening. He shook his head. The man's face twisted with anger, and he started pounding the window with both fists, trying to open the car door. But everything

was locked. Then, like a bad horror movie, he pulled out a knife and yelled, open your damn door. He didn't wait another second. Fired up the engine, slammed it in reverse, and got the hell out of there. The guy chased him with the knife in hand. He barely made it out without losing his mind. He called his parents again, and now they were both freaked out. Nobody was brushing anything off. They told him to go to the nearest big city and crash at a hotel. The next day, he filed a police report. They said they'd passed the info to Highway Patrol, but it wasn't likely they'd find the guy. Cameras were non-existent, and the guy was probably long gone.

He made it safely to Dallas, told his brother and sister-in-law everything, and his brother, Texan through and through, said he'd keep his guns loaded just in case. He stayed there a week before finally driving home to Louisiana. Thankfully, he never saw that van again. But since then, he avoids road trips alone like the plague. especially on country roads. Because out there, in the middle of nowhere, it's too easy to vanish without a trace. And honestly, the scariest part.

That someone, a complete stranger, chose to stalk him across multiple states for two whole days. And we'll never know why. The last story I'll share comes from 2009, in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. It's from a woman named Vanessa. She was 16 at the time, had just gotten her license, and her dad gifted her a slick 2009 Infinity G-37 sedan. Big win. Vanessa has three sisters, Sasha, Clarice, and Sabrina, and they were all super hyped. To celebrate, they planned a road trip to Delaware County to visit family.

Their dad and stepmom were chill about it. Just told them to drive safe. The trip out was great. no issues but on the way back things went sideways the end i'm a 20 year old woman now but this story starts when i was just 11 years old back then i lived in a small town right on the edge of rockford illinois an area not exactly known for being safe or quiet rockford's got this rough reputation for drugs violence and even human trafficking you'd think an 11 year old wouldn't notice or care but But it was the kind of town where you pick up on danger fast, whether you want to or not.

I had a cousin named Julie, also a girl, about eight years old at the time. That night, we were just two kids planning a simple sleepover. Nothing big. Just junk food, soda, maybe some TV. I had a few leftover dollars from my birthday, and we decided to walk to the nearby Casey's gas station to grab some snacks. It was super close, walking distance from my house, and I was already used to going there alone or with friends. My parents didn't really helicopter over me.

I was pretty independent for my age. That independence definitely came in handy that night. So we told the adults, who were busy chatting and drinking in the backyard, that we were headed to the gas station. They waved us off like we were just walking to the end of the driveway. It was dark but not too late, maybe around 8.30 p.m. The gas station wasn't far, like a 10, or 15-minute walk. As we walked into the lot, I noticed a big semi-truck parked out front.

Not crazy unusual. Deliveries happened, and sometimes truckers stopped for food or a break. Then this middle-aged guy walks out of the store. He looks pretty normal. Scruffy, plain clothes, Nothing immediately terrifying. He smiles and asks how we're doing. Julie and I were raised to be polite, so we answered back, nothing weird yet.

You girls like horses, he asked. Julie lit up instantly. Yeah. Well, he said, I've got a couple of thoroughbreds in the trailer if you want to take a look. They're beautiful. Just take a second. Julie was already halfway to the back of the truck before I could say anything. But me?

Something didn't sit right. First red flag, that gas station didn't have diesel pumps. Why would a semi-truck be parked there if it couldn't even refuel? There was another gas station with diesel pumps less than a mile away. Second, I glanced at the trailer. It wasn't even the kind you'd use for horses. No windows, no air vents. You couldn't keep animals in there without them suffocating.

alarm bell in my head went off. The man took a step closer to us. My heart started racing. My dad's actually about to pick us up, I blurted out, grabbing Julie's hand. He just texted me. We have to hurry, Julie looked confused. But, I cut her off. He'll be mad if we're late, the guy didn't move right away. You sure? It'd only take a second. No thanks. I said, trying not to sound scared but still pulling Julie along. We ran into the gas station and didn't stop there. I yanked her all the way into the women's bathroom. She was still protesting.

Why didn't you let me see the horses? I looked her in the eye and told her the truth. Her face went pale. We waited about five minutes. I peeked out and didn't see the truck anymore, so we quickly bought our snacks and took the long way home. through a field, avoiding the road. We never told our parents. We knew they'd freak out and probably never let us walk there again. I thought, if I could figure that out once, I could

do it again. Now. Older me knows how stupid that logic was. We got lucky. Another story, this time when I was just starting middle school. It was Thanksgiving break. Our elementary school had a termite problem, and they'd moved classes to the YMCA. They said the renovations would take a year and a half. One afternoon, my brother Jack and I decided to go see the old school building. It had been gutted and abandoned for months. Nobody had said it was haunted or anything, we just wanted to check it out. Inside, it was a mess. Walls knocked down, broken glass everywhere. Some kids had gotten in before us and written nasty stuff all over the chalkboards. I guess we weren't the only ones who thought sneaking in was a good idea. Just before we were

about to leave, we peeked into one last classroom. On the chalkboard was written, look under the sink. Of course, my brilliant brother did just that. Nothing was there. But then, B.A.M. A loud crash. We whipped around. At the far end of the room, there was a man standing in a phantom of the opera mask. Just, standing there, holding a crowbar. He started walking, smashing each window in the classroom one by one. We didn't wait around to find out what came next. We bolted out of that room and down the hallway, hearing footsteps behind us.

Maybe yelling too, or maybe it was just our panic playing tricks on our ears. We made it home and never said a word to any. anyone. We didn't want to get in trouble for sneaking into the school. When classes finally resumed months later, nobody ever mentioned the broken windows or the masked man. Probably figured it was just another case of vandalism. But to this day, I still wonder what his plan was. To scare us? Hurt us. We weren't going to stick around to find out. Fast forward a few years. I was 23 and living in Philly, Philadelphia, the so-called city of brotherly love. My girlfriend at the time lived about 40 minutes outside the city, near Westchester.

One night, I left her place around 12.30 a.m., way too late since I had work early the next day. Not long after hitting the road, my gas light popped on. Great. I found a wah-wa on the GPS about five minutes away. It wasn't a sketchy area, pretty safe as far as places near Philly go. I pulled in. A couple of other cars were parked there. I filled up, noticed two tires looked low, so I drove to the air pumps on the corner of the lot. I started with the front left tire.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an old pickup truck roll into the lot and slowly back into the space next to mine. Weird. It's late. Why pick the pump right next to me when the whole place is empty? Then the guy gets out. Maybe in his 50s or 60s. Scruffy. Glasses.

Creepy stare. Just stood there, watching me. Is your pump broken, sir? I asked, trying to ease the tension. No response. Just cold staring. Then he reaches into the back of his truck, still staring. and pulls out a rope. He starts sprinting toward me. I dropped the air hose and jumped into my

car, thankful I'd left it running. I slammed it into drive, and as I pulled away, he slammed his hand on my window and dragged it as I peeled off. Left a long smear. I drove the whole way home with my heart racing. Nothing like that had ever happened to me. Two weeks later, a friend on Instagram posted an article about multiple kidnappings in that exact area. My blood ran cold. I knew then, I got away. Barely. Now back to my childhood, maybe around 1991. I was in third grade, my sister in fifth. We lived close to our school, just a few blocks away, and our grandparents lived on the next street over. One day after school, we decided to visit our grandpa. He was an Air Force mechanic, and we loved stopping by unannounced. As we started to cross the street

to get there, a man blocked our path. Big dude. Like, terrifyingly huge. The kind of guy you'd expect to lift trucks for fun. Nobody else was around. It was one of those creepy moments where you suddenly realized the whole streets empty. You two are coming with me, he growled and lunged at us. My sister didn't hesitate. I'd recently had ankle surgery, so I couldn't run fast. She picked me up, literally threw me over her shoulders, and booked it down the alley back toward our house. We banged on the door, but no one was home. Then I looked back, he was coming. Just then, our neighbor, an older lady, stepped outside. With a shotgun. She saw us, saw him, and didn't even hesitate.

You touch these kids and you'll never be able to touch anything again, she yelled, aiming the gun right at him. He froze, raised his hands, and slowly backed away. Disappeared down the alley. We called the cops. They never found him. But there had been reports of other attempted kidnappings in the area. That woman.

She saved us. Last story, at least for now. I'm originally from Denmark, moved to the U.S. in 2009. I'd always dreamed of coming here. Learned English since I was a kid. When I was 19, I got into a college in San Francisco. But housing? A nightmare.

Way too expensive. A friend connected me with a Danish guy named George who lived in Oakland. He offered to let me stay with him and his family till I found something else. sweet deal we got along great he was a raiders superfan and told me if i ever rooted for another team i'd have to find a new place to live joking probably one october george and his wife went to houston to visit her parents and see the raiders play the texans i stayed behind a couple nights in i was studying late with the window open for some breeze i must have fallen asleep at my desk. I woke up to breathing. Behind me. Then a hand clamped over my mouth.

Cold steel touched my neck. You make a sound, and I'll bleed you dry. I froze. In the mirror on my desk, I saw him. Black mask. Hood. Knife. Shaking. He whispered, we're going to the window. Blink once if you understand, I blinked. Next to the window was a lamp, glass base, heavy. The switch was broken, you had to unplug it to turn it off. As he moved me toward the window, he said, I have a gun. Don't try anything. He lowered the knife.

I swung that lamp like my life depended on it, because it did. Glass shattered on his head. I jumped out the window and sprinted to a neighbor's. came, searched the house. He was gone. But they found blood near the window and shards of the lamp. His DNA. They never found him, but maybe I scared him straight. Oh, and the Raiders? They got absolutely wrecked. Lost 29 to 6. This last part happened late one night as I drove home from work on a pitch black highway. The kind of road where your phone has no bars and the silence is louder. than any noise. To be continued, the man behind the door, all right, so this happened when I was

11 years old. It still gives me the creeps just thinking about it. At the time, my biggest worry was school and whether my favorite cartoon would get canceled, not, you know, whether some random dude was going to come out of the shadows and wreck my entire sense of safety. I lived with my mom and older sister in this small, kind of run-down apartment building on the edge of town. It wasn't the worst place, but it wasn't winning any awards either. You could hear your neighbors sneeze through the walls, and if someone was cooking something, the whole floor knew. Still, it was home, and I never really questioned whether it was safe. Until, of course, everything changed. It was a Friday night, and my mom had to work the overnight shift at the

hospital. My sister was 15 and felt super mature about being left in charge. She acted like she was an adult, even though she still slept with a nightlight. Anyway, we were supposed to be asleep by ten, but come on, we had the house to ourselves. That meant snacks, scary movies, and whispering until one of us passed out from giggling too hard. Around midnight, we finally decided to crash. I remember I brushed my teeth, turned off the living room lights, and crawled into bed with a bag of gummy worms hidden under my pillow. Don't judge, I had a system. My room was small, with one window that faced the alley behind our building.

The light from the street lamp outside always left this weird orange glow on my ceiling. It used to freak me out, but by then I was used to it. What I wasn't used to was what I saw that night. I woke up suddenly. Not like, oops I forgot to pee, wake up, but that jarring kind where your heart is racing and you have no idea why. I sat up, disoriented. The room was silent, no TV noise, no footsteps, nothing. But something felt, wrong.

Like the air had changed. And then I heard it. A soft creak, like someone stepping on that one squeaky floorboard by the hallway. I froze. It wasn't loud, but it was enough. My door was open just a crack, the way I always left it so I could see the hallway. light. But the hallway was dark, which was weird, because my sister always left the kitchen light on overnight. Always. I figured maybe she forgot and decided to get up and turn it on.

Sam. I whispered. That's my sister's name. Nothing. Just more silence. I got out of bed and tiptoed to the door. I peeked out into the hallway, trying to see if maybe she was walking around or getting water. But no one was there. The kitchen light was off. Everything was pitch black except for the tiny glow coming from my room. Then I heard the creek again. Only this time it wasn't in the hallway, it was inside the apartment. In the living room. Now, I'm not brave. I don't have main character energy. I shut the door and locked it without even thinking. My hands were shaking. I backed away from the door, trying to rationalize. Maybe Sam was sleepwalking.

Or maybe I imagined it. Yeah, maybe I dreamed the sound. I sat on the edge of my bed, gummy worms forgotten, staring at the door. And then, the handle moved. Not violently, not fast. Just a soft jiggle, like someone trying not to wake me up. I didn't breathe. I couldn't.

I felt every nerve in my body scream. The handle stopped moving. And then the knocking started. Not loud banging. Just a tap. Tap. Open the door, a voice said. It wasn't my sister.

It wasn't anyone I knew. It was a man's voice, calm, low, almost friendly. Open up, he said again. I know you're in there. I backed up until I had. hit the wall, shaking so bad I thought my knees would give out. I wanted to scream for my sister, but my throat wouldn't work. I just slid down the wall and started crying silently. Then, something happened that haunts me more than the voice or the knocking. Whoever was

outside, crouched down. I could tell because of the shadow under the door. I saw it move, lowering, like he was sitting or kneeling. Just waiting. He didn't speak any. He didn't speak any more. He just waited there, right outside my door. I don't know how long I sat there, frozen. It could have been minutes. It felt like hours. Then, footsteps. Slowly moving away. Not toward the front door. Not toward the hallway. But toward my sister's room. I snapped out of my paralysis and ran to my closet. I climbed in and closed the door behind me, tuck. myself under a pile of clothes. I grabbed the little plastic bat I kept in there for baseball practice. Like that was going to help. I heard nothing for a while. Then, I heard her scream.

Not a long scream, just one burst, like she was shocked and scared all at once. Then silence again. I wanted to run to her. I wanted to break down the door. But I was too scared. I stayed in that closet until the sun came up. I don't remember falling asleep. I just remember the next thing I saw was daylight peeking through the closet slats. I ran to my sister's room. She was fine. Sound asleep.

Door locked from the inside. I shook her awake, crying and babbling about what happened. She didn't believe me. Thought I had a nightmare. Said I was watching too many horror movies. I begged her to do. checked the apartment. Everything looked normal. Nothing was missing. The front door was locked. The windows shut. I tried to convince her, but she just rolled her eyes and said,

you really need to chill. I didn't chill. I didn't sleep properly for weeks. My mom brushed it off too, just a bad dream. Maybe it was just a neighbor walking by, sweetie. I knew better. I know what I heard. I saw. But that's not even the worst part. About two months later, one of the tenants down the hall, a single mom, reported a break-in. She'd gone out to get groceries, and when she came back, someone had broken in through the fire escape. Nothing was stolen, but her bedroom door had been damaged, like someone had tried to kick it in. The cops came, but they didn't find anything useful. After that, we started locking our windows and putting chairs under the doorknob. But I never felt safe again.

Because here's the thing, a few days after that woman reported the break-in, I found something under my bed while cleaning. A single, black leather glove. Not ours. Not my mom's. Not Sam's. Not mine. Just, a glove.

Right under my bed. Like someone had been in there. Watching. Waiting. And that's when I realized the worst part, he was already inside. Not trying to get in. Not knocking to be let in. He was already there.

For context, I'm 23M, and my father is, 64. Only recently, as I'm an adult as he started to open up about his past and the things he went through. Never could I have imagined the hardships and things that happened to him. It has honestly blown my mind. So I started to write down his story with his permission. mission to share. Anyways, I will detail here what I know about him without revealing any names or specific locations. This is a very long post, sorry for that. Please let me know if this is something worth pursuing, along with any tips you may have. My father grew up as one of 24

children in his family, born in Laos in 1959 during the civil war between communist Pathet Lao, who was backed by northern Vietnam and the Royal Lao government. The U.S. backed the royal Lao government and engaged in what is known as the Lao's secret war, and dropped more than 270 million cluster bombs on Laos in a nine-year period, making Laos the most bombed country per capita. During which my dad went to Catholic school in the morning and then to public school in the afternoon. Many families sent their children to Catholic schools so they could be fed due to the overwhelming poverty at the time. France had integrated Laos into French Indochina many decades prior, building many Catholic churches and schools. Thus converting a portion of the

country from Buddhism to Catholicism. The school my father went to also taught the children Muay Thai as part of the curriculum for some reason. As my father studied and trained for a few years, the conflict was starting to spread closer to his village and tension was building with the people there. My dad was around 10 at this time. I should also mention that my grandfather was a horrifying and abusive man. He was short and stocky, covered in tattoos of the Naga from head to toe. The Naga is a demigod-se serpent that is worshipped in Lao culture, said to reside in the Mekong River. All 24 of the children were his but split between three wives, which was sort of the norm at the time in Laos. My grandfather was seen as a powerful man in the

village because of his abundance of sons. At the time you could just go and claim land with manpower alone, so my grandfather and his sons would go and claim rice fields for themselves. If any of his children didn't obey his orders he would punish them very severely, as well as punished the respective child's mother. Intense beatings were the norm. As well as being farmers, my family were renowned water buffalo tamers. People would come to buy water buffalo and their meat, it was profitable. Once the conflict grew closer, buyers for the rice and buffalo stopped coming. This led my grandfather to turn to crime, crossing the Mekong River to Thailand to sell his goods, where he also began selling opium. Which was all explicitly outlawed. He forced his

older sons to accompany him in the cover of night, risking all their lives in the process due to the nearby communist camps that would patrol the river at night looking to execute any who tried to escape across the river, and freedom fighters crossing into the country to fight the communists. During this time, my uncle, a pilot in the Lao military, decided to escape the country. He was about 15 years older than my father and was married to my aunt, who is my father's older sibling. Sorry if that was confusing, they had a two-year-old son and did not want to bring him up in the middle of this conflict. At the time my uncle was stationed in Thailand because the communists were gathering up all the stray Lao government officials and members of the

military to send them to work camps. My uncle hatched a plan to sneak back into Laos across the river at night and retrieve his wife and child. Initially, things went well and he was able to cross into the country without being spotted and retrieve his family, but by the time they returned to the river of the boat that was waiting for them was gone, chased away by communist soldiers. So my uncle waited while hiding in a bush with his wife and their small child for days until finally, another boat arrived to rescue them. This act inspired more people in the village to try and rebel or escape, causing many unfortunate deaths. My grandfather was explicitly against any of his other children attempting to do anything similar despite his frequent trips across the river.

I guess he had a sort of, nobody can endanger my children but me, mindset. A few years went by with nothing major happening in the village, though the conflict was still going strong. My dad was around 13 at this time, and my grandfather became increasingly abusive due to the lack of money and food around, which led him to do one of the worst things I have had the displeasure of hearing to this day. My father had been tending the fields and hurting Buffalo. During that time he had made his first real friend, a stray dog that he would often see on the edge of the village. He began to feed the dog with the little scraps he was able to sneak away from home, and the dog began accompanying him to the fields every morning while he did his work. The way my father

described this dog and their relationship made me understand how much it meant to him. The dog became his best friend. They did everything together, and my father was happy for the first time in his life. Then one day, an unspecified amount of time later. My father woke up and was not able to find his buddy, he went out to the fields and the dog never came, he tended to the buffalo and the dog was nowhere to be seen. He finished his work and returned home to find the most horrifying thing a child could see. My grandfather had the top half of his dog strung up on a meat hook to dry, while he sat and ate the other portion right in front of my father. My dad began to break down and cry asking him why he would do this, his father told him that he had

seen him walking around the fields with this dog. He said that all animals are to him is meat and he was hungry, knowing that this was my father's only friend and that taking him away would break my father's heart. This event is what would make my father start to truly hate his father. At this point, my dad had completely renounced any type of relationship he had with his father and decided that he would take revenge. My father spoke to his brothers and was able to convince a handful of them to help him take revenge for the beatings they'd all received and for the abuse of their mothers. Some time later they decided the time was right, they waited for their father to come home from a trip into town. When he did, they surrounded him, ready to take

out all their frustrations on him. It was at this point that a few of the brothers started to get scared and backed down, but my father was so enraged that he rushed at his father with a farming tool and the intent to seriously harm him. Only my father was a 13-year-old boy, and his father was a grown man, strong from working the fields his entire life. My father proceeded to get the worst beating of his life, right there in front of his brothers. Everyone was too petrified to move and just let my father be beaten within an inch of his life. To this day my father still has resentment toward those brothers that he feels betrayed him that day. From then forward, the mistreatment toward my father only got worse and finally reached a boiling point.

My father realized that the only way he could get away from this abuse was to escape the country. This time he made sure only to tell the people he trusted. That being just two friends from the village who were a few years older than him. There were only two problems, they had no canoe to cross the river, and my father knew his siblings and mother would be punished for him leaving. Despite this, they still decided to go through with their plan. They spent the time they had after work going up and down the river scouting for the narrowest part of the river, and the parts with the weakest current so they could cross. The Mekong can be over a mile wide, or 1.5 kilometers in some areas.

The soldiers also only patrolled the river at night, as during the day it was sort of a no-man's land, and people were allowed to continue fishing and working on the river. At the same time, they were slowly gathering supplies for their journey. At some point, my grandmother started to put together what they were up to and offered to help them. She pulled my father aside and told him that she knew what they were up to and told them where to cross the river, as well as when my grandfather would be away and that they should steal his canoe and leave at that time. They had a long conversation about what would happen after they left. Much of this conversation my dad skimmed over when telling

me. My grandmother assured my father that she would be okay and that this was his opportunity for a better life. She gave him what little money she could without anyone noticing, and a handful of jewelry she had been stashing. With that the plan was complete. Sometime later my father and his friends decided that the time was right. They gathered the little belongings they could carry on their backs and said their goodbyes. They left for the river in the middle of the night while my grandfather was in the woods foraging for mushrooms. It was lightly raining, they made their way to the canoe and sat for a while to gather the courage to actually get in. Once they were in they were almost immediately spotted

by a nearby patrol of communist soldiers. At this point, the fight or flight response kicked in, and they all chose flight. Knowing that turning around and surrendering would lead to being sent to a work camp or worse. So they all paddled as hard as they could away from the Lao shore and toward the Thai shore. The soldiers made their way to the edge of the embankment and began firing their guns into the water. Sadly, one friend was struck in the back of the head and died instantly, falling into the water. They had no time to process what just happened and continued to paddle for their lives. That was until my father's other friend was also hit, it pierced his upper back and he was paralyzed. My father started to panic and dropped the paddle only to be shot in his

right shoulder as well, but more soldiers were coming up the river in a boat and they had no time. Nearby Thai soldiers heard the gunfire and rushed to the shore on their side, returning fire to give my dad enough time to reach the shore. He touched the soil and knew that he had made it. Once they touched Thai soil, the soldiers no longer pursued them as they did want to start an all battle with the Thai soldiers at this time. The Thai soldiers began to escort my father and carry his paralyzed friend inland, but my dad decided to stop for a moment to look back. He saw the communist soldiers picking his dead friend up out of the water and placing him in the boat. My father still suffers from survivors' guilt to this day, which is what led him to do what he

did next. The Thai soldiers told them about a few large refugee camps on the border in Thailand, so my father decided to head towards one. On their way, they had to stop at an immigration Center so my father could register as a refugee and get some medical attention. Once completed, my dad, filled with anger, changed his mind and decided to head towards a group of Lao refugees he had heard about who had decided to form a resistance group to fight back against the communists. So my father said goodbye to his friend who had been paralyzed and started traveling to this camp alone.

This camp was run by a Lao man who was previously in the Lao military until his entire unit was rounded up and sent to work camps or executed. This man was the only one to escape. When my dad arrived at this place there were many young Lao men just like him, around 100, and many of them my dad knew from around his village. After feeding my father the man in charge explained that he was forming a resistance group, funded by the Thai military secretly, to go back and reclaim their villages from the communists and that my father could either join or be on his way to the refugee camp.

At this time my father is around 14, my dad joined this camp and began his training as a child soldier of sorts. This is one of the things I only learned about my father very recently, so I don't have many details about this time of his life yet. My dad started by training with firearms and digging trenches around their base, should the communists ever come to the Thai side. Part of the schedule was patrols during the day and night, my dad was stationed on night patrol where he admitted to messing around with an M-16 accidentally firing off about 15 rounds into the night sky, which awoke the whole camp, who scolded him and nearly kicked him out. My dad was at this resistance camp for little more than six months, during this time they orchestrated several surprise attacks against groups of communist soldiers, my dad detailed his feelings about what happened, saying that he always had severe anxiety every time they got into a boat to go back into Laos, probably due to the trauma he suffered crossing the river the day he escaped.

He would close his eyes the entire boat ride and only open them once he knew they had made it across. Once back in the country, usually, groups of three men would sneak around small villages, looking for patrols they could follow back to the main camps to map out where all their bases were. When they had identified all the camps in a given area, they would leave and gather more men to come back and wait to ambush patrols in quieter, more secluded areas, taking away a lot of manpower the communists had. Doing this allowed them to sneak people out of Laos much easier, and they were even able to rid a few small villages of soldiers altogether.

Despite going on more than a few of these missions, my dad is not sure if he ever killed anyone. In the same way that he closed his eyes when he was in the boat, he closed his eyes as they shot into groups of enemy soldiers, probably trying to save himself from the trauma of knowing, or just from being scared. This all culminated when my dad was sent out on one of the scouting missions, only this time they were scouting his village and the surrounding area. They arrived on the Lao shore, and this time my father was more angry than anxious. They entered the outskirts of the village and hid, having been here not long ago, my dad

knew where a few of the enemy camps were nearby, and also where they usually patrolled. When they stepped foot in the village, my dad was filled with rage and hatred. For the first time since joining, he wanted to end someone's life. They continued further into the village until they were basically on my grandfather's property, which only pissed my dad off more. They ducked down into the bushes and waited. Eventually, a patrol came into view, and as they got closer, my dad started to lose his composure. This mission was intended to be a scouting mission as they were only a group of three, but

my dad was so furious that he stood up and pointed his rifle at the approaching soldiers, ready to end them. Just when he was about to start firing, his comrades pulled him down into the bushes, thankfully before they were spotted. My father fought for them to let go, but they held him down until the soldiers passed. They then explained to my dad that he wasn't thinking clearly. There was a nearby camp they already knew about, within distance to hear any commotion happening in the village, and that if my dad fired, they might have been able to kill the patrolling soldiers and get away uninjured, but there would soon be reinforcements coming and they would most likely slaughter my dad and his comrades, as well as the people of the village. Now coming to his senses, my dad agreed with them and they finished their scouting and then returned to Thailand.

On December 2nd, 1975 Laos had officially been seized by the communist Pathet Lao. Though it was over, the communists were still very hostile, making return to Laos for refugees impossible. My dad was distraught, the people in the resistance camp started to notice his reluctance to go out and fight, and he soon started to refuse. This was against the rules, as my dad had signed a contract to fight with them until they accomplished their goal, or died trying. My dad was on track to being punished when an older man who was in charge of some of the

men approached him. My father had seen this man in camp several times and always thought. he looked familiar. It turns out that this older man was a relative of my father's, he had married one of my dad's distant aunt some time ago, and they moved to a village far away enough that they hardly ever saw each other, and after the conflict got close they weren't able to come back at all. This older man told my father that he didn't recognize him either until he heard his name. They talked for a while and he proceeded to tell my dad that he knew fighting wasn't for him, he would surely die in vain and make the escape his mother created for him

pointless. He offered to rip up the contract my dad signed and help him leave the resistance camp. After some thought my dad agreed to this and his days as a freedom fighter were over. Once he was out of the camp, the only option was to head to a refugee camp for shelter. When my dad got there, he said it was the most depressing environment he had been in. At least in the resistance camp, they had a purpose, a goal to strive for and keep them from falling apart. Here, the people had nothing. No hope of ever returning to their villages, or seeing the families they left behind again. They woke up in the morning and lined up with the bulls the camp provided them,

and cows with small trailers and tow were led into the camp hauling barrels of food mush. You handed your bowl to the person in charge and they would dish out your food for the whole day, you had to make that small bowl of food last for all three meals every day. At some point, my dad became tired of this monotonous life he was living and started looking for things to do, or ways to get more food. There was a bit of a trade market going on between the refugees, some of them came with livestock or bundles of rice and different vegetables. My dad quickly burned through the little money his mother had given him to buy extra food,

and the jewelry was of no use, as no one would trade precious food for them. A few months passed like this and my dad started to make some friends, as well as reconnect with people he had known from home. His new friends were not the best influences, they inducted him into a sort of gang that would steal money and food from other refugees, as the Thai soldiers didn't care about what they did to each other. The word started to spread that my dad and his friends were bad news, and people stopped associating with them. The only other place they could go was a nearby Thai village, but the rules forbid

anyone from leaving the camp without permission and a written pass. There were a few problems with this system, one was that there was only a certain amount of passes to be given out each day, and there were thousands of refugees in the camp. You would need to sign up for a pass ahead of time and be put on a waiting list, but with the amount of people in the camp it could be months before you were able to get one. The other problem being that there were people who had befrived the guards and got to skip the whole process to get a pass, making the waiting game take even longer for other people. My dad and his friends decided to go the faster route and tried befriending the guards, they started by buying alcohol for them and staying up late

to hang out with them. At some point, one of the guards developed a crush on the little sister of one of the friends. They found this out and used it as leverage, telling the guard that they would for sure get her to go on a date with him, and he agreed to let them out whenever he was stationed at the entrance. From their things became much easier for them, being able to go into town and get supplies as well as just having fun. Eventually, they found out about this Muay Thai fighting ring where they could earn some money. You had to have a sponsor or someone to vouch for you to be able to fight in these things, so my dad kept showing up and sparring with people hoping to get noticed, and eventually did. He made a deal with this guy who said he would get my

dad fights, and if he won they would split the money, but if he lost, my dad would have to pay him. Shitty deal, but my dad took it. He said he fought four times and won every time, which is very believable if you have ever actually met my father. Every time he fought, he was able to pay for at least one week's worth of food, two if he made it last. So it was worth it for him. After about a year of being in the refugee camp, word spread about a humanitarian aid organization called Compassion International. They had a sponsorship system in which a family from somewhere in the world would send money to kids and adults up to 22 years old in countries in need. They would send some for food, education, and necessities, and sometimes, in the case of people

like my father, get the person out of the country. My dad heard about this and signed up through the refugee camp. It took a while, but around 1978 my dad became sponsored by a family of five from France. They sent him money for all his daily needs and my dad began to do better. Not hanging out with the same friends anymore and beginning to go to church. He would be sponsored by this family until he was 20 when they offered to buy him a plane ticket to anywhere in the world. My dad chose to go to San Francisco. He packed up what little he had said his goodbyes, and left for the U.S. He arrived in 1980, and once there he had to go through a sort of vetting process to be eligible for immigrant status in the U.S.

the immigration agent that processed his arrival was in charge of taking down all my dad's information in submitting the forms. When my dad told him our last name, the agent misspelled it, and when my dad tried to correct him, the agent just brushed him off. My dad never bothered to change it back so my last name is legally different than what it should be. He stayed in San Francisco for two months until he was granted immigrant status and able to travel elsewhere in the United States. By this time he had already decided that he hated San Francisco and that it was not for him. After remembering his sister who escaped all those years before was also in the U.S., the same sister detailed earlier. He tracked her down to Utah and got in contact with her.

She told him the story about how her family got to the U.S. after they escaped from Laos. My uncle being a pilot for the Lao military, knew some soldiers stationed at a refugee camp near where they were and knew that they had a helicopter. My uncle, along with some of the soldiers he convinced to flee, stole the helicopter and took his family to a safer part of the country where they would then leave for the U.S. Once there, they would go through the same process my father did and end up in Utah. My aunt agreed to take in my dad for a while until he figured something out. He slept on her couch for a few weeks until he knew they couldn't afford to feed him anymore, as they were struggling to raise a child in a new country where they didn't know the language, and didn't have a proper education.

Not to mention the racism toward Asians at the time immediately following the Vietnam and Lao's wars. So my dad decided to go to Job Corps. While there he would learn enough English to get by and studied to be a machinist. Two years passed and he left Job Corps and became a full-time machinist. After getting a place to stay and saving up some money, my dad decided to buy a car. He went to a small dealership where he bought a car and drove it off the lot. Not even five minutes into his drive, the car broke down and my dad went back to the dealership.

He tried to return the car but the salesman took advantage of his poor English and told my my father there was nothing he could do. My dad didn't realize how things worked and couldn't read or write well enough to know that he was entitled to a refund if he wanted. So my dad took the loss and kept the car. He became angry not at the salesman, but at himself for not knowing the language well enough. My dad enrolled himself in ESL classes to bridge the gap and hopefully get some more respect. During this time my dad became intrigued by bodybuilders like Lou Farragno and Arnold, and

he envied the respect they demanded with their presence. So he began lifting in his free time and soon became obsessed with it, spending an absurd amount of time at the gym. He would meet a lot of people at the gym in the 80s, a few of them becoming lifelong friends. One of them was a man who was almost 20 years older than my dad. He was from Indonesia and shared a lot in common with my father so they bonded and he became a father figure to my dad. He also met a man about the same age as him who introduced him to the world of powerlifting.

Over the course of 10 years, my father took a lot of steroids and got absolutely massive, around 220 pounds at 5 feet 8 inches in his early 30s with a PR5 plate bench press, or 495 pounds per 224 kilograms. He also met a woman and briefly married her to get his U.S. citizenship. Not really marriage fraud, just a mutual agreement between them. Things just didn't work so they split up. At some point, my dad had figured out how to get in contact with his family back home and found out most of them were doing okay, though he didn't talk to anyone very often except his mother,

and the only thing his father ever said to him was to send him money. In those 10 years, my dad transitioned to working in real estate and owned a few houses and a couple of cars. He was finally prospering and doing better than he ever could have imagined he would all those years ago when he was a farmer in the war-torn jungle. It was now the 90s, my dad had a lot of friends, and things were looking good. My dad spent a lot of years partying and just enjoying his life. The man from Indonesia brought my dad in as a member of his family, so he would spend all holidays split between that family and his sister's family. My father decided to quit his job as a real estate agent and work with the man from

Indonesia, who owned a successful auto recovery company, so my dad became a tow truck driver. I know, a crazy career change, but my dad ended up buying the company and turned it from just successful to thriving. More years went by and through mutual friends, my dad befriended a woman who he would know for many more years as she went through a failed marriage and had two boys. My dad ended up helping her out as she was essentially homeless with two kids and nowhere to go. He gave her money to rent an apartment for the time being and she promised to pay him back eventually. Well, eventually turned into her moving in with my dad and them starting a relationship.

She would become my mother, and my dad would become a stepdad and a father at the same time. She found out she was pregnant with me and my dad bought a home for his new family in late 1999. By 2000, they all settled in and I was born. Then my dad got a call from his mother letting him know his father had died. My dad got on a flight back to Laos to attend his funeral, and this would be the first time he had been back to Laos in 20 years. When he arrived he immediately felt out of place, gone for so long not speaking his native tongue, he lost a lot of his vocabulary. He came back to Laos to see his family and help them with the expenses, but deep down he had some unfinished business with his father that he felt he couldn't resolve without returning to say goodbye.

My dad spent only one short week there, seeing all the family he left behind, attending the funeral ceremonies, and spending time with his mother. He found out that the friend who was paralyzed in the escape attempt was still alive and living in France with some family. After everything, my father felt there was nothing left there for him, and returned to the U.S. and his family. That concludes everything I know about my dad, other than the hymn that I knew growing up, and the parts he either left out, forgot, or just weren't important.

Overall, I think that my dad had a very intense life growing up and that his story deserves to be told. If you made it this far, please tell me what you think about it, and whether this is something you would consider interesting enough to be adapted into a larger, more detailed work. Thank you for reading. For context, I'm 23M, and my father is, 64. Only recently, as I'm an adult as he started to open up about his past and the things he went through.

Never could I have imagined the hardships and things that happened to him. It has honestly blown my mind. So I started to write down his story with his permission to share. Anyways, I will detail here what I know about him without revealing any names or specific locations. This is a very long post, sorry for that. Please let me know if this is something worth pursuing, along with any tips you may have. My father grew up as one of 24 children in his family, born in Laos in 1959 during the civil war between communist Pathet Lao, who was backed by northern Vietnam, and the Royal

Lao government. The U.S. backed the Royal Lao government and engaged in what is known as the, Lao's secret war, and dropped more than 270 million cluster bombs on Laos in a nine-year period, making Laos the most bombed country per capita. During which my dad went to Catholic school in the morning and then to public school in the afternoon. Many families sent their children to Catholic school so they could be fed due to the overwhelming poverty at the time. France had integrated Laos into French Indochina many decades prior, building many Catholic churches and schools. Thus converting a portion of the country from Buddhism to Catholicism. The school my father went to also taught the children Muay Thai as part of the curriculum for

some reason. As my father studied and trained for a few years, the conflict was starting to spread closer to his village and tension was building with the people there. My dad was around ten at this time, I should also mention that my grandfather was a horrifying and abusive man. He was short and stocky, covered in tattoos of the Naga from head to toe. The Naga is a demi-god sea serpent that is worshipped in Lao culture, said to reside in the Mekong River. All 24 of the children were his but split between three wives, which was sort of the norm at the time in Laos. My grandfather was seen as a powerful man in the village because of his abundance of sons. At the time you could just go and claim land with manpower alone, so my grandfather

and his sons would go and claim rice fields for themselves. If any of his children didn't obey his orders he would punish them very severely, as well as punish the respective child's mother. Intense beatings were the norm. As well as being farmers, my family were renowned water buffalo tamers. People would come to buy water buffalo and their meat, it was profitable. Once the conflict grew closer, buyers for the rice and buffalo stopped coming. This led my grandfather to turn to crime, crossing the Mekong River to Thailand to sell his goods, where he also began selling opium. Which was all explicitly outlawed. He forced his older sons to accompany him in the cover of night, risking all their lives

in the process due to the nearby communist camps that would patrol the river at night looking to execute any who tried to escape across the river, and freedom fighters crossing into the country to fight the communists. During this time, my uncle, a pilot in the Lao military, decided to escape the country. He was about 15 years older than my father and was married to my aunt, who is my father's older sibling. Sorry if that was confusing, they had a two-year-old son and did not want to bring him up in the middle of this conflict. At the time my uncle was stationed in Thailand because the

communists were gathering up all the stray Lao government officials and members of the military to send them to work camps. My uncle hatched a plan to sneak back into Laos across the river at night and retrieve his wife and child. Initially, things went well and he was able to cross into the country without being spotted and retrieve his family, but by the time they returned to the river of the boat that was waiting for them was gone, chased away by communist soldiers. So my uncle waited while hiding in a bush with his wife and their small child for days until finally, another boat arrived to rescue them. This act inspired more people in the village to try and rebel or escape, causing many unfortunate deaths. My grandfather was explicitly against any of his

other children attempting to do anything similar despite his frequent trips across the river. I guess he had a sort of, nobody can endanger my children but me, mindset. A few years went by with nothing major happening in the village, though the conflict was still going strong. My dad was around 13 at this time, and my grandfather became increasingly abusive due to the lack of money and food around, which led him to do one of the worst things I have had the displeasure of hearing to this day. My father had been tending the fields and hurting Buffalo. During that time he had made his first real friend, a stray dog that he would often see

on the edge of the village. He began to feed the dog with the little scraps he was able to sneak away from home, and the dog began accompanying him to the fields every morning while he did his work. The way my father described this dog and their relationship made me understand how much it meant to him. The dog became his best friend. They did everything together, and my father was happy for the first time in his life. Then one day, an unspecified amount of time later. My father woke up and was not able to find his buddy, he went out to the fields and the dog never came, he tended to the buffalo and the dog was nowhere to be seen. He finished his work and

returned home to find the most horrifying thing a child could see. My grandfather had the top half of his dog strung up on a meat hook to dry, while he sat and ate the other portion right in front of my father. My dad began to break down and cry asking him why he would do this, his father told him that he had seen him walking around the fields with this dog. He said that all animals are to him is meat and he was hungry, knowing that this was my father's only friend and that taking him away would break my father's heart. This event is what would make my father start to truly hate his father. At this point, my dad had completely renounced any type of relationship he had with his father and decided that he would take revenge. My father spoke to

his brothers and was able to convince a handful of them to help him take revenge for the beatings they'd all received and for the abuse of their mothers. Some time later they decided the time was right, they waited for their father to come home from a trip into town. When he did, they surrounded him, ready to take out all their frustrations on him. It was at this point that a few of the brothers started to get scared and back down, but my father was so enraged that he rushed at his father with a farming tool and the intent to seriously harm him. Only my father was a 13-year-old boy, and his father was a grown man, strong from working the fields his entire life. My father proceeded to get the worst beating of his life, right there in front of his brothers. Everyone was too

petrified to move and just let my father be beaten within an inch of his life. To this day my father still has resentment toward those brothers that he feels betrayed him that day. From then forward, the mistreatment toward my father only got worse and finally reached a boiling point. My father realized that the only way he could get away from this abuse was to escape the country. This time he made sure only to tell the people he trusted. That being just two friends from the village who were a few years older than him. There were only two problems, they had no canoe to cross the river, and my father knew his siblings and mother would be punished for him leaving. Despite this, they still decided to go

through with their plan. They spent the time they had after work going up and down the river scouting for the narrowest part of the river, and the parts with the weakest current so they could cross. The Mekong can be over a mile wide, or 1.5 kilometers in some areas. The soldiers also only patrolled the river at night, as during the day it was sort of a no-man's land, and people were allowed to continue fishing and working on the river. At the same time, they were slowly gathering supplies for their journey. At some point, my grandmother started to put together what they were up to and offered to help them. She pulled my father aside and told him that she knew what they were up to and told them where to cross the river, as well as when my

grandfather would be away and that they should steal his canoe and leave at that time. They had a long conversation about what would happen after they left. Much of this conversation my dad skimmed over when telling me. My grandmother assured my father that she would be okay and that this was his opportunity for a better life. She gave him what little money she could without anyone noticing, and a handful of jewelry she had been stashing. With that the plan was complete. Sometime later my father and his friends decided that the time was right. They gathered the little belongings they could carry on their backs and said their goodbyes. They left for the river in the middle of the night while my grandfather was in the woods foraging for mushrooms.

It was lightly raining, they made their way to the canoe and sat for a while to gather the courage to actually get in. Once they were in, they were almost immediately spotted by a nearby patrol of communist soldiers. At this point, the fight or flight response kicked in, and they all chose flight. Knowing that turning around and surrendering would lead to being sent to a work camp or worse. So they all paddled as hard as they could away from the Lao shore and toward the Thai shore. The soldiers made their way to the edge of the embankment and began firing their guns into the water. Sadly, one friend was struck in the back of the head and died instantly, falling into the water. They had no time to process what just happened and continued to paddle

for their lives. That was until my father's other friend was also hit, it pierced his upper back and he was paralyzed. My father started to panic and dropped the paddle only to be shot in his right shoulder as well, but more soldiers were coming up the river in a boat and they had no time. Nearby Thai soldiers heard the gunfire and rushed to the shore on their side, returning fire to give my dad enough time to reach the shore. He touched the soil and knew that he had made it. Once they touched Thai soil, the soldiers no longer pursued them as they did want to start an all-out battle with the Thai soldiers at this time. The Thai soldiers began to escort my father and carry his paralyzed friend inland, but my dad decided to stop for a moment to look

back. He saw the communist soldiers picking his dead friend up out of the water and placing him in the boat. My father still suffers from survivors' guilt to this day, which is what led him to do what he did next. The Thai soldiers told them about a few large refugee camps on the border in Thailand, so my father decided to head towards one. On their way, they had to stop at an immigration center so my father could register as a refugee and get some medical attention. Once completed, my dad, filled with anger, changed his mind and decided to head towards a group of Lao refugees he had heard about who had decided to form a resistance group to fight back against the communists. So my father said goodbye to his friend who had been paralyzed and started

traveling to this camp alone. This camp was run by a Lao man who was previously in the Lao military until his entire unit was rounded up and sent to work camps or executed. This man was the only one to escape. When my dad arrived at this place there were many young Lao men just like him, around 100, and many of them my dad knew from around his village. After feeding my father the man in charge explained that he was forming a resistance group, funded by the Thai military secretly, to go back and reclaim their villages from the communists and that my father could either join or be on his way to the refugee camp.

At this time my father is around 14. my dad joined this camp and began his training as a child soldier of sorts. This is one of the things I only learned about my father very recently, so I don't have many details about this time of his life yet. My dad started by training with firearms and digging trenches around their base, should the communists ever come to the Thai side. Part of the schedule was patrols during the day and night, my dad was stationed on night patrol where he admitted to messing around with an M-16 accidentally firing off about 15 rounds

into the night sky, which awoke the whole camp, who scolded him, and nearly kicked him out. My dad was at this resistance camp for little more than six months. During this time they orchestrated several surprise attacks against groups of communist soldiers, my dad detailed his feelings about what happened, saying that he always had severe anxiety every time they got into a boat to go back into Laos, probably due to the trauma he suffered crossing the river the day he escaped. He would close his eyes the entire boat ride and only open them once he knew they had made it across. Once back in the country, usually, groups of three men would sneak around small villages, looking for patrols they could follow back to the main

camps to map out where all their bases were. When they had identified all the camps in a given area, they would leave and gather more men to come back and wait to ambush patrols in quieter, more secluded areas, taking away a lot of manpower the communists had. Doing this allowed them to sneak people out of Laos much easier, and they were even able to rid a few small villages of soldiers altogether. Despite going on more than a few of these missions, my dad is not sure if he ever killed anyone. In the same way that he closed his eyes when he was in the boat, he closed his eyes as they shot into groups of enemy soldiers, probably trying to save himself from the trauma of knowing, or just from being scared. This all culminated when my dad was sent

out on one of the scouting missions, only this time they were scouting his village and the surrounding area. They arrived on the Laos shore, and this time my father was more angry than anxious. They entered the outskirts of the village and hid, having been here not long ago, my dad knew where a few of the enemy camps were nearby, and also where they usually patrolled. When they stepped foot in the village, my dad was filled with rage and hatred. For the first time since joining, he wanted to end someone's life. They continued further into the village until they were basically on my grandfather's property, which only pissed my dad off more.

They ducked down into the bushes and waited. Eventually, a patrol came into view, and as they got closer, my dad started to lose his composure. This mission was intended to be a scouting mission as they were only a group of three, but my dad was so furious that he stood up and pointed his rifle at the approaching soldiers, ready to end them. Just when he was about to start firing, his comrades pulled him down into the bushes, thankfully before they were spotted. My father fought for them to let go, but they held him down until the soldiers passed.

They then explained to my dad that he wasn't thinking clearly. There was a nearby camp they already knew about, within distance to hear any commotion happening in the village, and that if my dad fired, they might have been able to kill the patrolling soldiers and get away uninjured, but there would soon be reinforcements coming and they would most likely slaughter my dad and his comrades, as well as the people of the village. Now coming to his senses, my dad agreed with them and they finished their scouting and then returned to Thailand. On December 2nd, 1975 Laos had officially been seized by the communist path at Lao. Though it was over, the communists were still very hostile, making return to Laos for

refugees impossible. My dad was distraught, the people in the resistance camp started to notice his reluctance to go out and fight, and he soon started to refuse. This was against the rules, as my dad had signed a contract to fight with them until they accomplished their goal, or died trying. My dad was on track to being punished when an older man who was in charge of some of the men approached him. My father had seen this man in camp several times and always thought he looked familiar. It turns out that this older man was a relative of my father's, he had married one of my dad's distant aunt some time ago and they moved to a village far away enough that they hardly ever saw each other, and after the conflict got close they weren't

able to come back at all. This older man told my father that he didn't recognize him either until he heard his name. They talked for a while and he proceeded to tell my dad that he knew fighting wasn't for him, he would surely die in vain and make the escape his mother created for him pointless. He offered to rip up the contract my dad signed and help him leave the resistance camp. After some thought my dad agreed to this and his days as a freedom fighter were over. Once he was out of the camp, the only option was to head to a refugee camp for shelter. When my dad got there, he said it was the most depressing environment he had been in. At least in the resistance camp, they had a purpose, a goal to strive for and keep them from

falling apart. Here, the people had nothing. No hope of ever returning to their villages, or seeing the families they left behind again. They woke up in the morning and lined. They woke up in the morning and lined up with the bulls the camp provided them, and cows with small trailers and tow were led into the camp hauling barrels of food mush. You handed your bowl to the person in charge and they would dish out your food for the whole day, you had to make that small bowl of food last for all three meals every day. At some point, my dad became tired of this monotonous life he was living and started looking for things to do, or ways to get more food. There was a bit of a trade market going on between the refugees, as some of them came with

livestock or bundles of rice and different vegetables. My dad quickly burned through the little money his mother had given him to buy extra food, and the jewelry was of no use, as no one would trade precious food for them. A few months passed like this and my dad started to make some friends, as well as reconnect with people he had known from home. His new friends were not the best influences, they inducted him into a sort of gang that would steal money and food from other refugees, as the Thai soldiers didn't care about what they did to each other. The word started to spread that my dad and his friends were bad news, and people stopped associating with them. The only other place they could go was a nearby Thai village, but the rules forbid anyone from leaving the camp

without permission and a written pass. There were a few problems with this system, one was that there was only a certain amount of passes to be given out each day, and there were thousands of refugees in the camp. You would need to sign up for a pass ahead of time and be put on a waiting list, but with the amount of people in the camp it could be months before you were able to get one. The other problem being that there were people who had befriended, or bribed the guards and got to skip the whole process to get a pass, making the waiting game take even longer for other people. My dad and his friends decided to go the faster route and tried befriending the guards, they started by buying alcohol for them and staying up late to hang out with them. At some point, one of the guards developed a crush on the little sister of one of the friends. They found this out and used it as leverage, telling the guard that they would for sure get her to go on a date with him, and he agreed to let them out whenever he,

he was stationed at the entrance. From their things became much easier for them, being able to go into town and get supplies as well as just having fun. Eventually, they found out about this Muay Thai fighting ring where they could earn some money. You had to have a sponsor or someone to vouch for you to be able to fight in these things, so my dad kept showing up and sparring with people hoping to get noticed, and eventually did. He made a deal with this guy who said he would get my dad fights, and if he won they would split the money, but if he lost, my dad would have to pay him.

shitty deal, but my dad took it. He said he fought four times and one every time, which is very believable if you have ever actually met my father. Every time he fought, he was able to pay for at least one week's worth of food, two if he made it last. So it was worth it for him. After about a year of being in the refugee camp, word spread about a humanitarian aid organization called Compassion International.

They had a sponsorship system in which a family from somewhere in the world would send money to kids and adults up to 22 years old in countries in need. They would send some for food, education, and necessities, and sometimes, in the case of people like my father, get the person out of the country. My dad heard about this and signed up through the refugee camp. It took a while but around 1978 my dad became sponsored by a family of five from France. They sent him money for all his daily needs and my dad began to do better, not hanging out with the same friends anymore and beginning to go to church. He would be sponsored by this family until he was 20 when they offered to buy him a plane ticket to

anywhere in the world. My dad chose to go to San Francisco. He packed up what little he had said his goodbyes, and left for the U.S. He arrived in 1980, and once there he had to go through a sort of vetting process to be eligible for immigrant status in the U.S. Fun fact, the immigration agent that processed his arrival was in charge of taking down all my dad's information in submitting the forms. When my dad told him our last name, the agent misspelled it, and when my dad tried to correct him, the agent just brushed him off.

My dad never bothered to change it back so my last name is legally different than what it should be. He stayed in San Francisco for two months until he was granted immigrant status and able to travel elsewhere in the United States. By this time he had already decided that he hated San Francisco and that it was not for him. After remembering his sister who escaped all those years before was also in the U.S., the same sister detailed earlier. He tracked her down to Utah and got in contact with her. She told him the story about how her family got to the U.S. after they escaped from Laos. My uncle being a pilot for the Lao military, knew some soldiers stationed at a refugee camp near where they were and knew that they had a helicopter.

My uncle, along with some of the soldiers he convinced to flee, stole the helicopter and took his family to a safer part of the country where they would then leave for the U.S. Once there, they would go through the same process my father did and end up in Utah. My aunt agreed to take him my dad for a while until he figured something out. He slept on her couch for a few weeks until he knew they couldn't afford to feed him anymore, as they were struggling to raise a child in a new country where they didn't know the language, and didn't have a proper education. Not to mention the racism toward Asians at the time immediately following the Vietnam and

Lao's wars. So my dad decided to go to Job Corps. While there he would learn enough English to get by and studied to be a machinist. Two years passed and he left Job Corps and became a full-time machinist. After getting a place to stay and saving up some money, my dad decided to buy a car. He went to a small dealership where he bought a car and drove it off the lot. Not even five minutes into his drive, the car broke down and my dad went back to the dealership. He tried to return the car but the salesman took advantage of his poor English and told

my father there was nothing he could do. My dad didn't realize how things worked and couldn't read or write well enough to know that he was entitled to a refund if he wanted. So my dad took the loss and kept the car. He became angry not at the salesman, but at himself for not knowing the language well enough. My dad enrolled himself in ESL classes to bridge the gap and hopefully get some more respect. During this time my dad became intrigued by bodybuilders like Lou Farigno and Arnold, and he envied the respect they demanded with their presence. So he began lifting in his free time and soon became obsessed with it, spending an absurd amount of time at the gym.

He would meet a lot of people at the gym in the 80s, a few of them becoming lifelong friends. One of them was a man who was almost 20 years older than my dad. He was from Indonesia and shared a lot in common with my father so they bonded and he became a father figure to my dad. He also met a man about the same age as him who introduced him to the world of power lifting. Over the course of 10 years, my father took a lot of steroids and got absolutely massive, around 220 pounds at 5 feet 8 inches in his early 30s with a PR 5 plate bench press. or 495 pounds per 224 kilograms. He also met a woman and briefly married her to get his U.S. citizenship.

Not really marriage fraud, just a mutual agreement between them. Things just didn't work so they split up. At some point, my dad had figured out how to get in contact with his family back home and found out most of them were doing okay, though he didn't talk to anyone very often except his mother, and the only thing his father ever said to him was to send him money. In those ten years, my dad transitioned to working in real estate and owned a few houses and a couple of cars. He was finally prospering and doing better than he ever could have imagined he would all

those years ago when he was a farmer in a war-torn jungle. It was now the 90s, my dad had a lot of friends, and things were looking good. My dad spent a lot of years partying and just enjoying his life. The man from Indonesia brought my dad in as a member of his family, so he would spend all holidays split between that family and his sister's family. My father decided to quit his job as a real estate agent and work with the man from Indonesia, who owned a successful auto recovery company, so my dad became a tow truck driver. I know, a crazy career change, but my dad ended up buying the company and turned it from just

successful to thriving. More years went by and through mutual friends, my dad befriended a woman who he would know for many more years as she went through a failed marriage and had two boys. My dad ended up helping her out as she was essentially homeless with two kids and nowhere to go. He gave her money to rent an apartment for the time being and she promised to pay him back eventually. Well, eventually turned into her moving in with my dad and them starting a relationship. She would become my mother, and my dad would become a stepdad and a father at the same time. She found out she was pregnant with me and my dad bought a home for his new family in late 1999.

By 2000 they were all settled in and I was born. Then my dad got a call from his mother letting him know his father had died. My dad got on a flight back to Laos to attend his funeral, and this would be the first time he had been back to Laos in 20 years. When he arrived he immediately felt out of place, gone for so long not speaking his native tongue, he lost a lot of his vocabulary. He came back to Laos to see his family and help them with the expenses, but deep down he had some unfinished business with his father that he felt he couldn't resolve without returning to say goodbye. My dad spent only one short week there, seeing all the family he left behind, attending the funeral ceremonies, and spending time with his mother. He found out that the friend who was paralyzed in the escape attempt was still alive and

living in France with some family. After everything, my father felt there was nothing left there for him, and returned to the U.S. and his family. That concludes everything I know about my dad, other than the hymn that I knew growing up, and the parts he either left out, forgot, or just weren't important. Overall, I think that my dad had a very intense life growing up and that his story deserves to be told. If you made it this far, please tell me what you think about it, and whether this is something

you would consider interesting enough to be adapted into a larger, more detailed work. Thank you for reading. I remember back in ninth grade, there was this girl in my class who was deaf. Not completely, but she could barely hear anything. She mostly communicated through sign language or by writing things down on paper. Sometimes she'd try to talk, but her words came out muffled and hard to understand. It was obvious she struggled with it, so she mostly stuck to her usual methods of communication. Despite her disability, she was honestly one of the most attractive girls in our grade.

She had this soft, delicate face, long dark hair that she always kept neatly tucked behind her ears, and these big, expressive eyes that seemed to say a thousand things at once. Even though she couldn't hear music or conversations the same way we did, she always seemed so in tune with the world in a different way, like she could pick up on things we didn't even notice. It was kind of mesmerizing to watch. She loved reading. I mean, loved it. Every time I saw her, she had her nose buried in a book, flipping through the pages like she was devouring the words. Since watching movies wasn't exactly the easiest thing for her, books were her.

escape. She'd sit in the library during lunch or study hall, completely absorbed in whatever novel she was reading that week. And when she got excited about something, whether it was a story she loved or just something that made her happy, she did this adorable little clapping thing, almost like a tiny applause just for herself. It was honestly one of the cutest things I'd ever seen, and I found myself watching her more and more, noticing all these little details about her. Before I knew it, I had developed a huge crush on her. Now, this was around the same time I had just started getting into anime. Like, really getting into it. I had just finished watching a silent voice, which, if you don't know, is a movie about a deaf girl and this guy

who bullied her as a kid but later tries to make up for it. That movie hit me hard. It had all the emotions, the heartbreak, the redemption, it made me think, damn, having a deaf girlfriend would be kind of poetic. I know, I know. Looking back, that was kind of a weird mindset to have. But at the time, I was young, naive, and hopelessly romanticizing the idea of being with her. The problem was, I wasn't the only one who thought she was cute. There were other guys in our class who also had a thing for her. And the thing is, some of them weren't exactly the nicest people. I could tell that a few of them thought she'd be easy, because of her disability.

Like, they assumed she'd be desperate for attention or wouldn't realize if they were being fake. But she was way smarter than that. She could see through their crap instantly and wanted nothing to do with them. That's when I realized I needed to do something different. Something that would actually impress her, not just in a look at me way, but in a way that would prove I genuinely cared. That's when I got the idea to learn sign language. At first, it was just a thought. Like, wouldn't it be cool if I could talk to her in her own language? But the more I thought about it, the more I realized how much I wanted to do it. Not just for her,

but because it felt like the right thing to do. So, every day during my free time, I started studying sign language. I watched videos, practiced in front of a mirror, and even signed up for an online course to learn properly. It was tough at first, trying to get my hands to move naturally, remembering all the different gestures, but after about a month, I had learned enough to hold a basic conversation. One day, I decided it was time to finally use what I had learned. I found her in the library, sitting at her usual spot with a book in her hands.

My heart was racing as I walked up to her. I didn't want to seem weird or make her uncum. comfortable, so I just casually signed, Hey, how are you? She looked up, gave a small nod, and signed back, I'm okay. At first, she wasn't all that impressed. I mean, she had seen me signed simple greetings before, just like everyone else who had picked up a few basic words here and there. But then, I kept going. I started a full conversation in sign language, asking her about her book, telling her about my day. That's when her eyes. widened a bit and for the first time I saw a real surprise on her face you learned all

this she signed a little slower this time like she was making sure she understood me right I nodded feeling a rush of excitement yeah I wanted to be able to talk to you properly she smiled a real genuine smile and that's when I knew I had done something right. Over the next few weeks, we started talking more. She seemed comfortable around me, and I felt like I was actually getting to know her beyond just my crush. She told me about her favorite books, her strict family, how they worried about her all the time because of her disability. She talked about how hard it was to make friends when most people didn't even try to communicate with her. I felt like we were really connecting. And so, one day, I decided to take a

of faith and confess my feelings to her. I spent days preparing. I wrote out a love letter, cheesy and heartfelt, but full of all the things I wanted to say. I even practiced signing my confession in front of the mirror so I wouldn't mess it up. Then, finally, I found her in the library again. My hands were shaking, but I went up to her and signed, I really like you. I think you're amazing. Then, I handed her the letter. She took it, read it slowly, and for a moment, I thought maybe, just maybe, she'd say yes. But then, she looked at me with this sad expression and signed, I'm sorry. I can't.

She explained that she wasn't ready for a relationship. That her parents were really strict and didn't want her dating. That she was scared people would only like her because they thought she was different, not because they actually cared. I was crushed. Not just because she rejected me, but because I realized she had probably dealt with this kind of thing before, people trying to impress her, but not really understanding what she wanted or needed. After that, things changed.

She started avoiding me a little, not in a mean way, but in a way that made it clear she didn't want to lead me on. And I got it. I had put her in an awkward position, and that wasn't fair to her. Looking back now, I realize how naive I was. I had thought learning sign language would automatically make her fall for me. I had put so much effort into impressing her that I never stopped to think about what she actually wanted. Years later, I stumbled across her Facebook profile.

She looked happy. She had a boyfriend, a guy who seemed genuinely good for her. And honestly, I was happy for her. It was a lesson I needed to learn. You can't force someone to like you. just because you put an effort. And more importantly, you shouldn't treat someone's disability like it's a personality trait or something to romanticize. So yeah. Ninth grade me was a bit of an idiot. But at least I can look back on it now and laugh. And hey, at least I learned some sign

language out of it. It was late autumn 2016 in Poland, the kind of cold that bites through your jacket and finds your bones. I was out on a long weekend hiking trip with seven other guys. The plan was simple, hike deep into the woods, find a good remote spot, pitch our tents, and maybe shoot a few rounds at paper targets for fun. Nothing fancy, just some good old outdoor bonding with some beer, rifles, and firewood. We'd been hiking for hours and were finally settling down for a bit when one of the guys came running over, excited like a kid who found a frog in a pond. He claimed to have discovered a, tiny castle, in the woods. We laughed him off, told him it was probably just an old shack or the frost messing with his brain. I mean, come on,

a castle. In the middle of nowhere. With no roads nearby. But he insisted, so curiosity got the better of us and we followed him through the trees and biting wind. Sure enough, he hadn't been lying. We found a weird, stone structure, two stories tall, maybe ten by fifteen feet across. It wasn't quite a castle, more like an old stone outbuilding or what Americans would probably call a manor house. The hatch to the second floor was completely inaccessible, no ladder or stairs. The bottom floor, though, was filled with dried leaves, crumbled rock, and what looked like some old animal burrows. Someone joked it looked like a brothel for animals. Another guy said we should clear the leaves and see what's under there.

So we started digging through the debris and found a piece of plywood covering a short stone staircase. Now we were definitely intrigued. Four of us grabbed our flashlights and went down into what turned out to be a small underground room. Down there, the air was thick with damp and mold. But we found some seriously weird stuff. Ancient furniture A Child's Rocking Horse An old bookcase that was half-rotted

Behind it, hidden under thick cobwebs, was a tunnel that snaked into the ground, deeper into the forest. It looked like something out of a horror movie. I'm a tall guy, and that tunnel would have made me crouch the whole way, so I wasn't too keen on going further. But one of the guys got all historical and said it was probably an escape tunnel. Horses would be kept in the room above, and if they'd be kept in the room above, and if the The lord of some nearby manner needed to run, he could flee through the tunnel and ride off into the forest. Problem was, there wasn't any known castle near us.

The closest one I could think of was Goldhof Castle, but that was miles and miles away. Something wasn't adding up. We heard shouting from upstairs and ran back up. Two of the guys were having a heated argument. Turns out they'd found a large knife buried in the dirt, and one of them was drunk and acting wild. We checked around the room and discovered three more knives stuck blade down into the ground, all lined up around the perimeter. They were rusted, filthy, and old as hell. Another guy found a wooden box with a horse bridle and a switch used for whipping. Inside the same

box. Yet another knife. Now, here's where things went sideways. The drunk guy started ranting that we shouldn't touch anything. Said the knife had blood on it, old blood, and we'd wake up some angry ghost or curse if we took anything. He was half joking, half deadly serious. A few punches were thrown, tempers flared, and then the biggest guy in the group took the original knife and chucked it through the hatchway into the second floor, out of reach. Two guys still wanted to explore the tunnel, but most of us had had enough. We returned to camp.

The two tunnel explorers came back later that night, said the tunnel had collapsed. lapsed a ways in, about half a mile, and there was no going further. After that weekend, I barely stayed in contact with any of those guys. Life went on. Then in April 2017, I got a call from one of them. He sounded panicked. Told me the cops might be contacting me soon. I asked why, and he just said, you'll find out. That knife, the one we tossed upstairs and left behind, had somehow ended up over 300 miles away in Lithuania. It had been found on the side of a highway where, a few weeks earlier, a 24-year-old Lithuanian girl had been murdered, her car stolen.

The knife was tested for Prince, and three of us from that trip were identified. Soon, the police had all our names. I told the cops exactly what happened. I had no idea how the knife traveled that far or ended up at a crime scene. I gave them the names of the two guys who had stayed behind to explore the tunnel. But nothing ever officially tied the knife to the murder, and as far as I know, that's where the investigation ended. Still, it eats at me. That knife was out of reach, thrown into a sealed room.

So how the hell did it end up in another country, tied to a dead girl? And if someone did go back and get it, why that one? There were other knives. Why climb up and risk injury or worse for that specific one? Makes you think about all the strange things that happen in the world that we never get answers for. Now here's a different story, this one about my grandfather. I never met him. He died in prison back in the 90s when I was just a kid.

But my great uncle, his brother, had stories. Wild ones. Said back in the 60s, they both lived in Nashville, Tennessee, not far from Fort Negley. It's a weird-looking old army base that, from above, resemble spurs on a boot. Back then, the interstate was being built, and the fort was pretty much abandoned. One night, they got drunk, bored, and decided to sneak into the fort. No flashlights, no plan, just two idiots wandering in the dark.

They'd been there before during the day, but nighttime was a different beast. They slipped past what little security there was and started wandering around the stone walls, drinking from a flask and smoking. They weren't trying to be sneaky. They were just messing around, not caring about the fact that they were trespassing on a place where God knows how many people had died. Eventually, my great-uncle went off to pee, and my grandfather decided to check out some tunnels on the south side. When the uncle came back, my grandfather was nowhere to be seen. He called out, no answer.

Started to worry. What if he fell, or broke something? The nearest phone was a good ten-minute run away. In pitch black. Forget it. After ten minutes of pacing around and shouting, he had a bright idea. He yelled, cops are coming, at the top of his lungs. From the shadows, my grandfather came sprinting out, yelling for him to run.

They jumped the fence and booked it down the road. Later, my grandfather explained he had been hearing footsteps, someone else moving in the fort with them. Thinking it was someone stalking them, he snuck into the dark to confront them. And he found someone, a stranger, just standing there. He tried to tackle the person, but then felt the cold barrel of a gun pressed against his neck. He never saw the person's face clearly, but he thought it might have been a woman, shorter, with long hair. She didn't say a word. Just kept him at gunpoint, silently, the whole time my uncle was searching for him. The moment he shouted about the cops, the woman, or whoever, panicked.

My grandfather heard the click of the gun as the hammer dropped. But no bang. Maybe the gun misfired. Maybe it wasn't loaded. Whatever the case, he struck the figure in the face, heard the gun clatter to the ground, and ran like hell. My uncle never saw or heard any of this. But he swears my grandfather was shaken to the core. They never told the cops. Just chalked it up to one more insane night they somehow survived. And then there's the SS Airfield.

This Old World War II cargo ship sits abandoned in Homebush Bay, Australia. After the war, it was decommissioned and left to rot in the harbor, waiting to be scrapped. But nature had other plans. Now, a full-blown forest of mangrove trees grows inside it, making it a floating jungle. Tourists love it. Photographers are obsessed. It's this strange, hauntingly beautiful symbol of how nature reclaims everything in the end. So, of course, me and my buddies had to go see it. We paddled up to it in my friend's boat, cracked open a few beers, and just stared at the thing. We tossed a couple cans into the brush-like idiots, our way of leaving our mark.

No one dared try to climb aboard. Between the rust and thick vegetation, it was like trying to scale a metal porcupine covered in trees. And that's where I'll leave it for now. Because sometimes the story isn't about the ending. It's about those moments, when the forest goes quiet, when the air turns cold, when the past creeps in from under the floorboards or out of the shadows. Whether it's an ancient tunnel in Poland, a forgotten fort in Tennessee, or a rusted ship swallowed by mangroves, there's always something watching.

Listening. Waiting. The day the truth finally came for me, I never thought I'd live long enough to see the day my name would be cleared. Honestly, I had given up on it. For 20 long, soul-wrecking years, I walked around carrying the weight of a crime I didn't commit. People crossed the street to avoid me. Strangers spat at my feet.

The people I once loved whispered behind my back, or worse, stopped speaking altogether. I became the man in town that mothers warned their children about, the man no one wanted near their families. All because they thought I murdered my wife in cold blood. And let me tell you, that sort of accusation doesn't fade. It clings to you like cigarette smoke on a cheap motel curtain. I was labeled a monster, the husband who fought. Finally, snapped, the guy who couldn't handle his wife walking out.

They said I killed her. That I hid the body. That I went on with my life like nothing happened. None of that was true. Not a single bit. But the truth doesn't matter when everyone's already made up their minds, especially when the media turns your life into a headline. When Alyssa disappeared, my world unraveled in slow motion.

It was like watching a car crash from the infant. inside, you see the truck coming, but you can't move. You can't stop it. One moment, we were arguing about something stupid, bills, chores, dinner, I don't even remember. The next, she was gone. Vanished. Poof. Like she never existed. I didn't panic right away. People leave. They cool off. I figured she just needed space. Maybe she was staying with her mom for a night or two. But after the third day, I started feeling this heavy pressure in my chest, like a truck parked on my ribs. Something wasn't right.

And when her family showed up waving around this blood-stained scarf like it was a goddamn smoking gun, I knew my life was over. They didn't ask questions. They didn't want answers. They'd already decided, I was guilty. Her brother grabbed me by the shirt. Her mom screamed in my face. Next thing I know, there are cops at my door, reading me my rights, treating me like a piece of garbage.

I told them everything I knew, which wasn't much, and they looked at me like I was wasting their time. It didn't matter that there was no body. No witnesses. No motive. Just the story her family told, and a few bloodstains they claimed were hers. The media ran with it. ran with it. They slapped my mugshot on every channel and painted me as the controlling husband,

the ticking time bomb. I was a villain overnight. The trial was a circus. The prosecution didn't have facts, they had feelings. He was angry, they said. He was possessive. He had a temper. That's all it took. A few dramatic testimonies from Alyssa's family and some cherry-picked stories from our past arguments. The jury ate it up. I was found guilty in less than a day. Sentenced to prison. Five years behind bars were something I didn't do. Let me tell you something about prison. It's not just a punishment, it's a place where time dies. The days don't pass. They drag. You lose track of everything, the date, the seasons, even who you are. I stopped being a person. I stopped being a I was just another inmate.

I kept my head down, did my job in the kitchen, and counted the cracks in the walls. That's how I survived. When I finally got out, thanks to some obscure technicality in my trial, I didn't feel free. I was on parole, living under a microscope. I couldn't go anywhere without permission. Couldn't speak my mind. Couldn't be me. I moved two states away, changed my name, started taking whatever jobs I could find.

Construction, roofing, hauling junk, anything that paid cash. I rented a room above a garage and kept to myself. No friends. No relationships. No future. But I never stopped thinking about Alyssa. Every night I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering, what happened to her. Was she dead?

Did I miss something? Or had I really just been the fall guy in some twisted game? I tortured myself with those questions for almost 15 years. I had no answers. Just silence. Until two months ago. That's when everything flipped. My cousin Dave, the only relative who still talked to me, was in Arizona on a work trip.

He's in real estate, always bouncing around looking at properties. He was checking out a strip mall on the outskirts of Phoenix when he saw her. Alyssa. Just walking out of a grocery store like nothing ever happened. Holding hands with a man and talking to two teenage kids. Dave told me he did a double take. He thought he was hallucinating. But he knew it was her.

He followed her to the parking lot and watched her get in a minivan. Snapped a picture with his phone. sent it to me with a message that just said, tell me this isn't who I think it is. I stared at that photo for 20 minutes. It was her. Alissa. Same eyes. Same smile.

Different hair color, older face, a little heavier, but it was definitely her. I almost threw up. After all these years, she was alive. And she had a new life. I hired a private investigator the next day. day. A good one. He followed her for three weeks. Turns out she'd been living under a new name, Lisa Turner. Married to her high school sweetheart. Had two kids, a decent house, a job at a library. She wasn't in hiding. She wasn't in danger. She was living like a soccer mom from the

suburbs while I was out here scraping together rent money and trying not to get beat up for something I didn't do. The PI gathered everything, photos, documents, addresses. We took it all to my lawyer, who nearly had a heart attack when he saw the evidence. Within a week, we had a meeting with the police. The same people who had once locked me up now had to sit across from me and listen while we laid out the truth. Alisa had faked everything. The fight, the scarf, the disappearance, all of it. Her family helped her. They planted evidence. They lied under oath.

They threw me under the bus so she could disappear and start over. She didn't leave because she was scared of me. She left because she didn't want to be married anymore. She wanted a reset button, and she didn't care who she had to ruin to get it. The cops reopened the case. Arrested Alyssa a week later. She tried to talk her way out of it, claimed it was a misunderstanding, said she, had not. no idea what I went through. But they weren't buying it. Not this time. She's facing charges

now, fraud, perjury, obstruction of justice, conspiracy. Her parents and her brother are being charged too. Turns out they were in on it from day one. Helped her disappear. Lied in court. Destroyed my life. And just like that, the story hit the news again. Only this time, headline was different. Not husband murders wife. No. Now it was, man cleared after wife found alive 20 years later, people started reaching out. Old co-workers, neighbors, even a couple of reporters. Everyone wanted to hear my side. To ask me what it felt like. But how do you explain 20 years of pain? How do you put into words what it's like to be hated for something you didn't do? to sit in a cell every night knowing the real villain is out there raising kids and living

her best life. People ask me if I'm angry. That's a funny word, angry. It doesn't cover it. It's not enough. I was broken. Betrayed. Hallowed out. My life was stolen. My identity was erased. I don't know if there's a word for what I feel. It's somewhere between grief and numbness. But I do know this. I survived. I lost two decades. Missed birthdays. Weddings. Funerals. I missed the world changing. But I never gave up on the truth. And now, finally, the truth came back for me. I don't know what comes next. I'm still figuring it out. Maybe I'll write a book. Maybe I'll disappear for a while. I know is, I'm not hiding anymore. I'm not running. And I'm sure as hell not apologizing. Because I didn't do it. And now, the world knows I didn't either. The end. About two years ago, I rented a room in this three-bedroom house. The place wasn't much, honestly, the walls were paper

thin, and my room had only one window, which looked directly into the living room. No windows opened outside or anything. At the time, that weird window didn't seem like a big deal, but it became super important later on. The setup was simple, three bedrooms total. One was mine, one belonged to the main tenant, like the head renter, and the third was rented to this dude I'll call Kyle. Kyle seemed like a pretty chill guy at first, but as things unfolded, it was clear he had some serious issues. So, this friendly guy who had the spare room had to leave suddenly because his work visa had problems. He had to move back to Canada last minute, which left us scrambling for a new roommate. We only had about two weeks to find someone else to

fill the spot. Since I worked crazy hours, I wasn't involved much in finding the new tenant. The master tenant handled it, and they picked the quickest option, Craigslist. Pretty standard for this kind of thing, I guess. Kyle moved in, and honestly, at first, nothing. seemed off. He was a huge guy, really tall and bulky, but quiet, kept to himself mostly. Not exactly the type I'd invite to hang out, but it was fine. Just someone to share the rent with. The master tenant left for Hawaii about two weeks after Kyle moved in, which meant Kyle and I were stuck alone in the house. For a few days, everything was normal. Then, one night, things went sideways. I got woken up around 8 a.m., which is a weird time to say the least, by frantic knocking on

my door. It was Kyle, looking absolutely frazzled, eyes wide and all. He looked me dead in the eye and asked, so, what the hell was going on last night? I was confused. I told him I came home around 9 p.m., showered, and went straight to bed. That was it. Nothing unusual. But Kyle said he saw me screaming, arguing with our landlord through that little window in my room, the one facing the living room. I hadn't even met the landlord in person at that point, so that freaked me out a bit. He went on, saying he heard people coming and going all night, and that he saw police officers too. None of it made sense. I told him there was no way any of that happened, that I was just sleeping. He stared at me for a long minute, then just left. Next morning,

Same thing. Kyle was back at my door, saying he saw me arguing with my boyfriend. Problem was, I was single. He also claimed to have seen me talking to the master tenant, who was supposed to be in Hawaii. Then, he asked for the badge number of the cop I'd supposedly been talking to. That's when I lost it and told him to cut the crap. I told him I didn't know what he was talking about, and I wasn't doing anything weird. His face twisted, and he said something creepy like, I think I had a seizure in my sleep.

If it happens again, call an ambulance. He left again, but barely an hour later, he was back, knocking on my door with the same wild story. By now, I was annoyed and tired, and I told him to leave me alone, then went off to work. Work was as usual, but I didn't want to come home. Still, I was too tired to crash anywhere else, so I went back. Big mistake. At about 1 a.m., I woke up to the sound of the front door slamming. I could hear Kyle pacing back and forth between his room and the living room, then the front door, all the while mumbling and turning lights on and off. It was like he was losing it.

I could see his shadow through the frosted window of my bedroom. Because my room was dark, he couldn't see inside. Suddenly, he screamed, I can't live like this anymore. Why are you doing this to me? At first, I thought he was on the phone, so I ignored it. But then he screamed my name. That's when I realized he was talking to me. I froze. I was terrified. I crept quietly out of bed, started throwing some clothes in a bag for work the next morning, trying not to make a sound.

Just as I was almost done, I heard him yell, I can hear you. He charged over to my door, slapping the wall right next to it, but not at a moment. actually touching the door. I glanced at the window and saw his shadow press his ear against the glass, like he was trying to listen to me. My heart stopped. I stayed completely still. Then he screamed my name again, moved away from the window, and started pacing again. My shoes were outside my room, on a rack by the door, which meant I'd have to pause to put them on if I wanted to get out fast. I decided to wait until Kyle went back to his room before making a break for it. As I was planning my escape, the pacing suddenly stopped.

Then he yelled, Do you want to fight? Come out right now, and we'll fight. I swear to God, I'm a tiny girl, about five feet tall, and this guy was massive, probably three times my size. I wasn't looking for a fight. After a tense few minutes, all the lights went off. I heard the door to his room open and close, then silence. I waited a bit, made sure I didn't hear him moving around, and took my chance. I opened my door quickly, grabbed my shoes, and looked up.

There he was. Standing in the dark hallway, wearing nothing but boxers and socks. He said softly, M.E.M., we need to talk. I grabbed my shoes and ran straight out the front door, shoes in hand. I ran barefoot for about half a block before stopping to put them on. I looked back and saw Kyle standing in the porch light by the front door, just watching me run, but not moving. Luckily, I had a friend who lived a couple blocks away, and I had their spare key on me. So I let myself in and crashed there for the night. I ended up staying at my

friend's place for a whole week while we worked things out with the landlord. Kyle agreed to move out within the week. When he left, he sent me a photo of the house keys sitting on a table, with a message, I'm out. I took a friend with me to the house to check if Kyle really left. When we got there, we found he had left behind a ton of food and furniture, like he just walked away. But he'd also ripped out all the fire alarms from the ceiling and unscrewed the deadbolt from the front door. He left all those parts lined up neatly on the front table. The door to my room only locked with a key from the outside, and it was locked when we arrived. That meant Kyle still had a key to my room.

We called a locksmith immediately. Even after changing the locks, I was still scared to stay alone. I never went to sleep without barricading the doors with chairs and anything heavy I could find. To this day, I still fear what could have happened. Kyle obviously had some serious psychological problems. But I also wonder what would have happened if I hadn't been lucky. A few weeks ago, I flew to a small town I'd never been to before to look for a place to live. I'm moving there in the fall to start grad school.

My boyfriend flew with me. Before the trip, I researched all sorts of apartments on Craigslist and set up a bunch of appointments. Our first appointment was in the afternoon, in this kind of remote residential area. The landlord sounded fine over email, and he asked me to call him about an hour before to confirm. I called him, but he didn't answer. So my boyfriend and I just walked to the house, hoping he'd show out. up. About ten minutes before the appointment, the landlord called me. Hey, are you coming? He sounded like an older guy, talking super slow, almost creepy. I just figured he was old. I told him we

were outside the house. Then he got upset. Oh, your boyfriends with you. You never told me that. I never thought to mention my boyfriend, since he wasn't moving with me, just helping me look for places. After a long pause, the landlord said, sorry, it's just, sometimes people don't tell me when they're married, and it surprises me. I'll see you soon, then he hung up. I told my boyfriend about it, and he was immediately creeped out. He wanted to leave, but options were slim. So we stayed. Then, as we were discussing what to do, a young, sketchy-looking guy left the house we were about to see. He looked at us, then ran to his car and peeled out fast. Now we were really getting freaked out. But we still didn't leave. My boyfriend and I just stared at each other,

wondering what to do next. Continued. Part 2, the landlord showed up, so, here's the thing. We're standing outside this weird rental place, right? Suddenly, this guy shows up, looks like he's in his 50s, real tall, broad-shouldered dude. You know the type, kind of intimidating just by presence. But the wildest part. His eyes. They were completely empty, like, no emotion at all. Just, blank. It was like staring into a void. Not a single flicker of warmth or anything human. Kind of creepy from the get-go. He walks over slowly, and the first thing he says is, I'd shake your hands, but mine re-dirty. Like, that was his intro.

No smile, no, hi, just that weird, offhand comment. My boyfriend asks, dirty from where, and the dude just shrugs, work. Super vague, super cold. Then he zeroes in on me, totally ignoring my boyfriend like he's invisible. He fires off a bunch of questions, what are you studying? What other places are you thinking of living? living. Is your boyfriend moving here too? All while staring into my eyes without blinking. Like, I swear, his gaze was so intense it felt like it could peel my skin off. I tried to keep my

answers as vague and short as possible, hoping to avoid any trouble. Meanwhile, my boyfriend's trying to get some answers from this guy, you know, like, what kind of work do you do? How long have you been renting this place? But the landlord's stonewalls him, giving nothing but one-word responses or just flat-out ignoring him. Then out of nowhere, this guy says, let me show you the basement. And I'm standing there thinking, dude, we should probably just leave right now. But nope, we didn't. I kept telling myself maybe this guy's just a paranoid old man from a tiny town and we city folks are overthinking things.

My boyfriend clearly wanted to bail, but he followed along as the landlord led us to this detached shed in the backyard. far from the street. He opens the door, and bam, stares leading straight down into pitch black. I mean, complete darkness. He flips the light switch at the top of the stairs, but nothing happens. Usually, you'd expect something like, oops, the lights are out, but nope. He just says nothing and starts walking down into the darkness like it's totally normal. Then he just stands there, completely still. After a long pause, he asks, aren't you coming down? My boyfriend is like, there's nothing to see if the lights don't work. But the landlord?

He just stands there for ages before slowly coming back up, shutting the basement door quietly behind him. After that, he took us inside the house, but things got stranger by the minute. The front door, which was the only exit, locked automatically behind us. My boyfriend tried to fiddle with it, trying to see if we could unlock it, and the landlord flipped out, telling him to leave it alone. But my boyfriend secretly managed to open it a few times anyway. This guy kept trying to trap us in smaller rooms, getting this weird look, and always reaching

into his pockets. Every time we glanced at his hands, he'd pull them away quickly. It was like he was hiding something or maybe a weapon. I don't know. It felt really tense. On Craig's List and when we first talked to him, he claimed there was a graduate student already living in the house. But honestly, it looked fake. There were piles of textbooks on the table, but they were super generic, nothing a grad student would actually be reading.

The kitchen was strange too, there was a bowl of fruit, but the fridge and pantry were basically empty. No other food, no utensils. The closet had maybe three t-shirts. When we asked him about the supposed tenant school or how long he'd been renting, the landlord just gave us vague answers, unable to provide any real details. He showed us every room, except one. This last room was off limits. He said it was just the attic and that we didn't need to see it.

When we pressed, he gave a bunch of excuses, it was unfinished, there was furniture up there, it might smell bad. Honestly, the last one I believed. I stood near the attic door and holy hell, it smelled awful, like mold and something rotten. After all that, we finally made excuses and left. The guy walked us to his car, got in, and just sat there for a moment. Then, when he thought we'd turned a corner, he got out of his car and casually strolled back inside the house like nothing was weird.

That night, my boyfriend was fixated. on the landlord's creepiness. He spent hours Googling him and found some crazy stuff. The guy was actually well known around town, Pillar of the community, according to locals. There was no record anywhere that he owned or managed rental properties like he'd claimed on Craigslist. The home address he gave on the listing. It was the very house we just toured. That discovery totally freaked us out. It was the creepiest experience I'd ever had. The next chapter, after, moving to San Francisco. When I was 21, I transferred to a college in San Francisco and needed a place to live. I found this room on Craigslist that seemed perfect, a nice two-bedroom

apartment, cheap rent, close to campus. It sounded ideal. The girl living there was Beth, 29, tall and broad, with jet black hair and pale makeup. Quiet, a little distant, but she seemed nice enough, and I figured she was kind of like me, so I said yes to moving in. At first, everything seemed fine. But then, the first night we went out for pizza, I started getting a weird vibe from her. Throughout dinner, she kept telling me I looked like Sheila buff. Like, constantly. I didn't get it. I mean, I don't see it at all, but she was dead serious about it. I just smiled awkwardly and said, thanks, I guess, back at the apartment, she took me to her room. Her walls were covered in Shia Labuff posters, everywhere. Even on her mirror, she taped printed out photos of him.

She owned every movie he'd been in. That was the moment I realized she was obsessed. Like, full-on obsessed. The quiet stalker, weeks went by, and I barely saw Beth during the day. She came home from work and practically sprinted to her room. But sometimes at night, I'd hear this weird, high-pitched giggle through the walls. It was creepy. I had no idea what she was doing in there. Sometimes she'd come out and talk to me for a few minutes, but she always slurred her words. I figured she was drinking a lot.

Other times, she didn't say anything, she'd just stand in the hallway watching me. When I caught her staring, I'd say, hey Beth. She'd giggle that same high-pitched, unsettling laugh and then disappear. It gave me chills every time. One night, around 2 a.m., I woke up because I heard what sounded like the front door unlocking. I came out of my bedroom, light still off, and saw Beth standing there, face pressed against the door, turning the lock back and forth, mumbling my name under her breath over and over, Max Baker.

Max Baker, seeing her standing in the dark, whispering my name like that. Yeah, that freaked me out bad. And it didn't help that she looked like a bigger, scarier version of the girl from the ring. I just quietly slipped back into my room and tried to sleep. The breakdown, another night, I was watching Gladiator when Beth stumbled out of her room and turned on the living room light, forcing me to pause the movie. Then, out of nowhere, she started telling me about her ex-boyfriend. I didn't know how to react, but I said okay and listened.

But then she started losing it, screaming at the top of her lungs about the breakup, ignoring me when I told her to calm down because the neighbors might call the cops. Then she said something that scared me straight, I'll slit his throat. Just like that. Dead serious. I realized then I had no idea what this woman was capable of. She was basically a stranger to me, but her anger felt dangerous. After a few more minutes, she calmed down and thanked me for listening.

I left the room quickly, feeling more uneasy than ever. The knife incident, I couldn't shake this terrible feeling being around her. And to make matters worse, my bedroom door had no lock. So, I pushed a dresser against it like a barricade. Then, one night, I woke up to the sound of my dresser scraping across the floor. I flicked on my light and saw Beth trying to push her. the door open. She was drunk, eyes wild, with that insane look I'd seen before. I shouted at her to stop, pushed the door shut, and told her to go to bed. She stumbled back to her room,

and I couldn't sleep after that. The next morning, when I opened my door, I found a steak knife on the floor by it. Goose bumps hit me hard. I kept thinking about her yelling about slitting her ex's throat. When I confronted her, she said she didn't remember pushing the door open or the whole conversation about her ex. That was the last straw. The escape, I was on a month-to-month lease, so I packed up and moved out as fast as I could. About a month later, while I was at the movies with my phone off, I came back to see Beth had sent over 40 messages in two hours. They were wild, everything from, hi, how are you, to I hate you. It was pure craziness. I didn't respond and never heard from her again.

I still wonder what might have happened if I hadn't shoved that dresser against my door. Would she have slipped in quietly with that knife? That thought still haunts me. Never forget, that's my story. A real-life nightmare that started with a Craigslist ad and ended with me running for my safety. If there's one thing I've learned, it's this, trust your gut, no matter how small the feeling. Sometimes it's the difference between just a creepy story and something truly dangerous. What I'm about to share with you seriously messed up my life.

I've never written it down before, so who knows how this is going to come out. I'm almost 26 now, but back then, I was 18. Also, just in case it matters for context, I'm female. When I was 18, I had this huge obsession with sculpting and pottery. It was basically the only thing that felt real in my life at that time. I was doing this beauty therapy course at a college in the next town over, but to be honest, I hated it. The course was dull, the people were worse, and don't even get me started on the creeps I met, but that's a whole other nightmare. So I found this pottery class in my hometown.

I'd hop off the college bus, head to pottery class, and walk home after. Simple. Peaceful. I stuck with that routine for a couple months. It was my escape. Until Francis walked in. Francis was different. He looked so painfully shy and anxious, like someone who never felt comfortable in his own skin.

I related to that. I dealt with anxiety too, and I guess I saw a little of myself in him. He was tall, dark-haired, kind of handsome in that broody way, and when he told me he was also 18, I felt this weird sense of connection. He wouldn't look you in the eyes. ever. He'd sort of shift his gaze just above your head or stare at the floor. Still, when he talked, he was incredibly smart. Weird, sure, but thoughtful. Philosophical. Our conversations ran deep, and that intrigued me. He seemed to get me in ways people didn't

usually bother to. We started hanging out outside of class. I even went to his house a few times. met his parents, met his sister. She was much younger than him, not sure how young exactly. His mom was Polish, super articulate, and spoke great English. His dad looked like something out of a vampire novel, think Carlisle Cullen. Cold, distant, off-putting. I'd get chills just for making eye contact with the guy. Eventually, Francis and I became a thing.

His parents were weirdly thrilled about it. Like, immediately started dropping hints about marriage. Not in that jokey way either. Like serious, you are now our daughter-in-law, energy. Creeped me out. Red flag number one. Francis got intense fast. Like, scary fast.

Within days of being official, he was handing me handwritten poems, some as long as six pages. And not even crappy teenage poetry. This stuff was good. Too good. One of my favorites was called Dive for Dreams. Turns out, he ripped it off word for word from E. Cummings. Literally copy-pasted it into handwriting. At first, I thought it was some weird attempt to impress me.

I ignored it. Shouldn't have. He started texting and calling constantly. I'd check my phone after class, and it would have hundreds of missed calls. No joke. The texts were even worse. Rambling, obsessive love letters that went on forever. Like he was in a Shakespearean play, and I was the tragic heroine. Now, I know what you're thinking. Why didn't I run? I should have. But part of me pitted him. He didn't have any friends. I was all he had. He was clingy, sure, but I thought maybe he was just socially starved. I figured it would settle with time. Spoiler, it didn't. After my birthday, things got worse.

Francis calmed down with the texts a little, but he'd still call every 15 minutes, sometimes at 3 or 4 a.m. We hadn't even done anything physical beyond kissing. I had made it super clear I wasn't ready to go further, and he seemed to accept it. We had exchanged a few. Racy photos, which, PSA, don't ever do this. It never ends well. One day, I woke up and checked my phone like usual. Apart from a usual spam from Francis, I saw 14 missed calls from his mom. Yep. His mom. I called her back, thinking maybe something bad had happened. Something had. She was screaming,

calling me names, spitting venom through the phone. She told me she spoke. to a lawyer. Said she was going to ruin my life. I thought she was talking about the photos. But then she dropped the bombshell. He's 13, you pedophile. I'm going to destroy you. My stomach dropped. She had gone along with him being 18. Hell, she even encouraged our relationship. Now she was flipping the script. Why would a mom lie about her son's age? Why let him pretend to be an adult and then suddenly act like I was the predator? It felt like I was being set up. And they were smart about it too.

All I had was my word against theirs. They twisted every bit of our chat logs, photos, and messages into some damning package of evidence. Soon, rumors started flying around my college. People looked at me like I was a monster. Friends ghosted me. I started getting hate mail. I was terrified. I cut contact with Francis and his family.

They eventually said they wouldn't go to the police because they accidentally deleted the evidence. I was so scared I didn't even tell anyone. His mom threatened me, detailed all the ways she would ruin not just me but my entire family. I just wanted it all to disappear. So I dropped out of college. Stopped going outside. I received threats, like, legit death threats. But I was more afraid of being labeled a child abuser than anything.

I had a full-on mental breakdown. Francis kept messaging me. Threatened to kill me. Threatened to set my house on fire. Said he'd end himself if I didn't come back. He sent me disturbing videos, stuff that shouldn't even be on the internet. I never replied, but he kept finding ways to contact me. New accounts, different numbers. I blocked them all, but he always found a way back. Months later, he got a new girlfriend.

One day, while babysitting his sister, he demanded this girl's sleep with him. When she refused, he pulled a knife on her. She managed to lock herself in the bathroom while he stabbed through the door. When his parents got home, they didn't believe her. But then he snapped. He stabbed his mom in the shoulder. That was finally enough to call the cops. They rescued the girl, took Francis in, and diagnosed him with autism. No charges were filed.

I'm no expert, but I've met people on the spectrum before, and none of them acted like him. I still don't know if that was a real diagnosis or just an excuse. I never heard from him again after that. I really, really hope it stays that way. There was another incident that happened during my second year of university, not related to Francis, but it still freaked the hell out of me. Me and three roommates rented this townhome in what was considered a super safe college town. The kind of place where the worst thing you expected was someone puking in the bushes on a Friday night. Our place was surrounded by trails and farmland.

It felt tucked away from the chaos, a cozy little bubble. None of us were particularly cautious, except me. I'm five feet six inches, tallest in the house, and the only one who had dealt with scary stuff before. So I became the de facto security chief. I locked the doors. I checked the windows. The others. Grew up in safe little towns where people left their doors open and trusted everyone.

Anyway, one night in November, we were having our usual wine and movie night. A dumb rom-com, some takeout, and a bit of wine, the perfect way to unwind after a brutal week. We were only like 30 minutes into the movie when there was this loud knock on the door. Not the kind of knock a delivery driver makes. It was aggressive. My roommate just laughed and said, Damn, that was fast. Did the Uber driver take a helicopter or something?

But when we checked the people, because I insisted we always check it first, there was no one there. No delivery guy. No drunk neighbor. No one. That night didn't end the way we thought it would. But I'll save that part of the story for another time, because the Francis chapter alone is more than enough horror for one day. To be continued, it all started with Jess asking Meg to check on our food order because it felt like it had been forever. We were hungry and tipsy after a night of drinks and laughter.

Meg pulled out her phone and went to the restaurant's website, scrolling through the confirmation page. That's when it hit her, she never actually placed the order. She had picked everything out, sure, but she must have gotten distracted before finishing the last step. Our alcohol tolerance was clearly not what we thought it was. Just as we were groaning at the realization that dinner wasn't on its way, the banging start. started. At first, it was just a knock, firm, but nothing too crazy. Then it turned into full-on pounding. Whoever it was, they were serious. We weren't grasping the severity of the situation at first. Maybe it was the buzz or the general chaos, but for some reason, Annie

went to unlock the front door like it was just the pizza guy or something. Stop! I shouted, a little louder than I meant to, startling everyone. I knew it was too loud, but I didn't care. There was something in my gut telling me this wasn't right. That's when we heard it. This is the police. Open up. We have a few questions for you. Nothing soberes you up faster than hearing that. I looked at Meg. Her eyes were already glassy, tears threatening to spill. Jess had turned pale, like all the blood had drained from her face. Even Annie froze, which, honestly, was probably the best move she could have made in that moment. The pounding dot louder.

We could actually see the door vibrating with every hit. Meg grabbed Annie's hand and dragged her upstairs. She was trying to keep Annie calm, but also trying to check if there were any police cars parked outside. At the same time, she wanted to make sure all the windows were locked. Show us your badge, I yelled through the door, trying to sound confident. Then we'll open up, no answer. Just more pounding. And then, kicking. Jess, call the police, I said. Ask them if there are officers at our address. Her hands were trembling so bad she could barely hold the phone. Meg came back down to tell us there were no police cars outside.

Annie peaked through the curtain at the window above the door, trying to get a better look. That's when I noticed something bone-chilling. The guy had said, we. Not I. Jess must have realized it too, because she ran to the back door, a huge sliding glass thing. She checked that it was locked and then yanked the curtains shut. Not a moment too soon, because a minute later, the knocking started at the back door too.

Thank God she had closed those curtains. The thought of seeing the face of whoever was doing this made my skin crawl. Take your hand off the peephole and show us your badge, I said again. Nothing. Total silence, which somehow felt even worse than the banging. What's your badge number? Prove your police, still nothing. Then finally, a voice, I can't do that.

Meg was sobbing by now and had taken over Jess's phone, trying to explain what was happening to the dispatcher. The banging was coming from both doors now. It was so loud the 911 operator could hear it through the phone. Is someone trying to break into your house, the dispatcher asked. Meg was barely understandable through the tears. But she managed to say that at least two men were pretending to be cops to get us to open the doors. Try to stay calm, the dispatcher said.

The real police are on the way. How long? Meg asked. No more than ten minutes, ten minutes suddenly felt like a lifetime. The door shook harder than ever. I thought it might actually break. Jess disappeared into the kitchen. I freaked out, thinking maybe a window was open, and shoved a chair under the doorknob before sitting on it, trying to hold the door closed with my weight. just came back with a fire extinguisher and a kitchen knife that's all we had that was our defense a fire extinguisher and a knife annie sat on the stairs hugging her knees she grew up on a farm she wasn't scared of cows or tractors or storms but this this was something else she didn't have her uncles or her grandfather to back her up here this wasn't a wild animal or a busted fence. This was real. And it was terrifying. The pounding on the back door stopped. Open the door now, one of them screamed, clearly done pretending to be police. Then silence. Worse than the noise was the quiet. The not knowing where they were.

I imagined both men circling around the back. If they wanted to, they could smash the glass. but then I figured it out. The back door faced the road. Maybe someone had driven by. Maybe they saw us talking to the dispatcher. Either way, the men must have decided it wasn't worth the risk. Jess, voice shaking, said what none of us wanted to admit, I don't think they want to rob us.

There are so many empty houses. Why come to the only one with the lights on? I felt sick. I didn't have an answer. Meg's breathing got worse. She was practically hyperventilating. The three of us sat there, frozen. Annie backed up the last few steps and disappeared from view.

Then, the dispatcher spoke again, nearly scaring the life out of me. The police are two minutes away. You should be able to see them soon. Stay on the line. Desperation must have been setting in outside. Then we heard a loud crash. I whipped around, expecting to see shattered glass. But the door was still there.

Instead, they had smashed our porch light. That's when we heard the voice. A new one. Harsher. Miener. You little, expletive, he wasn't yelling. He was too calm. That was somehow worse.

Like he wasn't angry. Just, focused. That voice told me everything I needed to know. This wasn't about stealing TVs or wallets. That guy wanted to hurt us. I looked at Meg, who was crying silently, looking like a terrified child. I knew if they got inside, we were done for. There'd be no fighting back.

No heroic escape. Then, like thunder, Annie came running down the stairs. I hear sirens, she whispered. They're on our street, but the guys outside heard them too. The calm one spoke again. He read our names. All of them. He read a letter our neighbor had left in the mailbox about a potluck next week.

We had seen her that morning but never thought to check the mailbox. Jess, Meg, Annie, and, he paused, as if savoring it. I'll be seeing you girls soon. Then we'll have some fun, that was it. I broke down. The tears came. The mask cracked. We were silent, just waiting.

Not even daring to breathe. Then finally, the dispatcher spoke again. The officers are outside. Stay on the phone until they knock. Do not open the door until you see their badge. A few moments later, we heard the knock, gentle, professional. This is the police. We're showing our badge through the people.

We opened the door and were greeted by two older officers with calm faces. Relief doesn't even begin to describe how I felt. Glass covered our porch. The porch light was completely smashed. Police cars lined the street, headlights pointing toward the walking trail. It was no longer a quiet neighborhood. We told them everything. Every detail. Unfortunately, we couldn't describe the men. They had covered the people, and now we understood why they destroyed the lights. They didn't want to be seen. One officer looked at us with a serious expression. If any of you were my daughters, he said, I tell them this, if you can get out of your lease,

do it. They know where you live. And they know our response time. Especially after what he said about coming back, they asked if we had heard a car. None of us had. Meg and Annie didn't see any vehicles either. They had come from the walking trail. The older officer gave me a sad look.

Like he knew something he wasn't saying. I asked, but he only said there had been an issue years ago. No elaboration. They promised a cruiser would be parked out front. An unmarked car would be in the back. Just for tonight. They never caught the guys. and we moved out two weeks later. We never went back. The end. So this whole messed up thing

happened back in 2012, during my second year of college. Can't really say which month it was, somewhere in the winter, I think. What I do remember clearly is that I was living with two of my closest friends, Katie and Danielle. We had just gotten out of the dorms and into our first off-campus house, and man, we thought we were on top of the world. No more our ace, no more curfews, just freedom. Naturally, that meant parties, drinking, and, yeah, some drugs too. At first, it was all light stuff. A little weed, maybe some shrooms.

But then the crowd we started hanging out with got heavier into the scene, stuff like Coke and Molly. Katie and I started noticing that it was messing with our heads and our grades, so we backed off. Danielle. Not so much. She went full speed ahead, and her personality started shifting. She got, intense. Angry.

Almost like she was two different people depending on the day. I'm not judging her for the drug use. Hell, I've been there. But I really do think that was a key factor in everything that went down. It all started unraveling one weekend. The three of us went to. to a party and got separated, which wasn't unusual. I had planned to leave early, and Danielle promised she'd walk back with Katie. We always had a buddy system at night, especially being

three girls on campus. But that night, Danielle bailed with some random dude, and Katie ended up walking back by herself. Bad move. Turns out, some creepy guy followed Katie most of the way. She made it back okay, but she was super shaken up the next morning. I got home and found her crying, totally out of character for her. She told me she had texted Danielle that night, basically calling her out for ditching her. The message was short and kind of sharp, but not rude or anything crazy. We figured Danielle would shrug it off or maybe apologize. Nope.

She blew up. Danielle lost her damn mind. She sent Katie a string of texts filled with curse words and attitude, basically telling her to screw off. It was bizarre and way too aggressive. We both thought it was weird, but decided to let it go and not stir the pot. Come Monday, Katie left for work on campus, and I headed to one of my afternoon lectures. That's when things got even more unhinged. Apparently, while I was in class, Danielle marched into the student rec center where Katie worked and just started screaming at her in front of like 60 people. Total meltdown. Security had to drag her out. And guess what?

She didn't go home alone, her mom was in town and with her the whole time. But she didn't do anything. I think she was honestly scared of her own daughter. When I got home, I was making something to eat in the kitchen when Danielle and her mom walked in. Danielle wasn't mad at me, yet, so I tried to stay out of it and let her cool down. But she cornered me and started ranting about Katie. Her eyes were wild. I've never seen someone so full of rage. I didn't want to escalate anything, so I just nodded and went to my room. Then I heard Katie coming up the side yard. She was crying on the phone to her mom, talking about what happened at work. My stomach just dropped. I knew they were about to go at it again. Katie walked in the front door, and I stayed in my room. Within seconds,

they were yelling at each other in the living room. Katie was standing up for herself, telling Danielle she was out of line. Danielle started throwing more insults. It turned into full-blown screaming. I finally had enough. I came out of my room and saw them in the middle of it. Danielle's mom was just standing there, completely useless. I told Danielle to chill out and leave, and she turned on me, telling me to F asterisk, asterisk, asterisk golf. Katie tried to get away and run into her room, but Danielle slammed her hand in the door as she was trying to shut it.

At that point, I realized this wasn't just some roommate drama. This was something else entirely. Katie and I ran out to the front porch. Then, out of nowhere, we heard Danielle's mom scream, put that down. Katie and I froze, looked at each other, and I just said, run. I told her to call 911. The next thing I know, the front door flings open and Danielle is standing there, holding a massive kitchen knife above her head.

Screaming threatening to kill Katie right there in the yard. All of our neighbors were outside at this point, watching the chaos unfold. I'm not exactly the fighting type, but there was no way in hell I was letting my best friend get stabbed. I lunged at Danielle and managed to wrestle the knife out of her hand. I threw it across the lawn and ran to grab it, thinking it was over. Wrong.

Danielle ran back into the house and came out with another knife, this time, she held it to herself, daring me to watch as she ended it all. She was hysterical. Her mom was sobbing, begging her to say. Stop. I didn't know what to do. I just kept talking to her, trying to calm her down. Then everything went black. I must have dissociated or something because the next thing I remember, Katie and I were running barefoot down the street. We ended up banging on a neighbor's door, and they let us in. We stayed there while the police and crisis unit showed up and took Danielle away. They put her on a 72-hour

psychiatric hold. We never saw her again. Katie and I crashed with friends for a while and eventually went back to the house, but we moved out by the end of the year. That place felt cursed after everything. Later, I learned Danielle had experienced a full-blown psychotic break. It was brought on by a mix of drug use, untreated mental health issues, and just the stress of life catching up with her. It completely changed how I viewed mental health and how fragile people can be under the surface. I also learned to always trust my instincts. I had felt something was off with her for weeks, maybe months, but ignored it. And here's where it gets even darker. Flash forward to 2015. I'm living in a different city, trying to start over. I find this rental

situation that's cheap, so I move in with this guy named Mike. At first, he seems okay. A little socially awkward, but nothing I hadn't seen before. The only weird part. He made it very clear that I should never go into the basement. Should have been a red flag, but I needed a place to stay. I brushed it off as one of those, everyone has their quirks situations. As time went on, I started realizing just how strange Mike really was. He was using meth, openly, and somehow still holding down a decent job. Like, he had his life kind of together, which made it even creepier. Whenever he got high, he'd get chatty. Way too chatty.

He started making these super weird jokes about the basement. If you smell anything weird down there, he'd say, don't worry about it. Just the body's decomposing. Followed by this unsettling grin. The first couple times, I laughed awkwardly. But then he said it again. And again. I finally asked him why he kept joking about that.

He just smirked and said, I use chemicals to clean up the mess. The way he said it, it didn't feel like a joke anymore. He also got real nervous any time I was home unexpectedly. Once, I took a sick day and didn't tell him. He freaked out when he realized I was there. That same day, I heard all this banging and muffled yelling from the basement. His car was in the driveway, but he wasn't. wasn't in the house. I started to wonder what he was hiding down there. Sometimes, he'd blast

music so loud it shook the walls. Other times it was talk radio, just as loud. I started thinking he was trying to drown out, something. Something people weren't supposed to hear. He also said the most messed up things about sex workers. You can do anything to them, he once told me. Beat them, choke them, no one cares. I told him that was seriously messed up, but he just laughed like it was some kind of edgy joke. But he kept saying stuff like that, especially when he was tweaking. And every time, he circled back to the same idea, no one would ever suspect him. He was just a normal guy with a house and a career. Totally invisible. It got to a point where I couldn't tell if he was fantasizing or confessing.

I wish I could say I packed up and left right then, but I was broke and desperate. I tried to convince myself it was all just dark humor. Maybe he was just weird, not dangerous. But deep down, I knew something wasn't right. 2E continued. Let me take you back to when all of this started, one of those days where nothing seems out of place, until everything is. I was just doing laundry, right?

simple stuff tossing clothes in detergent routine and then it hit me that smell something was definitely off not just a dirty sock smell or wet dog no this was decomposition the kind that makes your stomach turn we were living in this house down in southeast portland pretty modern nothing ancient or spooky looking no creaky doors or history of murder suicides just your average suburban rental. I'd grown up in upstate New York, and I know what dead animal smells like. Sometimes squirrels or raccoons get stuck in vents or walls and die in there. It's gross, but it happens. Except, this wasn't that. This smell was coming from the garage. No rats scurrying, no signs of life, or death, anywhere in plain sight.

That was the first red flag. Something about it just didn't sit right. My gut was already telling me something was off. So, after mulling it over for a bit, I decided I'd ask him about it. But not straight up like, hey, are you storing dead bodies? Nah, I figured I'd be slick. I waited until one of those weird moments where he was joking about horror movies or serial killers or whatever, and I said, you know, if you're going to be hiding bodies, you got to do a better job cleaning up.

The whole garage smells like a murder scene, I meant it as a joke. Sort of. His reaction. Man, I'll never forget it. His face went pale, eyes wide like I just caught him red-handed. There was something sharp in the way he looked at me, part fear, part rage. He fumbled his words, stammering, and finally managed a shaky, what? Really?

I nodded, trying to keep my tone light. but the tension was thick. He paused for a second, then just muttered, thanks for letting me know, and disappeared into his room. Slammed the door shut. A few days later, I was back in the garage doing laundry again. He was lurking around, acting weird. Then he called me, he was up in the crawl space, one of those tight spots above the garage that no one ever thinks about. He wanted me to come up there. Said he found something, needed my help. Let me tell you, every cell in my body screamed nope. My instincts were going wild. I don't even remember what excuse I used, I think I mumbled something about errands and dipped out of their fast. Took my laundry, straight to my

room, and then I was out the door. That house had a basement, too. Super weird one, door had no knob, completely locked from the inside. Only access was through the backyard. He spent hours down there. I always had this awful feeling about it, like something monstrous was waiting behind that door. I never worked up the nerve to go in, and I regret that now. Maybe I could have confirmed what I feared, or at least ruled it out. But things only got worse. Over time, he started getting real twisted in his conversations. More graphic, more violent. Constant talk about women, about sex workers, and these dark, messed up fantasies.

It wasn't just dirty jokes anymore. It was something darker. He once showed me this video he made. And I wish to hell I hadn't watched it. It was all bondage imagery, screaming over distorted music, and this creepy figure in a plagued Dr. Mask just, lingering in the background. It was one of those things that, if you described each part on its own, might seem edgy or artsy. But together? Together it felt like staring into a serial

killer's brain. It was October 2016 when I finally left. I used to protest as my out, there was this Native American reservation fighting a pipeline, and I packed up and got the hell out of Portland. Part of me genuinely wanted to be part of something bigger. The other part just wanted distance between me and that man. I told him I was leaving, gave notice. That last night, he was drinking and tweaking again, spiraling into one of those conversations, joking, or pretending to joke, about murder. He started rambling about how smart he was, how good he was at getting away with things.

You know they're going to catch you someday, I said, finally dropping the act. I was done pretending. He looked at me, dead serious now. They'll never catch me. I'm the last person they'd suspect, that chilled me to the bone. I left first thing the next morning. No goodbyes. I never wanted to see him again.

But the thing is, it stayed with me. The smell, the crawl space, the video, the way he talked about violence like it was art. For months, it nodded me. A year passed. Then another half. Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore. I called Portland crime stoppers. Told them everything, anonymously.

As soon as I mentioned what he'd said and done, the operator kept putting me on hold, transferring me. A sergeant took over. They asked about his car, the house, every weird detail I could remember. It felt like they were actually paying attention. I gave them all I had, and though I never heard back, I felt a little better. I had done something. At least I tried.

Then not long ago, I was talking to my mom about it. She got curious, wanted to see the house. She pulled it up on Google Maps, switched to Street View. And there it was, this massive, enclosed trailer in the driveway that wasn't there before. Why was it there? No idea. I could guess, sure. But deep down, I don't want to know.

I'll probably never get closure unless he slips up and the cops catch him. And even then, who knows? I've met some sketchy people in my life, but none of them ever made me feel the way he did. I don't care what anyone thinks, my gut told me something was seriously wrong. And I hope to God I never see that man again. That would have been enough nightmare fuel for a lifetime, but it wasn't the end. end. This whole saga started when I was about 15, going on 16. I'm 20 now, and only recently have I begun to really understand how messed up all of it was. Back then, I was still living at home,

but things were rocky. My mom was dating this guy who was, to put it politely, a complete piece of trash. He hated me, found reasons to yell every chance he got. So naturally, I spent a lot of time at my sister's place. She'd moved out, lived with her husband, his old high school buddy Frank, and this other guy they found on some roommate site. That guy. His name was William. And his girlfriend? Amber. And let me tell you, they were both off in ways I didn't fully realize until way later. William was one of those silent, nerdy dudes who never left his room. Always watching Star Trek or playing games. Amber was basically the same, except creepier.

They only ever talk to each other. You could say something directly to Amber and she'd just, stare. Not say a word. Just blink, and walk off. I was staying over a lot back then. Slept on a futon in Frank's home office downstairs, right next to the bathroom. For some reason, Amber liked using that one instead of the one upstairs. She took long showers in the middle of the night, which didn't bother me much, I'm a heavy sleeper.

But one night I was up late doing schoolwork, wired on caffeine. I heard the shower shut off, figured it must have been around 2 or 3 a.m. A while later, I looked up from my laptop, and she was there. Amber. Completely naked. Just standing outside the slightly cracked door, staring at me. I froze. said her name, asked if she was okay.

She startled, then quickly walked away. I convinced myself I imagined it. Maybe I was too tired. Maybe I dreamed it. Who knows? A month later, I come over and Frank's freaking out. Someone's been pressing their face up against the office window. Fingerprints all over it.

It was at the front of the house, easy to access from the street, and the blinds were a bit too small, so anyone could peek in. He thought it was a perv or a burglar. Called the cops, but there were no cameras back then, so nothing came of it. After that, Frank installed security cameras, both inside and out. This was when William and Amber were out of town, so nobody told them about the new setup. Months pass. I show up one day, and William's room is empty.

Gone. I ask why. Frank just says, they were creeps. We kicked them out. Turns out, Amber had been watching me through the office door. Repeatedly. For 20 to 30 minutes at a time. She did it so often that it was caught multiple times on the footage. I had no idea because I was always asleep. And the fingerprints on the window? That wasn't some random stranger. It was William. Watching me through the window when I got out of the shower and was just chilling in a towel. He'd been doing it for weeks. And it gets worse.

I was hanging out with my sister and her husband recently, and he casually drops, which we told you the full story back then. You could have pressed charges. What do you mean? That's when he spills it. Not only were they watching me, but they messed with my food. Security footage showed William licking my apples. Amber spitting in my juice

They poured regular milk into my lactose-free carton That explained why I felt sick so often Frank confronted them Found shirts of mine I thought I'd lost, stolen and hung on their wall Drawings of me Poems about me I don't even want to know what those poems said He gave them two hours to get out or he'd call the cops

They packed up and vanished I still think about what they were planning How far it would have gone And I'm thankful every single day that I got out of that situation Before it got worse So yeah That's the story Real-life horror

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Like the one I'm about to get into. Because believe me, I've seen things. And not all of them were on a screen. So, let me tell you about the creepiest neighbor I've ever had. This isn't your typical, loud music at 3 a.m. nightmare. This is some next-level horror story that started when my wife and I moved to me. into this place in Farmington, New Mexico. It was February 2020. You know, right before the world went sideways. My wife and I snagged the ground floor apartment. Looked normal enough,

clean, decent neighborhood. Felt like we could finally relax after bouncing from one state to another every two years thanks to our travel-heavy jobs. A few days in, we met the folks next door. Olivia and Umberto married couple with two young daughters. Nice enough people at first. Smiles, waves, small talk in the hallway. But I had a weird vibe about Umberto right from the get-go. Something about the way he stared too long, like he was trying to read your mind, or maybe rewrite it. March rolls around, and so do the lockdowns.

Everything shuts down. Everyone's on edge. And that's when Imbirdo starts to snap. At first, it was shouting. Nothing too crazy, just the kind of angry yelling you do when the Wi-Fi goes out. But soon it got worse. Louder. More frequent.

We'd hear him screaming through the walls. Not just arguments, full-blown rants like he was battling ghosts or demons. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. We were all losing it a little bit. it. No friends, no family visits, stuck inside all day. But this guy, he wasn't just losing it. He was unraveling. Then in April, Olivia texted my wife, said they were heading to her mom's place across the state for a while and asked us to keep an eye on their apartment. We were like, hell yes. Maybe we'd finally get some peace and quiet. And for a few months, we did.

They came back in October. But the quiet didn't. If anything, things got worse. Umberto started acting strange, like, more strange. One night around 3 a.m., there's pounding on our door. Not just knocking, pounding like someone trying to break in. I grabbed my handgun from the closet. My wife was half asleep but whispered, be careful.

I told her not to worry and made my way to the door. Looked through the peephole, yep, it was him. Opened the door a crack. Umberto, what the hell are you doing? He says, I think you left your wallet outside my door. Now listen, I know exactly where my wallet is every night. It lives on my dresser. No chance it was anywhere near his apartment.

Are you on something right now? I asked. His voice was shaky, weird. I didn't like it. To make a point, I suddenly showed him the gun I had at my side. Didn't raise it. Just let him see it. And man, the way he backed up while never breaking eye contact.

Chilling. Like he was mentally calculating how fast he'd have to move if he wanted to take me down. I got the message loud and clear, if I wasn't armed, things might have ended way differently. Go back inside, I said. Don't come knocking again, he nodded. Walked backward into his apartment. Door shut. I locked hours and didn't sleep the rest of the night.

Just lay there, listening. Imagining all kinds of creepy scenarios, him sneaking in through a vent, crawling across the ceiling like some horror movie monster. I knew it was my mind messing with me. But still, I was officially spooked. That's just a snippet of what's coming. The rest? gets darker, more dangerous, and you'll want those rake and earbuds by your side when the real

nightmare begins. To be continued, I've seen some wild stuff in my life, but nothing quite like what happened with Umberto. It's one of those memories that sticks to your brain like gum on a hot sidewalk. I still remember Olivia, Umberto's sister, or maybe girlfriend, I never really figured that out, screaming her lungs out. She was begging, flat-out begging, for the guy to give up. Please don't shoot him. He's got serious mental problems, she cried. She wasn't even talking to the cops like they were people anymore, just pleading to the universe.

The police were trying to reason with him, no doubt about that. They stood outside his place for what felt like ours. They kept saying stuff like, come on, Umberto, we just want to talk, and, nobody wants to hurt you. But he wasn't having it. He was holed up in his apartment, doors locked, windows covered, like he was preparing for some apocalyptic last stand. At one point, the dude actually smashed a window, just full on shattered it, and started yelling some gibberish at the cops.

I couldn't make most of it out, but it didn't sound good. It sounded desperate. Angry. Like the words of someone with nothing left to lose. And then, just when we thought it could. couldn't get any more insane, the guy throws a Molotov cocktail. Yeah, a Molotov. Who even knows how to make one of those anymore? But it flopped, literally. The rag fell out mid-air, and the bottle just hit the ground like a sad little soda bottle. You'd think that would stop him,

right? But nope. A few moments later, he pops back into the doorway, another one in hand. That's when the cops opened fire. Hit him right in the stomach. You'd think that would drop a man instantly. But not Umberto. He still managed to throw that bottle. It bounced off a cruiser like a tennis ball and rolled off into the gutter. Thank God it didn't explode. Soon after that, the cops swarmed the place and dragged him out. They had to wait for an ambulance to haul him off. Amazingly, no one else got hurt, which, considering the level of crazy happening, was a miracle. My wife and I didn't stick around. As soon as we finished giving our statements, we packed our bags and checked into a cheap motel across town.

No way were we sleeping under the same roof where all that just went down. Not even one more night. We had to go back to the police station a few days later to give more detailed info about what led up to the whole incident. And man, the story was long. Let me backtrack. Months before that crazy day, Umberto had already started spiraling. He actually broke into our apartment one night. Just kicked in the door like it was a western movie, waved a gun around, and screamed all kinds

of things. Threatened us. My wife got the worst of it, he grabbed her, shoved her, said things that made my skin crawl. after the police came, instead of backing down, he got even more aggressive. That was the first time he used a Molotov. Threw it at a patrol car. Same result, it didn't go off. Needless to say, he was racking up felonies like it was a game. Threats. Assault. Attempted arson. Illegal possession of weapons. Mental instability on top of it all. We moved out two weeks later. Just couldn't handle it anymore.

Even with Umberto gone, the apartment felt haunted by that night. Every sound made us jump. Every shadow in the hallway made our hearts race. We had to start fresh somewhere else. If I had to guess where Umberto is now, I'd say he's probably institutionalized. Either in some high-security psych ward or doing time behind bars. I hated him for what he put us through. despised him even but with time that hate started to shift not to sympathy exactly but maybe understanding

the guy needed help bad i hope he's getting it now i really do turns out the dude had poured gasoline on himself at one point during the standoff no one saw it happen but the fire department confirmed it later. The Farmington cops also found more homemade explosives in his apartment. Just think about that. The guy was ready for war. There's an article floating around that talks about the whole thing in more detail. I'll link it if anyone's curious, but honestly, living through it once was enough for me. You know what's messed up. Even before Umberto's meltdown, my life had already taken a weird turn. Rewind to early 2019. I was 21 and working at a car wash in Flagler County, Florida.

The place wasn't glamorous, but it paid the bills. My boss was a bit of a jerk, but the job was decent enough. Most of my co-workers were chill, until Nicholas showed up. Nick was 25, new to the job, and at first seemed normal. Friendly, even. We exchanged Instagrams, chatted at work. Just normal co-worker stuff. But then, around March, things started getting, off.

He got real hansy. Not in an overt way at first, little touches here and there. Always followed by a, sorry, accident. But it wasn't. You know when someone crosses a line. And he did. Repeatedly. He'd message me constantly, asking me out.

I said no. Many times. But he didn't stop. Just kept pushing. Like he thought persistence was attractive. I started dreading going to work. I'd feel my heart race whenever he was near. I tried telling my manager, but he just shrugged it off.

Said I needed to, handle my own problems. Like this was middle school and not a serious harassment issue. Then came the poems. Yeah, poems. Weird, creepy one. full of bizarre metaphors about flesh and fate. I tried ignoring him. That only made it worse.

One night, I got out of the shower, bathrobe on, window shades open. I caught movement outside. At first, I thought it was a raccoon or something. But no. It was Nick. On his bike. Staring. He saw me see him, then peddled off like a maniac.

I freaked. I never told him where I lived. Never invited him over. He must have stalked me, figured it out from photos I posted or something. That was it. I blocked him on everything, Instagram, Snapchat, The Works. I emailed my boss, told him I was done, and explained exactly why. Of course, no response.

But blocking Nick didn't stop him. He started making fake accounts. Messaging me from sock puppets. Hey, it's me, just want to talk. Why are you ghosting me? Over and over. Every day, new accounts. New messages.

I finally just disabled all my social media. Then came the scariest day of my life. I was walking my dog around noon when I spotted Nick. On his bike. heading straight for me i turned back heart pounding and rushed home got inside let the dog in he was on my porch seconds later nick what the hell are you doing here i'm not leaving until you tell me why you're ignoring me if you don't have a good reason there's going to be problems i tried playing it cool told him i was just taking a break from social media he relaxed a little then started telling me all this disturbing stuff. Said he had mental issues. That he was experimenting with cannibalism to repair his muscles.

Like, what? I made up a lie. Told him my dad was home and had a gun. That finally made him back off. As soon as I shut the door, I called 911. He stuck around for a bit, knocked a few times, then left. The cops showed up, I gave them every. They tracked him down and gave him a trespass warning. He denied everything, but I think

they knew he was full of it. Next day, a patrol cop spotted him again, heading toward my house. This time they arrested him. At the station, he admitted to some truly terrifying stuff. Said he'd been collecting my photos, analyzing the backgrounds to figure out where I lived. said he'd been to my house multiple times and that cannibalism thing he claimed it was part of a diet plan that's when i realized this guy was seriously disturbed the cops encouraged me to press charges turns out nick had a rap sheet he was already on probation now he was facing burglary stalking and probably more he was convicted though i heard he's appealing it Got fired from the car wash too, after other women came forward with similar stories.

So yeah. I've had enough true crime in my own life to last a lifetime. Lock your doors. Trust your gut. And don't ignore the red flags. There's always a reason to be afraid. The end. It all went down when I was about 14 or 15, still living at my parents' place.

I'm 25 now, but the memory is. man it sticks with me like it happened yesterday gives me chills even now so it was the tail end of summer break and my parents decided to go on one last fishing trip before school kicked back into gear my mom ran a little cafe near the high school and she and my dad were always working or out and about before they left they gave me the usual checklist how to reach them emergency numbers blah blah blah Nothing out of the ordinary. Then they drove off in my dad's Jeep. My mom's car was in the shop, so I was totally stranded at home. Zero chance of going anywhere. Now, you know what a teenage girl does when left alone with a stocked fridge and no adults?

That's right. I went full chaos mode. I hit up my dad's ridiculously well-stocked liquor cabinet, yeah, the guy loved his whiskey, rated the pantry for every chip bag in sight and turned the living room into my personal horror theater. This was back when Netflix was still mailing DVDs, and my dad had this huge stash of B-grade horror flicks. Perfect for a weekend of junk food and jump scares. It was late Saturday night, technically early Sunday morning. I was sprawled out in my dad's worn leather recliner, popcorn bowl in hand, eyes locked on the screen. The movie

Ringu, the original Japanese version. Lights off, volume up, trying to scare myself senseless. Halfway through, nature called. I didn't feel like turning on any lights. Lazy teenage brain said, you'll be fine. So I patted over to the downstairs bathroom near the front door, doing my best to stay in horror movie immersion mode. No lights, just shadows.

As I'm doing my thing, kind of zoning out and thinking about movie, my eyes drift up to the little oval window facing the front yard. We didn't have curtains there. Instead, my dad used this frosted privacy film that blurred everything out. It let light in but kept anyone outside from seeing clearly into the bathroom. That's when I noticed it. There was a shape in the window. A tall one. Vaguely human. Just, standing there. At first, I thought my mind was messing with me. Streetlights played weird tricks through the frosted film, especially when you're half-hyped from a horror flick. But then it moved. Slowly. Deliberately. Like someone backing away. That was the exact moment I realized something was seriously wrong.

Our porch lights. Motion sensitive. Super sensitive. A leaf blowing by could trigger them. But they hadn't turned on. which meant whoever was outside knew exactly how to avoid setting them off. Only one way to do that, walk around the side of the house and hop over the porch railing. That requires effort, and planning. I pulled up my pants in record time, skipped the flush, and practically army crawled my way back to the living room. I was full-blown panicking at this point.

My heart was racing, adrenaline pumping. I ducked low, tried to steady my breathing. and listened. Then I heard it. Footsteps. Slow, deliberate pacing. Just outside. I couldn't move. I was frozen on the floor, clutching a throw pillow like it was some kind of shield. I pictured someone breaking in, spotting me, a teenage girl alone and scared, and doing God knows what. Finally, I snapped into action. I crawled to the kitchen, grabbed the cordless phone, yeah, It was the early 2000s, and just as I did, the footstep stopped. Dead silence.

I peeked toward the front door. Still no porch light. That meant they must have jumped off the porch again, probably heading around the back. That's when I noticed the kitchen window. Crap! We always left the blinds raised on that window. Our two cats loved staring outside, and if we lowered the blinds, they'd claw them to death. I bolted over and yanked the blinds down.

Too late. No idea if the person saw me, but if they were familiar with our house, they probably knew those blinds were always up. They probably knew someone was home. Still, I didn't see anyone outside. Just that TV glow bouncing off the walls. But I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. Then came the sound. The porch door.

Rattling. Not like the wind caught it. Like someone was trying to open it. My dad had installed a hook on that door, mainly so we could let the cats out without them escaping. But my mom always forgot to use it. This time, though, it was hooked, thank God. So now my brain was firing on all cylinders. This person knew how to get past the lights, knew about the kitchen window, and now knew about the porch door.

None of this was random. Instead of calling 911 like a normal person, I dialed my dad. Genius, right? He picked up after a few rings, groggy and annoyed. I tried to play it cool, but my voice was shaking. Don't freak out, but I'm freaking out. He was immediately alert. Why the hell didn't you call the police?

Working on it, I said. Meanwhile, I was flipping on every single light in the house. Not even subtle. Just sprinting from room to room, throwing switches like I was trying to signal Batman. When I finally called the cops, I was borderline hysterical. They got there quick, maybe ten minutes later. But those ten minutes felt like hours. When the officer knocked, I refused to open the door.

I demanded ID through the people, made him show his badge, and even called the station to confirm his name. Yeah, I was that paranoid. They didn't find anyone. No footprints, no sign of forced entry. Just one very freaked out teenage girl wrapped in a blanket, clutching a cordless phone and still surrounded by empty snack wrappers. My parents drove back immediately. Our neighbor stayed with me until they arrived.

I didn't sleep at all that night. For the next week, I refused to go downstairs alone. I stopped using the bathroom near the front door. I kept every single light in the house on after dark. I was paranoid as hell. We lived on the edge of some woods, and the thought that someone could be lurking out there. Yeah, that messed me up. But here's the kicker.

A week later, a woman a few blocks away was assaulted in her home. Her husband was out of town. The guy broke in through the back door. same time of night same setup i couldn't stop thinking what if i hadn't noticed what if i'd fallen asleep on the recliner what if he realized a young girl was alone in that house everything could have been different horribly different okay now shift gears with me let's rewind to 1996 a different place different story same creepy vibe. I was 15, living in this quiet Swedish university town. Pretty chill place. I was a good kid. Didn't smoke, didn't drink, didn't party. My dad and I lived in this cute little

house on a leafy street, and I spent most of my time studying, reading, or secretly crushing on this boy from school. We were both too shy to say anything, though. That summer was hot. All the popular girls girls were walking around in tight white crop tops, showing off their midriffs. I decided, what the hell, let me try fitting in. So I bought one, wore it with those ridiculous Spice Girls platform sneakers that ruined everyone's ankles back then. Felt cool for once. And that's when it started.

First, it was little notes. Left in the basket of my bike. Stuff like, Love Your Style, Baby, and, you're becoming a woman before. my eyes. Creepy, right? I thought it was some guys from school being jerks. A couple of them lived near me. Teenage Logic told me it was just dumb teasing. So I doubled down. War my new clothes even more. Then, one morning, I saw that someone had trampled through the flower beds right under our windows. I told my dad, and he got super serious. Said someone might be scoping the place out. He reminded me to always set the house alarm when I was home alone.

Stuff had gone missing before. Nothing big. Just weird things. Little items. Things you'd barely notice. Later that month, my dad planned a weekend getaway with his employees to celebrate 10 years of running his business. He booked this fancy lodge up north. I was used to being on my own when he traveled, so no big deal.

Our neighbors, this sweet older couple down the street, would usually check in on me. It was Saturday night. I had just gotten home from a movie night at a friend's. Rode my bike back around 1 a.m. As soon as I stepped inside, I noticed a draft. Window open. Then I saw the alarm panel, it was off. Weird.

Did I forget? I walked into the living room, and there he was. Mr. W., the neighbor. Hey, kiddo, he said, like it was nothing. Didn't mean to scare you. Just checking in. But something was off. He reeked of alcohol.

And why was he in my house? Why that late? That was just the beginning. To be continued, it was a hot summer night, but I felt the chill that crept down my spine like a ghost brushing past me. Something deep inside screamed that I was, was in serious danger, even though everything seemed calm on the surface. Mr. W. stood in front of me with a friendly smile, but something about him felt off, unnatural, even. It was like he was wearing

a mask, pretending to be the same man I'd known since I was a kid, but I could see it in his eyes, someone else was behind them. Wine, he asked, nodding toward a half-empty bottle sitting on the kitchen counter. His voice was smooth, too smooth, like he was rehearsing. I shook my head. Uh, no thanks. I don't drink, my dad, you know. I tried to sound casual, but even I could hear the tremble in my voice. It didn't feel like my voice at all, it felt borrowed, distant.

He just smiled wider. You're nearly a grown woman now. You can make your own decisions. He poured the wine into a dirty glass without waiting for me to change my mind. Then he said the thing that made my stomach twist into knots. I've been watching you. You've really grown. He started talking about my clothes, how I dressed differently now, how I should know that's an invitation.

My skin crawled. I backed toward the front door, praying he wouldn't notice. But he did. He grabbed my arm, pulling me close. Don't be like that. Nobody likes a tease. I tried to pull away, but he laughed. You want to play, huh?

I can play. He shook me hard, and I realized just how much stronger he was. My only chance was to trick him, get away for just a moment. I needed him to let go. I don't know how I did it, but I became someone else. A version of me I didn't recognize took over. Yeah. I like to play, I heard myself say.

He grinned, Stroked my hair, and led me toward my dad's bedroom. I forced myself to act interested. The moment he tossed me on the bed, I faked a smile and said, Hey, why don't you go lock the front door and turn on the alarm? Don't move, he warned. The second he turned his back, I leapt up and locked the bedroom door. My heart was in my throat.

I'd made a mistake. This wasn't my bedroom, there was no window to escape through. But there was a phone. In my panic, I forgot the number for emergency services, this wasn't the U.S., and 9-1-1 wouldn't work. The only number I could think of was my dad's work phone. He picked up instantly. I told him everything, trying not to cry. He stayed calm and called the police while staying on the line with me.

Meanwhile, Mr. W. was outside, jamming a screwdriver into the lock, screaming that he was going to get me like a fish. My dad also called a neighbor, Mr. K., former military, always talking tough about how he'd deal with intruders. Mr. K got there before the cops. And he made good on his promise. I could hear the fight, punches, crashes, grunts, but I had no idea who was winning. Mr. K was strong, but Mr. W. might have had a weapon. Then I heard Mr. K's voice through the door, Hey, kid, you okay?

I didn't answer. I couldn't move. My body had shut down. I felt like my mind had fled, left behind an empty shell. How could someone I trusted, someone who watched me grow up, turn into a monster? I still don't have the answer. I still don't trust people the same way. Years later, I met Mr. W's ex-wife.

She divorced him soon after that night. She said she never wanted kids. with him, something inside her just knew they wouldn't be safe. Mr. W. is dead now. And yeah, I'll admit it, I'm glad. But that wasn't the only time my instincts screamed at me to run. Just last summer, my brother John and I, his girlfriend, and some of her friends went down to Bournemouth for the day. It's a beautiful seaside town in southern England, perfect for vacations. But anywhere with big crowds brings out the weirdos. We were walking near a park when John's girlfriend said she wanted to go shopping with her friends.

She asked if we wanted to come, but John and I passed. We weren't in the mood for shops. Eventually, we got tired of the crowds. I wanted to light one up, just relax a bit. So we wandered off into a nearby forest. It was quiet. Too quiet. That uneasy feeling crept in again.

The switch from loud streets to a street to a street. silent forest was jarring. And I couldn't shake the thought that we were being watched. We found a spot and lit up, but I couldn't enjoy it. Something felt wrong. The paranoia wasn't just from the weed. My gut told me, we're not alone. Then I saw something out of the corner of my eye, someone moving through the trees.

He stepped out, a tall, gaunt man, greasy hair, maybe mid-forties. He looked like he hadn't eaten in days. Most of his teeth were gone. You boys seen any bugs around here, he yelled. We looked at each other. Uh, no, man. No bugs here. He muttered something we couldn't make out and ran off.

Okay, that was weird, John said, trying to laugh it off. I wasn't laughing. Then, another guy showed up. on a beat-up bicycle. Another tweaker. You hear for the big thing, he slurred. John replied quickly, no. The guy shrugged and started to ride away, then stopped and stared at us.

Hard. Like we weren't supposed to be there. And then the real horror began. Twigs cracking in all directions. Figures stumbling out of the woods, tweakers in ripped clothes, bloodshot eyes, mumbling like zombies. John and I didn't need to say anything. We bolted.

I could hear them behind us. My legs burned, my lungs screamed. We ran until we saw the edge of the park. Oh crap, I dropped my joint, John said, turning back. Forget it. We need to go, now. Relax, give me a sec, he said, searching through the leaves. That's when I saw them again.

More figures coming through the trees. Mowning. Shuffling. Zombies, man, they're coming. I know it sounds ridiculous, but in that moment, I believed it. I didn't wait. I grabbed John and yanked him up. We made it out.

No scratches. No bites. The Tweeker zombies didn't follow us past the park. They melted back into the trees. Later, we found the girls and told them what happened. They thought it was hilarious. Now, we can laugh. But back then, I was genuinely terrified.

I still wonder what those people were doing. My best guess. A drug deal gone bad. Maybe the first guy was the dealer. When we scared him off, the others thought we were the new buyers. Or maybe it was something worse. I'll never really know But I do know one thing

I'll never wander into unknown places high again Some instincts are there for a reason And mine They've saved my life more than once So yeah, it's okay to be afraid sometimes Fear keeps you alive Thanks for reading Stay safe out there

The End Part 1 It's been 15 years Short horror story, I woke up in the same bed as always, the room was still pitch black, I looked at the clock that was sitting next to me, it was 3 a.m. The only visible thing was the faint light coming from the corridor outside the bedroom. So he's awake. Or has he even gone to sleep in the first place? I thought to myself.

It doesn't matter, as long as I ignore him I still have the chance to fall back asleep and end this night, I tried to foolishly convince myself, Depp Sight knowing that from the moment I woke up, He was aware of that. I could hear his footsteps outside the bedroom, a cold drop of sweat run down my forehead. I tried to close my eyes and force myself to dream again, but it was already too late. The footsteps kept getting loonder and loonder, with each sound my heart rate sped up, to the point where I could barely breath. Everything around me started to get blurry.

The footsteps stopped right outside the bedroom door. Now there was only silence. It felt like the time itself was frozen in place. That feeling didn't last long. Slowly, the door handle started to turn, a dreadful chill ran down my spine. As the air around me got cold, the door gradually let more and more light come into the room. Behind the door stood a familiar dart figure. As the figure approached me all I could do was blankly stare into its black, emotionless eyes.

I tried my hardest to say something, but my thoughart felt like it was on fire, tears started running down my cheeks, he's here. As he sat next to me on the bed, all I could utter was, John, I want a divorce." "'Divorve?' "'Haha,' said John. Part 2 Sleep Tight. "'Christmas horror story.

I had just left a fresh glass of milk, and some baked cookies I made with my parents. I gently placed the offering right on the glass coffee table, and scurried off to bed. I nestled into my blankets, and Mom gave me a gentle kiss on my forehead. The adrenaline had already rushed trough my body, so it was nearly impossible for a nine-year-old to doze off without a second thought. I looked out my window, and pondered of all the brilliant, shiny, vibrant-colored wrapping paper with all of the gifts I had asked Santa for. About 30 minutes had passed, and my eyes were getting a tad bit weary.

I snuggled once more in my bed. This was not working. I decided to make a pillow fort to make myself tired, grabbed all of the throws, pillows, and whatever comfy objects I could find. It was not the best, but it was comforting with the feeling of being in a secure place. Safe, I thought. An awfully boring hour went by, and I figured I would make myself a glass of water. I looked over the staircase and could see the beautiful luminating lights from the Christmas tree, reflecting onto the wall.

I slowly crept down each of the steps, trying not to wake my parents, as they go to bed early for some reason. Did Santa arrive? I slowly walked over, and peered around. Nobody. Huh, that was strange, I whispered to myself. I sat on the couch, having little gulps of the refreshment. Just as I was getting comfortable, I saw in the corner of my eye a black figure. S. Santa.

I said, as my voice quivered. No response. I cautiously walked over to see who, or what it was, just as I took another step, my face fledged from full terror. A tall, almost dead-looking, thing. Defiantly not human figure was towering over me. I ran as fast as I could, crying my eyes out for Mom and Dad to save me. I had tripped over a few steps, but did not look back.

I frantically pounded on my parents' door, and had swung the door wide open. My heart had dropped. I was lost for words. Mom was gone. Dad had disappeared. As I cowardly turned around. That horrifying. Being was inches away from me.

Safe, safe, was the last words from nine-year-old Alex J. Louis. part one the story of Will and Harper. Will and Harper. I just watched this documentary on Netflix called Will and Harper about the friendship of Will Ferrell and his friend and former writer for Saturday Night Live, the former Andrew Steele, now Harper, who is transitioning to be a female. It was an inside, real look into the questions people want to ask about someone who is transitioning. Many times we want to ask but are afraid to. This documentary was about a lifetime friendship that even though it was the same, was now very different. Will wanted to make this because he knew that Harper always loved to travel the country, he loved going to dive bars,

just meeting and interacting with different people. But as a woman, especially a trans woman, that was now a different world. So the two decided to do a road trip to see how different it would be and documented. It is funny to see a person who grew up as a man and who didn't think of their safety or how women were treated, now can see how it feels to be a woman and what we go through daily. They now understand our fears and what we have always had to deal with. It also shows, sadly, how horrible people are. How they said and tweeted terrible things about Harper and Will, just because he was friends with her.

It showed us how words can hurt and just how cruel people can be to someone different. This was an honest and enlightening story of what it is like to always feel like you were born into the wrong body, your entire life. To have to live a lie your whole life and then to finally have the courage to come out to who you truly are. Even as scary as it is, even when you know that people want you dead. Even though some people you love will disown you. Even as they call you names and have no compassion for you as a human being. You are still brave enough to stand in your truth. That is courage.

So today, my friends, I have to say that it saddens me that people can't live and let live. Sometimes we are afraid of the unknown, and this documentary showed us what it is like to walk in someone else's shoes. It answered questions and allowed us to know someone who is different from us. I don't understand why we can't let people do what they want to do with their lives. It's none of your business, it's not your life. The one amazing lesson that I got from this documentary is that Harper was still Will's friend. Nothing in their friendship changed except her sexual orientation. And like one of my favorite influencers, Joey Swolves says all the time, mind your business,

we need to do better, and we all need a friend like Will who will love us no matter what, and who will continue to be our friend and try to better understand what you may be going through. That my friends are the meaning of true friendships. Be the change you want to see. Part 2 My Blood Donation Horror Story, T.W. Blood and Needles. Love, T-L-D-R, Nurse stuck a needle in my muscle instead of my vein, and I almost passed out because I was a dumbass and didn't eat beforehand. Let me tell you my tale of woe from last Wednesday.

I drove all the way to my nearest blood donation center to donate some of my troll blood. I walk in and wait five minutes for someone to notice me, because I am shy and don't like to make myself present. I get temperature checked, I'm good. I get screened and they check my BP and hemoglobin count, all good. The nurse, let's call him, see, asks which arm I use normally for donations, I say my left arm, it has the most easily accessible veins, and it doesn't interfere with my art stuff. And he leads me to the big room full of chairs and different machines for various types of blood donation. I get to the chair and see puts the cleaning stuff on my arm, and I'm just doing my thing and breathe.

C starts to prep the needle after putting the BP cuff on my arm and I start squeezing the little squeeze ball to get my blood pumping in my veins more visible. C drops the needle and bag, picks it up and he fucking doesn't get a new one. C marks my arm with a purple pen and the first thing I notice is that it isn't anywhere near where I usually get it poked, I don't think anything of it because it might just be a new spot. C inserts the needle and I'm thinking, fuck, this hurts more than usual, and he kind of makes an odd face, which worries me. He calls over this nice lady who has very nice vibes, she's got bride of Frankenstein hair and a skeleton necklace, like I said, very nice vibes.

We'll call her Q. Q makes a face that also worries me, it prompts me to ask what's wrong. Q says something about how C put the needle in a little off, she tries to calm me with a compliment, you're in pretty good shape, your muscles were kind of in the way of the needle. C stuck the needle in my muscle instead of my vein. I'm like, oh, okay. That's cool, and Q's like, I'm going to have to reposition the needle's sweetheart. I nod and she pulls the needle almost all the way out, and wiggles it to find the vein, then after a couple of excruciating seconds she gets it.

C leaves Q to watch over me and to talk to me, I'm like, good he's a bitch anyways. Q starts talking about gay stuff to me, which made me happy that she recognized that I'm one of them. She tells me stories about her relatives coming out and the different reactions. I'm nodding and adding my peace every once in a while. I start to feel lightheaded, which I'm used to because I experience lightheadedness every time I donate, but this time it felt different. I ask Q for a cold rag for my forehead because I felt a little lightheaded. She is like, oh, of course, sweetie.

And she rushes to get some rags and puts them on my forehead and neck. I start feeling worse and worse and my face contorts to really painful expressions and Q is like, are you okay? What have you eaten today? And I meekly responded with, I ate a cheeseburger a couple of hours ago. Q asks if that's all I've eaten today to which I respond with, Yeah, I take vivance and it makes my appetite really low, and Q freaks out and is like you gotta eat.

And I'm like, yeah, I'm a dumb ass. They shove juice boxes in my face and I drink about three to four boxes, it's yummy but very hard to drink because I'm about to pass out. All of a sudden my hands, feet, calves, and abdomen become really tingely, not like just pins and needles but really, really tingly. They feel like they're shaking but they're not. My joints lock up and I can't move my hands or fingers. I kind of freak out and I'm like, hey, I can't feel anything but the pain in my arm

R.N. Q is trying to encourage me to finish the bag, which makes sense to me. It's only got a couple of ML left. I try hard to fight through it, but the pain is so horrible I had to get them to stop at just a little left. I felt terrible because I couldn't fill the bag, but I still was in horrifying pain. My hands were the last to regain feelings after about 10 minutes of sitting there, my hands couldn't close and they felt like when your foot's asleep and you try to wiggle

your toes and you can't but you see them. It was terrible. When I got off of the chair, my entire ass and back were covered in sweat, it was disgusting. Anyways, Q thanks me for trying to donate, and rushes me to the snack table and tells me to eat. I do and after another ten minutes I feel good and I leave after saying goodbye and drive home. Long story short, my arm is bruised and ugly green and still hurts like hell, for days later, but. This is my first post in this sub, so please be nice. I might not have the formatting down to AT, but I tried my best. Love, Part 1 One Little Psychological Horror Story.

Oh, my head hurts. Where am I? What is going on? When I look around me. Is it? Some small subway station. Yes, it is. But what am I doing here?

Why isn't there anybody? And? Oh no, I'm running to it and yes. The exit is in fact walled. I'm scared, start to punch in that wall, but surprisingly nothing happens. Okay, keep your head still, look around you. But the only thing I can see is a light bulb. Slowly drifting from one side to the other.

Doing that annoying noise. But there is no wind, how can it be moving? And that noise? It's driving me crazy. No. Keep rational thinking. There is just one way I can go. No exit, two of the tracks walled as well.

There are two options. Left or right? Left or right? There is black darkness in both of them. I'm scared. What do I do? I go in the left one. No, I can hear something and run headlessly back.

Okay, just breathe. Now I'm going in right one. Everything seems good so far. Couple steps, couple more with a hand on the wall. I look back and can see just the faintiest light. No. I can't go back, I must keep on going forward. Breathe, one step, then another one.

Good, everything is fine. Don't think about anything, just do one more step. And one more. Good. I'm falling, I've stumbled over something. No, I don't look at that thing, it's not alive and that's all you need to know. God, did I hear something? No.

It's just my brain making up things that are not real. Breathe, you can do it. More steps. Good, your legs are somewhat sure now. You can keep walking. Why is my breathing starting to go faster? Why is that dark so dark? What is that?

No. It's nothing. Now I heard something. It's right behind me. No, it's next to me. No. Is it in front of me? What is that?

It. Yes, it's me. What am I doing? Am I screaming? It do seems like that. Yes, it was me. Now you know that you can calm down. My heart rate is returning to normal. I can go on now. One step. Then another. Yes, you're doing great. Now continue. It cannot be much further away. You can do it. You can do everything after all. Think about something positive. But about what? I can't think about anything. Wait a second. Who am I? What is my name? I, I can't remember. I stop.

What is going on? How? Did I get here? And, how? Is it possible I don't even know my name? What was that? Oh, I heard it. It's here, right behind me.

Now I'm running. Running for my life. No matter what is in front of me. matter what is in front of me, the only thing that matters is what's behind me. I can't hear it over my own heavy breathing, but I know it's here. It's omnipresent. It's my demon. I'm trying to get from it, but it's still closer and closer. I can sense it. I'm running faster than anybody else had ever ran, I'm flying. But that thing is still behind me. I just know it. If I stop I die. That's the rules. I know them as well as it knows it.

What's that? I see something. Is it? Some light? No. I must be hallucinating. Now it's gone. But I'm still running, as fast as I possibly can.

Yes. It is light. In front of me. Even though it is not possible, now I'm running even faster. I can see that blissful glow. I can feel it, I can smell it, I can hear it. I'm almost there. What?

No. I fell. I must get up, that thing is getting closer and closer every second. But I can't. I can see that shine. But I look back and there it is. The darkness. The pure evil darkness.

And the demon. Shining red eyes, hunting eyes, hungry eyes. Now it's end. I know it, I can't fight back. I simply can't. Yes, it's moving closer. I turn my head towards that glow, towards heaven, but deep down I know what's coming for me. Hell, nothing more, nothing less.

The hell. I wake up, screaming. What was that? It was. So real. I, can still see it all, I can still hear it all, I can still feel it all, I can still smell it all. It's here with me as well. I know it.

It was a dream. But it was also a reality. I stand up and go open that way. window. I need fresh air. I need some fresh air to get myself together. Okay, it was nothing. I'm good. Yes, now with the air floating around me I feel just fine. And now what? Should I go back to sleep? Yes, I should, just a couple more seconds in this chill fresh air. In this fresh air. And now? What? Back to sleep. Yes. I make that step. But What?

It is not towards the bed. I want to go to bed. Another step. Wait a second. Where am I going? Why am I climbing in the window? What? And now another step.

And nothing else, there is nowhere to make another step. There will be no more steps for me anymore. No more of anything. Goodbye world. Demon, I might see you again. I might see you very soon. Part two my husband refusing. to stop my mother-in-law from hitting our baby so I am here to tell him our marriage is over,

posted by you slash hot flan, 8325, hi, Stefan. Maybe you'll finally listen. And if you're wondering, if you can just speed home and stop me from doing this and leaving, it's too late. I'm sending you this, after I've already loaded everything into the car and left. Don't worry. I spoke with our landlords and took my name off the lease. I've set up a direct deposit for next month's rent. After that, you're on your own, buddy. I guess you're wondering why, I'm guessing you'll act like you're completely blindsided, right? Because you've done absolutely nothing wrong. And you're a great husband and father to be, aren't you? Well, buddy, let me break it down for you in a language you understand. I, 29F, have been married to my husband 35M for five years, and we've been together for

nearly 10. On paper, everything seemed fine, but in reality, our marriage has been anything but. And I've reached my breaking point. From the beginning, my mother-in-law has been a nightmare. She made everything about her from day one. At our wedding, she wore white, claiming it was a family tradition. It wasn't. She constantly criticizes me, from my cooking to my appearance. I'll never forget the time she called me fat, at a family gathering, right in front of everyone. And what did my husband do? Nothing. Not a single word to defend me. It didn't stop there. She has access to accidentally destroyed my belongings, including my grandmother's necklace, which she threw out because it looked like cheap costume jewelry.

She's gone out of her way to make me feel small, and unwelcome in my own home. But every time I tried to talk to my husband about it, he'd brush it off, saying I was overreacting or being too emotional. And then there's my husband. He's always on Reddit, constantly giving strangers relationship advice, which is laughable considering how he treats me. He spends more time raiding women's boobs on Reddit than talking to me. Literally.

And just so you know, the last pair he rated weren't a four out of ten, they were a ten out of ten. Yeah, he's got plenty of time to do that, but can't be bothered to remember anything about my life. He'll forget my birthday, our anniversary, even simple things like what I'm working on or what's important to me. But he has a perfect memory for his work schedule, and things that matter to him. When we fight, he becomes incredibly hostile, and always throws in a sarcastic buddy at the end

of his sentences, like I'm some acquaintance he can barely tolerate. And he never cleans the house, the dishes, laundry, you name it, it's all on me. It's like he thinks being an adult is optional, as long as he's got his job and his Reddit account. The final straw came a few weeks ago. I'm five months pregnant with our first child, a daughter. My mother-in-law started making comments about how she'll have to whip the girl into shape, and how she'll raise her to be tough because I'm too soft. When I told my husband that I didn't want his mother, to have too much influence on our daughter, especially with the way she treats me, he just laughed it off, saying his mother means well and that I was overthinking it.

But the moment that truly broke me, was when we were talking about future child care, and my husband suggested that his mother should watch our daughter while we work. I told him I wasn't comfortable with that, especially considering how his mother treats me, and he snapped. He called me paranoid and said I should get over it, because his mother was going to be a big part of our daughter's life, whether I liked it or not. This is the same woman who believes corporal punishment is okay. I've seen her hit my husband's nephew for the smallest things, and no one does anything about it.

It's like they're all living in some kind of cult. And I'm finally waking up to the reality of what's going on. If he wouldn't stand up for me, how could I expect him to stand up for our child? I started to fear, what kind of environment our daughter would grow up in. A place where she might be belittled or bullied by her own grandmother. With a father who wouldn't do anything to stop it. Oh, and did I mention that he missed our first ultrasound? His mother needed him to help her with something urgent.

It turned out to be fixing her Wi-Fi. He chose that. Overseeing our daughter for the first time. That told me everything I needed to know, about where I stand in his life. So I packed up and left. I'm done living like this. Oh, and in case you're wondering, I've already contacted a lawyer. You can't scare me into complying anymore, because I have all those things.

texts. You know exactly which ones I'm talking about. So, Stefan, I wish you all the best in your future marriage with your mother. And the women of Reddit, whose bibs you don't even deserve. Update two days later. Some people on Reddit have been pretending to know me, and spreading false claims. They've said I'm a deadbeat who doesn't work, and that Stefan has two jobs to support me. They even fabricated a story about a neighbor, who supposedly is a good friend of ours, saying I've been sleeping around, and moving in with the guys I supposedly had affairs with. None of this is true. We don't live in South Carolina or the UK, and we're not friends with any of our neighbors. I have never cheated on Stefan, and I work and make slightly more than him.

Just a dollar an hour difference. I suspect these claims might be from trolls brigading, or Stefan's friends trying to make me regret posting about this. I am safe and staying with family, which is all I'm going to say for now. I'm working with my lawyer. to ensure our safety, and that's all I can disclose at this time. For women who find themselves in my situation and are dealing with, Elise, consult with a pro bono lawyer who specializes in rental rights. That's what I did. They can give you advice specific to your country or region.

In my case, I was able to move out, because Stefan and I had both signed a lease contract, and had completed the minimum rental period. After my free consultation, I worked with my landlords, who are a lovely older couple, to arrange my departure. So don't be scared. Or, I mean, you can be scared, but there are things you can do to protect yourself. Also, make sure to run a credit check on yourself. I did, and it's another issue I'm addressing.

As for recent developments, there hasn't been much new. Stefan is clearly desperate. He and my mother-in-law have both had meltdowns and launched separate smear campaigns. My mother-in-law has spread false claims, including that I'm an unfit mother. and that I've been abandoning my responsibilities. I don't plan to answer these claims publicly. I'm collecting all evidence I have, especially since she has nothing to back up her accusations.

But I have everything to back up mine. So, no, Stefan, this is not going to be a he said, she said situation. He deleted his Reddit account, claiming it was because one person found him, but then he told me a bunch of people sent him Una Live threats, which seems impossible and contradictory. He did send his friends to my post. and I think they sent me some unsavory DMs and comments. Allegedly, when I tried to talk to Stefan, he always made me feel like I was going crazy.

Whenever I raise concerns or expressed feelings, he would dismiss them, belittle my emotions, and make me second guess myself. For instance, I come home to find that he had invited people over, without informing me in advance. When I brought it up, he'd insist that he had mentioned it earlier, even though I knew he hadn't. Another time, I planned a special meal and asked him for a specific dish. but he claimed I had requested something completely different. When I reminded him of what I had actually asked for, he'd argue that I must have forgotten my own request.

Stefan would also insist he had completed tasks, that I had actually done myself. For example, he would claim he had handled a household chore when I was the one who actually took care of it. When I pointed this out, he dismissed my recollection and insist that he had done it. Even in conversations about our relationship, Stefan would frequently deny things he had said or done.

If I brought up issues I had with his mother's behavior, he claimed, you never mentioned that before. You're just being overdramatic. This made me question, whether I had ever truly discussed these problems, or if I was indeed overreacting. At one point, I was so convinced that I had early onset dementia or schizophrenia, that I started to question my own sanity. I felt lost and confused, struggling to distinguish between reality and his version of events.

I began to document our interactions, just to keep track of what I was. was actually happening. But Stefan would always find a way to twist things, saying, you must be misremembering, even though I had clear evidence to the contrary. So I knew that sharing my story online was the only way to present my truth, in a manner he couldn't manipulate. I wanted to ensure that there was a clear, and unchangeable record of what had happened. Posting about my experiences was a crucial step in reclaiming my voice, and finding support from others who might understand my situation. It was a way to take control of my narrative, after feeling so lost and doubting myself for so long. Thank you all for taking your time to read this and supporting

me. Part one my dentist became a credit card thief and my dad made fun of him to his face. My former dentist was a nice guy. He never seemed like the sort of guy who would ever commit a crime, especially not steal. One night on the actual local news we found out that my dentist had gone to a local Jets pizza and stumbled upon a credit card on the ground and for some reason picked it up, walked inside Jets, and used it to pay for his pizza. This next part one can't remember how, but he got caught in the act. Police were called and he was quickly arrested. The police stated that there was no reason he should have done this because apparently he had over $200 cash in his wallet and decided to use the card instead. My dentist made a statement

and said, I just had a lapse of judgment or something of that nature. Fast forward. He's back in his office taking appointments and here comes my father for a cleaning. My dad said everything went normal and the dentist seemed normal. Here's the part one still can't believe. My dad, in front of the secretary, and dentist himself, pulled out his credit card to pay the co-pay and asked, do I have to be careful waving this thing around in here? Or something of that nature. He thought he was hilarious. My dad's always been a quick wit-it savage but this story makes me die every time I think about it and I thought I'd share. No, the dentist didn't like it. Pretty sure my dad said he kind of looked embarrassed and walked away. I feel bad honestly, but also don't steal. Part

2 my GF is traumatized. My girlfriend and I of five years went through a pretty bad event. It happened about six months ago and I don't want to rush her recovery or make her feel like a burden but I mostly just want to know how I can help her. To explain, my girlfriend is 20 years old and I, male, and 21. I have a friend who is 27 which he wasn't ever really my friend, but more really a friend of friends. Six months ago I had a serious argument with him outside his motel room. I don't know why he was in a motel room that day, but he is a really sketchy guy so I didn't want to know. Anyways, the argument was about how he kept making sexual comments towards my GF, I told him I didn't like it and he needed to stop. He would

always say stuff like, she should be with someone like me, what I would do to have her my bed, he told me that I should just suck it up and be glad he's not trying to steal her from me. A little after, the argument gets more intense and we are both about to get physical. My girlfriend comes to check in on me since I left her waiting in the car since I didn't think it was going to take long. This guy sees my girlfriend and laughs, takes her into his room, by force, and locks me out, and opens the curtains.

The entrance she took was behind the other guy, so basically he was standing in between us. He's super massive and I can't stand a chance against him. I'm watching him throw my GF on the bed and get violent with her as she's sobbing and fighting as much as she can. I'm screaming for help and trying to break down the door but no one is around. After a minute, I eventually got the door opened with a fire extinguisher in my hand and the first thing I did was hit him as hard as I could with it over his head. To this day I wish I settled this with other people around.

My girlfriend is okay, physically. He had punched and hit her, but he was about to raped her. We called the cops and explained everything, after, I found out that I had ended up killing him but I wasn't jailed since I was found innocent for protecting my girlfriend. Now six months later, I'm still so shaken up by everything but I can't even imagine how my girlfriend is. She is in therapy and in support groups but I can still tell she isn't okay. I want to be there for here, I love her so much and it hurts that I put her in that situation.

Even if it wasn't my intention, I didn't think about how anything could go wrong. Edit, I'm sorry that the story is confusing for a lot of people. If I'm honest, I didn't expect a lot of traction, so I'll just clear things up. I didn't go to buy drugs, I texted him and asked if I could talk to him. I live in a town where violent crime isn't too common and my lack of planning and just thinking skills are my fault, I know. Second of all, I didn't go through a lot of details because I was mostly summarizing the horrible stuff that is causing my girlfriend and eyes pain.

His motel room was upstairs, I left my GF downstairs in the parking lot, safe in my car. After she heard a lot of yelling, she ran up to check and that's when things escalated. Third, there were witnesses, cameras, and there was an investigation. I didn't just whack him on the head and he tumbled to the ground. It was a much bigger scale, but for saving time I'm obviously not going to go into depth. As for how physical the man got, he had pinned her to the bed and hit her face a bit. It took a long time for us to recover and things to die down, which is why we are both finally settling.

I go to therapy, so does my girlfriend, and on top of that we go to therapy together. We have been living together since she turned 18 since we come from abusive families and I believe this has made us even closer, I just understand that she is still recovering, as well as I, and want to know how best to help her even more. This wild story starts back when I was in college, living in Isla Vista, the chaotic little student town right next to UC Santa Barbara. If you've heard of it, you already know it's legendary for being one giant, never-ending party. And man, it lived up to the hype. Don't get me wrong, I was totally down to party, but some of the people there. Absolutely off the rails.

They took partying to another level, like blacking out on the lawn level. So yeah, the vibe was intense. Booze-fueled chaos, open doors, reckless decisions. People left their stuff out, forgot to lock up, passed out in strangers' houses. The kind of environment where anything could happen, good, bad, or terrifying. I lived in a small house with two roommates, both cool girls, serious about school but not shy about having fun either. We didn't throw huge ragers like the frats did, more like chill get-togethers, people drinking on the porch, music low enough to talk over. Sometimes friends would crash on the couch if it got late. No big deal.

We were used to it. One night, after a few drinks at a friend's apartment, I came home. It was about 2.30 in the morning. House was quiet, lights were off. As I tiptoed through the living room to my room, I noticed a guy lying on the couch. Didn't recognize him. I figured he was one of my roommate's friends. He looked, off, though.

Stiff. Like, weirdly stiff. Not just a sleep stiff, but I'm trying really hard to look like I'm asleep, stiff. I slowed down for a second, stared at him in the dark. And then he did something that sent a chill up my spine, without moving any part of his body, he snapped his head toward me. Just his head. Quick.

Like he'd been waiting. His eyes caught the light, wide open. No blinking. Just staring. My drunk brain tried to justify it. Maybe he was just really wasted or high or on some stimulant, couldn't sleep, and maybe I startled him. I didn't want to deal with it.

I darted into my bedroom and locked the door. Tried to forget about him. Got in bed, scrolled my phone for a bit. I crashed out until 4.30 a.m. rolled around. I woke up to this, noise. A soft tapping, like someone drumming their fingers on wood. I froze. It was coming from my door. Tap, tap, tap. Then scratching. Like fingernails dragging slowly, deliberately, down the wood. It got louder and faster. Like full-blown, two-hand scratching kind of noise. Relentless. Violent. My heart pounded in my chest. I grabbed my phone and texted my roommates. Hey, your friend is freaking me out. Is he on something? He's scratching at my door. Please go talk to him. No reply. Tried the other roommate. Still nothing. Scratching still going. Unbelievably loud.

I had no idea how someone could keep doing that. It must have been painful. Then I heard him grab the doorknob and try to twist it. It rattled and shook. I couldn't take it. I called one of my roommates, finally woke her up. Hey, your friend is seriously losing it. He's been scratching my door and trying to get in.

Silence for a second. Then she says, what friend? I blinked. The guy sleeping on the couch. We didn't have anyone over tonight. Call the police. Now. And just like that, reality shattered.

My adrenaline kicked in so hard I almost puked. That dude. Not a friend. Not a guest. A complete stranger. Who had somehow gotten inside? I told her to lock her door. Now.

Suddenly, the scratching at my door stopped. Then a loud thump echoed from the other side of the house. It was coming from Lauren and Monica's shared room. Bang. Bang. Bang. Screaming. I called 911.

Told the dispatcher everything. Guy in the house, banging on the bedroom door, trying to break it down. Screaming. Panic. The operator stayed on the line with me, bless her. Said cops were on the way. Isla Vista police were used to drunk idiots, but this? This was serious.

She could hear how freaked I was. Then things went quiet again. Not a sound. I was frozen, staring at my door. That tiny gap between the bottom and the floor. Fingers. Fucking fingers slid under the door and started wiggling. Just, flailing around like worms.

He made this low growling noise, like some animal. I screamed. Jumped back. Regret hit me instantly. Why didn't I stomp the crap out of his fingers? That would have been perfect. But in the moment, I was too paralyzed with fear. Suddenly, I heard running.

The sliding door in the back opened. Then closed. He was gone. When the cops got there, they searched, but he'd vanished. Left behind a pair of scissors, the blades bent and dulled from carving deep gashes into my door. He'd been using them to try and cut his way in. I still think about that night. That I walked right past him, looked right into his eyes.

He wasn't sleeping. He was hiding, blending in, trying to be invisible. and I almost let him. Fast forward to a few months later. Fall of 2010. I decided to go back to college. I was 28, a single mom with three boys. They were all finally in school, and I figured it was time to do something for myself. The school was a regional campus, tied to a big university. It was in a rough part of town, meth, heroin, prostitution, you name it. But it was close to home and the tuition was decent. I figured I could handle it. First day was nerve-wracking. I walked into class feeling like the oldest person in the room. Most students were fresh out of high school. I found a

seat in the back and kept my head down. Then this woman walks in. She was about my age, super thin, stringy hair, smelled like cigarettes. Looked like she hadn't slept in a week. But she smiled, sat next to me, and struck up a conversation. Said she liked my blouse. Weird way to start, but hey, socializing isn't everyone's strength. I gave her the benefit of the doubt. She had nothing with her.

No backpack, no books, not even a pen. Told me her financial aid hadn't come through. yet, but she didn't want to fall behind. I shared my book. Gave her a pen and paper. Tried to be nice. After class, she asked if I could walk with her to the library so she could scan a few pages. Sounded reasonable. I said sure. But halfway there, she stopped. Said her son had texted her and needed her home. Then she asked if I'd come with her. I was like, uh no i have another class she insisted said she couldn't go alone started crying we were standing in this weird middle zone parking lot on one side library on the other i was starting to get creeped out told her again firmly

that i wasn't going with her she lost it started screaming cussing me out people were looking over i backed away pulled out my phone and called a friend just to feel safer. I made it into the library, looked back. She was standing at the edge of the lot. Then this beat-up car pulled up. She got in after arguing with the driver for a bit. They drove off. She never came back.

Not to that class. Not to the building. Gone. I'm 99% sure she wasn't even a student. That whole setup felt like a trap. I don't know what she wanted, but I'm damn glad I didn't go with her. Then there's one more story. This one's from when I first started college, age 18.

I was making an effort to be social. Met a lot of people. Even got a girlfriend. We all hung out in little groups. Lunch was usually in twos or threes. Everyone was still figuring out who their friends were. I'd eat with whoever was around, honestly. It was all chill, at first.

Continues. Back in college, this girl named Lily asked if I wanted to have lunch with her after class. I didn't see any harm in it. We sat down, chatted about school, professors, deadlines, the usual surface-level stuff. It was chill. But then it started happening again. And again. Day after day, Lily kept asking me to grab lunch.

And I, being the conflict avoiding doormat that I am, didn't know how to say no. I didn't mind at first, but the side effect was that I kind of stopped having lunch with my actual group of friends. It wasn't on purpose, at least not from my end. But in hindsight, that might have been exactly what Lily wanted. One day, right after class, some random person asked me if I had so. social media so we could stay in touch for a group project or something. Normal thing. Harmless. Lily was a few seats away, but I saw her snap her head toward me like I just cursed out her

grandma. I mean, full-on-neck jerk, laser stare, that kind of thing. I didn't think too much of it until I got home and found a friend request from her. Which was weird. Because we didn't have mutuals, and I'd never given her my last name. best guess she hunted me down through the university's page slightly creepy but i brushed it off i figured she was just a little awkward then the floodgates opened messages comments Likes on every single thing I posted. She wasn't just active, she was hyper-engaged.

I told myself she was just lonely or something, and honestly, I've met worse people, so I let it slide. We still had lunch together, but outside that, we barely interacted in real life. It was mostly digital chatter and campus sightings. Coincidentally, my girlfriend at the time was also named Lily. that did not sit well with lunch Lily she made snide comments about the name joked that my girlfriend should change it and even said it didn't suit her the jealousy was not subtle eventually it became painfully clear that she had feelings for me she never said it outright but the hints were thick enough to choke on i didn't address it because honestly what was i supposed to say hey can you

cool it with the weird flirty vibes. Just thinking about it made my skin crawl. Plus, I wasn't into her. Not even close. She was one of those people who dressed like she was plucked from a 50s homemaker catalog, and she had this unsettling obsession with Disney princesses. Like, really unsettling. The last class of the year rolled around, and instead of our usual lunch plan, she asked if I could walk with her. No clear destination, just a walk. I hesitated but didn't know how to decline without being a jerk. So we wandered into this wooded area behind campus. She found a log, sat down, and I reluctantly joined her. She started crying, talking about how much she was going to miss me over the summer. I mentioned maybe seeing my girlfriend later that day, probably trying

to hint that I had plans. And that's when she kissed me. It was not okay. I pulled away, mumbled something, and left. I was relieved when summer break began. No lily, no awkwardness. Just peace. Or so I thought. After summer, I moved into a house with some college friends.

Things were messy, emotionally and otherwise. We were all fighting, drama was constant, and to top it off, I broke up with my girlfriend. All that stress made me re-evaluate things, and I let Lily back into my life a little. Still not alone time, mostly messaging, but I wasn't completely pushing her away anymore. Then I started dating a guy. Predictably, Lily flipped. She had probably assumed she had a shot after my breakup. Instead, I was with someone new.

And this wasn't just a rebound, this guy made me genuinely happy. But Lily? She was pissed. Not overtly, but the passive-aggressive comments were back. The fake smiles. The weirdly timed messages. I tried not to feed into it. But then...

Tumblr happened. Back then, I had a Tumblr blog where I shared personal thoughts, memes, pictures, whatever. One day I got a message from another user I followed. They sent me a screenshot of a random ask someone had submitted to the... their blog. It asked them to analyze my about me section and describe the kind of person who would write something like that. Weird, right? Why would anyone want a psychological profile based on a blog bio? And the kicker. The question wasn't anonymous. I clicked the username. And boom. There it was. Lily's blog. It was pink and red and cutesy like some teenage rom-com aesthetic.

But the content? Nearly all about me. Pages and pages dedicated to my life. She wrote about our lunches like they were actual dates. She described the woods kiss like it was mutual, like it was a beautiful moment we shared. There were lyrics from songs I'd posted, and commentary about how she would always love me, no matter who else came into my life. It was like a fanfic.

But I was the main character. and not just one character, too. She had created this alternate reality where I was both her best friend, named Stephen, for some reason, and her future soulmate. She referenced Stephen constantly. He supported her. He sent her photos. He knew her so well. Except, those were my posts.

My photos. My words. She was pretending I was this fictional guy for me. friend while simultaneously obsessing over me as myself. I kept digging. Her blog had followers. Strangers who believed everything she said. They gave her advice, comforted her when she vented about my boyfriend, told her to hang in there. They thought she was the wrong heroine in a tragic love story. I messaged her. Told her I found her blog. Called her out. And she said nothing. No apology. No explanation.

She deleted, or hid, the blog soon after. I wanted nothing to do with her after that. But unfortunately, we still had a class together, and her presence started to feel less sad and more dangerous. She tried hitting on my boyfriend. He told me right away. Said it was awkward and unprompted. After that failed, she tried flirting with three of my other friends. strikeouts across the board.

She eventually dated one of my ex-roomates, but still messaged me while they were together, saying she wanted me instead. Yuck! At one point, I tried distancing myself for good. She retaliated by spreading rumors, lies that affected job opportunities one had lined up. That was my wake-up call. Keeping the peace wasn't about kindness anymore. It was about self-preservation. If she thought we were on good terms, she'd leave me alone.

Mostly. After graduation, she didn't stop. She kept trying to message me. I ignored her, locked down my accounts. I was almost social media silent, just to get some peace. And still, she sent the occasional message. The last real convo we had was chilling. She messaged out of nowhere and started asking questions, personal stuff of

about my sexuality. I didn't want to answer, but I gave vague responses. Then she asked, What if I were a boy? I told her to stop. She didn't. She sent photos of herself. Then text after text, fast and obsessive, repeating things I'd said about myself, mimicking me. It was like she was trying to become me. Like she wanted to wear my skin. I blocked her on everything. That should have been the end. But just a few days ago, she sent me another friend request. It's sitting there. Unanswered. I know if I delete it, she'll just send another. For some perspective, this wasn't just a clingy crush. This was obsession, stalking, identity theft in spirit if not in name. And every time I think it's over, she finds another way

to squeeze back into my life. It's exhausting. It's terrifying. And it's real. I'm sharing this not just event, but because sometimes people don't take this kind of thing seriously. Because she wasn't hiding in the bushes with a knife, they'd say it wasn't that bad.

But emotional manipulation, obsession, and parasitic behavior are dangerous. And Lily? She was a master at all three. So if you ever feel like something, someone's attaching themselves to your life in ways that feel just a little too intense, trust your gut. Distance yourself. And whatever you do, don't let it slide. Because you might end up with your own Lily. And believe me, once she's in your life, it's nearly impossible

to get her out. The end. Two souls stood together on a hill, appearing from the distance to be a single hole. The two shadows overlooked a farmstead below them, hidden by the cover of darkness. Lurking like predators in complete silence, ready to pounce on their prey. With a single torch to illuminate their surrounding held by one of the two shadows, hardly noticeable from afar. I'm not sure we should do this, Sayura. One shadow spoke to the other. The other side loudly, we must, Barseek, can't you remember what they've done to us?

What they've done to you, the shadow exclaimed. I know but. I don't want to go back. I thought we were through with this, Barseek reasoned. Sayura smirked her grin smirk, I might be, but you could never be through with this, with what you are. You are the one who told me that only the dead get to see the end of the war. Sire, he begged, but she cut him off.

Listen, I hate to do this, but you're making me, and I only do this because I love you, now let me remind you what they've done, tearing open her shirt as she spoke. He attempted to look away, but she shouted at him not to avert his gaze from her exposed form. Don't you dare look away now? That is what they've done to me, that is what they took from you, Barseek. She cried out, pointing at his artificial arm while he stood there, staring at her, helpless against the oncoming onslaught of memories. You're right, he conceded, and turned his gaze to the farmstead below.

Something in him was beginning to snap, a part he had tried to bury deep inside his mind. Someone terrible he was trying to forget came to the forefront of his thoughts. And besides, you promised me we do this and you can't back out now, Sayura remarked while covering up again. You're right again, her friend lamented, Why do you have to be right all the time? Sayura, his voice shaking as he uttered these words. I hate just how right you are all the goddamn time,

Sayura, he screamed at her, flames dancing in his eyes. Unstoppable hateful flames danced in Barsik's eyes as his face contorted into an expression of a vampiric demon on the verge of starvation-induced insanity. Seeing the change in her friend's demeanor, Sayura couldn't help but giggle like a little girl again. Because someone has to be, don't you think, she quipped, watching him race down the hill, the torch in his hand.

From the distance, he seemed to take the shape of a falling star. Before long, he vanished from sight altogether, disappearing into the dark some distance from the farmstead, but Sayura knew where to find her friend. She always knew where to find him, especially in this state. All she had to do was follow the screaming. Slowly descending the hill, she listened for the screaming, getting excited imagining the inhuman punishment Barseek was inflicting in her name upon those who had wronged her, those who had wronged them. In her mind, for as long as she could remember, they were always like this, one soul split between two bodies. For her, it was always like this, ever since the day she met him when he was still a child soldier all those years ago.

To her, they always were in forever will be a part of the same hole. The screaming got almost unbearably loud by the time she was. reached the farm stand. Barseek was taking his sweet time executing their revenge. He made sure to grievously injure them to prolong their suffering. Sayura took great care not to take any care of any of the dying men lying on the ground as she made it a mission to step on every one of those in her path. Blood, guts, and severed limbs were cast about in an almost deliberate fashion. A bloody path paved with human waste by Barseek for his only friend to follow. By the time she finally reached him, he was covered in blood and engaged in a sword fight with the same.

an old man who was barely able to maintain his posture faced with a much younger opponent. The incessant pleas of the man's wife suffocated the room. Sayura crouched in front of the woman and blew Barzik a kiss. For a split moment, he turned his attention from his opponent to her and the old man's sword struck his face. It merely grazed the young warrior's face, almost more insulting than anything else. He shouldn't have done that, Sayura quipped to the wailing woman who didn't even seem to notice her. registering the pain, Barseek halted for a split second to take in a deep breath, pushing

his blade straight through his opponent to a chorus of grieving garbled syllables. I guess he didn't love you enough. Mother, Sayura scolded the weeping woman who in turn still seemed oblivious to her. And now he dies. With her words echoing across the room as if they were a signal or a command, Barseek cut off the man's head. Watching the decapitated skull of her husband crash onto the floor, the woman fell with it, letting out an inhuman shriek, much to Sayura's twisted delight.

Would you look at that, like daughter, like mother, she called out to her friend, who seemed equally amused with the mayhem he had caused. Not satisfied with the carnage he had caused just yet, Barseek turned his attention to the woman and stood over her with a ravenous gaze in his burning eyes. She begged for her life, but his heart remained stone cold. Cruel as he might have been, this devil was merciful than her. With a swift swing of his blade, he cut off her head, bringing the massacre to an abrupt end. Once the dust settled by sunrise, Barsik and Sayura were long gone, two shadows huddled as

close as one. Almost like two souls in one body, they traveled unseen by foot to the one place where they both could find peace. The gateway between the world of the living and the land of the pure. Once there, the shadow slowly crawled toward a grave at the foot of a Frangipani tree. I told you, Sayura. I told you I'll lay their skulls at your feet, Barsic lamented while carefully placing two skulls at the foot of the grave containing his only friend. Part one the chills, insignificant, unworthy.

That is how the higher beings view man. We are but mere fools to try and compare ourselves to them, the same as they are to compare themselves to the gods of creation and punishment. To the gods they are mere troglodytes, just as we are like monkeys to higher beings. A huge chunk of mankind will never admire their grotesque beauty, so complex most of man cannot physically comprehend their existence. They are thought of by some men as nothing but a myth, a legend, like the stories of the great gods of creation and punishment. All who have traveled through this realm or reside in it will know they truly exist when hearing such tales of higher beings and their atrocities. One tale known by all is the one of the mad Wolfgang van der Kroof,

and when he dishonored his kind to ascend to the realm of the gods of creation and punishment and how he failed terribly and the lesson from it which Bundletrauss sprung. It does not take one a lot to understand what kind of God the great dope God of punishment and sin is, Bundletrauss sits on its grand, blood-drenched throne of pain and displeasure giving out only punishment to those committing great atrocities. Bundletrauss does not praise those who are good or are morally correct, no, it only cares for punishing those who have done wrong in its lifeless eyes. A genuinely good deity in a sea of selfishness and pride. Wolfgang, being a higher being new he was better than mankind, though disgusted by his own self, giving life to half-breed offspring,

his kin being a level below higher beings, but just above man to be different. Committing such atrocities like defiling and murder will no doubt arouse the suspicion of the likes of Bundletrauss or some other gods of punishment. Wolfgang being a higher being was a great display of indifference between them and man, displaying a god complex and mental decay he was but a mere fool to compare himself to the likes of the great goat god Bundletrauss. Wolfgang thought of Bundletrauss as keen to its siblings, but could not be any more wrong, Bundletrauss did not associate with the other gods as he viewed them as blasphemous and disgraced,

for this reason and this reason only Bundletrauss is seen as a saint by most. Wolfgang had a misfortune disturbed mind akin to the murderers and psychopaths of mankind. Unloved by his predecessors and most of his fellow kind, his mind crumbled and he began to build upon his god complex seeing himself as a deity to mankind and his fellow higher beings due to the neglect from others caused by his own mental decay. To become a god Wolfgang's detreating mind made him believe he had to commit. commit great atrocities to please the gods, but Bundletrauss was the only god he seek to please viewing him better than the rest.

And upon one rise of the sun and its sorrow that followed Wolfgang did get his wish, Bundletrauss called upon him, finally he could be like the gods, like Bundletrauss, he could finally be so much more. Upon being called by Bundletrauss Wolfgang opened his foul eyes only to be presented with red, nothing but red. Crimson fields and mountains of red and vast pools of blood filled with the sorrow of man. about Wolfgang's eyes lay rest on a mighty sight, there sat on his throne of blood-soaked steel sat bundle trouse in the flesh of its physical form with the torso of a man, the

legs and head of a goat and human eyes peering through its furry blood-stained face, staring at Wolfgang. Being judged by the only God he saw as great, Wolfgang was struck with sudden surprise and dread to find out he was guilty of crimes against humanity and higher beings alike. He began to feel restless and uncomfortable in his revolting physical form and because of this he started scratching and tearing at his skin peeling each pale and bloodied layer of skin off one by one. What was left was a pile of pale blue blood-covered flesh, it began to seep into the ground in a particularly fast manner, and once the red grass was dry of Wolfgang's flesh,

the liquid of one of the blood pools rippled and from it raised an embryo produced from the evil and madness of Wolfgang. Bundletrauss took the embryo and planted it in a pregnant woman swapping a human life for this new warning made to show humanity what remains of a creature who can commit such atrocities for nothing but personal gain. A lesson. Part 2 The Chills. When I was younger, my grandma would tell me stories about being cautious of that dream snatcher. I never believed her until last year. I had a dream of walking through a city covered in snow and thick sheets of ice. In the midst of it all, I saw him, only his eyes were visible, cold like the outside. Those eyes seemed to peer into my soul,

freezing my heart, and I felt myself being pulled closer as everything around me started to warp. Then, I shot up from my bed, drenched in cold sweat. Thankfully, it was a reasonable time to wake up. I got up and started getting dressed for the day, but suddenly I felt chills running down my spine, as if someone had breathed on me or placed a hand on my back. I spun around and called out, who's there? Silence answered back. I brushed it off and finished getting ready, but when I grabbed my car keys, I noticed they were cold despite being mid-July. I tried not to think much of it as I got into my car and drove to work. After parking, I went into the building and took the elevator up to my desk.

When I arrived, my heart stopped, I found a piece of ice on my desk. I was unsure how to react. I remembered my grandma saying, if you find anything cold for no reason or ice, come to me. So, I turned around, took the elevator back down, and got into my car to drive. to my grandma's house. As soon as I stepped inside, I felt an unusual warmth, even warmer than usual. My grandma looked at me with concern and said, He was in your dream today, wasn't he? Staring at her in disbelief, I finally managed to ask, him.

Yes, she replied, the man with the icy eyes. I stared at her, feeling a chill. Suddenly, she fell and shattered on the floor. I felt an icy hand on my shoulder, and when I turned around, I opened my eyes to find my in a snow-covered place filled with buildings of ice. In the distance, I saw a man staring at me. P.S. Feel free to comment and share your opinions. Part 1 I was an abuser.

I grew up witnessing abuse and telling myself I would never allow myself to be abused by any man, ever. I didn't know it was possible for me to become the abuser. I'm 5 feet 1 inch 110 pounds, female, and my partner was more than twice my size. I used to scream and yell at him, throw things, damage property, and hit him. hit him. I was emotionally abusive and controlling. I always felt genuinely remorseful afterwards, I felt horrible about myself, about what I did. I would apologize, cry, swear it would never happen again, and we'd make up. I meant it every time, but the cycle continued. He was a kind and gentle soul. He became fearful of me, he lost his self-confidence and his sense of self.

Eventually we broke up, I sought therapy and he met someone who treats him well the way he deserves. Years later, we are both in a better place and on good terms now. Now my sister is married to an abusive man. They have kids together, there is no end in sight. We were both abused as kids. Abuse is a vicious cycle. Edit, changed, we are friends, too, we are on good terms now, for clarity. I reached out and apologized and he said he forgave me, this was years after the relationship ended. Now we will occasionally comment on each other's FB posts, but it's not like I went to his wedding or anything. Part two my family always makes my birthday awful and I don't know what to do. I, 21F, am turning 22 in about a month and I am actually kind of dreading it.

For the past five years I have either been ignored slash forgotten or made to cry on my birthday. Ever since I turned 16 my family hasn't really made any effort in doing things on my birthday with me or to celebrate my birthday in general. I also distinctly remember being entirely ignored on my 20th birthday, not a single call or text from any of my immediate family members. For all of my birthdays I would plan stuff for my entire family, mom, dad, older sister, 24, younger brother, 20, to do that I thought would be fun, but they always come up with some excuse for not wanting to do it so we don't. I would even plan around everyone's schedules slash budgets to make sure everyone was available for the things I wanted to do, but they still

would cancel on me. What really gets me is this, they go out of their way to celebrate everyone else's birthdays. My siblings always get to go to whatever restaurant they want to go to as well as do whatever activity they want to do for the day, and get a bunch of presents that they will actually enjoy in use. My parents always get to go out for date nights on their birthdays, and my siblings and I are always sure to get the mods and ends that we can afford that we think they'll like too. But the effort is never made for me. All of my milestone birthdays, 16th, 18th, 21st, have been awful, and so have the other ones as well. Hell, my 18th birthday I got a Sudoku book, I don't even like Sudoku, and a $3 slice of cheesecake from

the supermarket. I had to remind my mom about my 21st birthday for weeks leading up to it, and even on the day of and we still didn't do anything for it because all plans I brought up were shot down. I really just want one birthday where I can sit down at the end of the day and be happy with how the day went. And TBH I've also kind of given up on thinking that'll happen anytime soon. I don't know why it is this way. I don't think I've done anything wrong. Even if I have, it still shouldn't be okay for this to be the norm. I think this year I'm just going to keep any plans I make under wraps and if they ask me about anything I'll tell them, but only if they ask. Update, my birthday went just about how I expected it to.

I had the day off from work so I made plans to go to a tulip festival since they're my favorite flowers. Got to see a bunch of pretty flowers and cute bumblebees. My parents had asked me what I wanted to do for my birthday and seemed interested in going to the festival with me, but on the day of decided that watching a show all day was more important. I invited friends to go with me to the festival and told them when I'd be leaving and that I'd be willing to pick them up if they didn't want to drive. They all said they'd drive themselves and meet me there. Spent two hours at the festival and none of them showed, and they didn't bother to text me that they couldn't make it either. Treated myself to sushi on the way home, and when I got home I had a large glass of wine and

watched pride and prejudice. Today I'm bringing you three true stories that happened on cold winter nights, when the snow covered more than just the landscape. The cabin in the snow, my family and I used to go up north to ice fish when I was younger. My parents had friends who owned some cabins in the middle of nowhere. There was a small gas station about a mile away, but after that, you wouldn't see anything for 20 or 30 minutes on the road. It started snowing, and I just wanted to settle in and play some games. The drive took about eight hours, and we arrived around 4 p.m. It was January, so the sun was already starting to set, and I was pretty tired. We arrived at the cabins parking area and started unloading. The cabins had smart locks,

so you just had to put in a code and it gave you the key to unlock the door. I grabbed my backpack and suitcase, and when I went to enter the code, I noticed there were already footprints leading to the door. I mentioned it to my dad, and he said it was probably the cleaner or someone like that. I believed him and opened the door. Inside, I saw some water on the floor and figured it was from the cleaner. Other than that, everything seemed fine, just like I remembered. I went to my room, the one I always used, and started unpacking. But when I went to close the blinds, I saw footprints again. They seemed to come from the woods and lead toward our house. Given the depth of the snow, they had to be recent. I told my

my dad, and he said he'd check it out. By the time we finished unloading everything, the snowfall had gone from a flurry to a snowstorm. My dad said that if someone had been there, they definitely weren't anymore, if they had any common sense. He made spaghetti and we watched a movie. Then I went to sleep. I was woken up a few hours later by banging on the wall that seemed to be coming from outside my window. I tried to go back to sleep, but it happened a couple more times. At that point, I wasn't scared, just annoyed. I got up, looked out the window, and didn't see anything. The snow had lightened a bit, so it was easier to see. I noticed the same footprints again, almost in the same spot as before, coming from the woods. We went out together to check

the area and sure enough, there were human footprints coming from the woods to our cabin. They went up to my bedroom window, then to the front door, and back to the woods. We'd been there before and knew there was nothing around for miles, and nobody camps in the woods, especially in winter. My dad called his friends to tell them what happened, but even so, there wasn't much anyone could do. A few hours later, they brought some small cameras you could plug in and view a live feed of the house.

We installed them inside to feel safer. It was a hassle, but better safe than sorry. We went to the lake a few hours later, and my mom kept checking the cameras constantly to make sure no one was inside the cabin. When we got there, we left our phones in the car while we fished. When we returned, my mom had a bunch of notifications about motion detected by the cameras. My dad immediately called his friend to check out the cabin or call the police. His friend stayed on the line while entering the house with some kind of. of weapon. After a few minutes of silence, he said no one was there. I know he should have waited

for the police, but my dad's friends are a different kind of people. Anyway, he called the police and explained the situation. We didn't get video evidence because the cheap cameras only showed the live feed and didn't store recordings. We spent the following nights at my dad's friend's place but left the camera installed at the cabin. Sure enough, the day we were leaving, the camera detected movement again. My dad and his friend ran to the cabin, but again, no one was inside. However, this time there were footprints leading from the woods to the cabin, the same ones I saw the first and second day. My dad thought about following the tracks, but my mom suggested he didn't. It's unsettling to think that someone might have been inside while we were sleeping,

or watching us through the windows during the day. Luckily, nothing else ever happened. But it remains one of the creepiest experiences of my life. The next times we went, we stayed in a different cabin and nothing happened. My dad's friend said they never found out what happened there. I guess the person stopped showing up after we left. Winter is my favorite season of the year. There's something about the feeling of falling snow and the holidays that always puts me in a good mood. However, I live in a pretty cold state, which means a lot of snow during the winter months. Working as a part-time door-dash driver for almost three years at the time, this made the job a lot harder. Roads took time to clear, and even when they were, heavy snow would quickly cover them again.

Although this made driving dangerous and sometimes even impossible, I still chose to drive on snowy days with covered roads. The reason was that no one else would be on the road, and other door-dash drivers would probably stay home. That meant access to way more orders, and the chance to earn more. money. Plus, customers tend to tip better since they know what it takes to deliver in a snowstorm. It was the same that year, and it was mid-December when a heavy snow night came. I couldn't start deliveries until seven or eight due to my other job, but as soon as I could, I started driving. As usual, very few cars were on the road, and my DoorDash app was giving me high-paying delivery offers. I completed two relatively quick orders and was heading home from one

when the snow worsened. Visibility was terrible, and the roads weren't being cleared frequently enough. My car wasn't junk, it had four-wheel drive and all-season tires, but this snow was really making me struggle. I slowed down until I reached a stop sign and could barely start moving again as my tires just slid on the snow. Finally, after crossing the intersection, another order popped up on my phone. I looked at it for a second, debating whether to accept it, then declined.

and closed the app. The roads were too dangerous, even for me. The road I was on wasn't far from the main town, so my goal was to get as close as possible, hoping more plows had cleared the roads. I drove slowly at 20 miles per hour on a 45 road while braving the conditions. I could barely make out something big

in the middle of the road in front of me. I didn't see what it was until it was too late. I slammed on the brakes, and while I stopped in time, the rear wheel skidded and dragged the car off the road into a thick layer of snow. Fortunately, it was a low-speed crash and not severe, but it didn't help my situation. My car was completely stuck in the snow, and I knew I'd need assistance. I stayed calm and collected, turned on my hazard lights, and called for roadside help.

I gave the man my location, and he said it would take 15 to 20 minutes to get to me. I thanked him. in the side mirror it was hard to see but I could make out a soft flashing orange light approaching as it got closer and parked behind me it looked like a typical work vehicle with warning lights on top looking at my phone only four minutes had passed since I called this guy showed up really early but I wasn't going to complain about someone arriving early to pull me out of a ditch after a few more minutes I heard the door closed behind me and saw a man walking toward my window When he was a few feet away, I rolled it down a bit.

He replied, yeah, I called a few minutes ago. Just need help getting back on the road. All right, let me see what I can do for you, the man said. He walked around the back of the car and started inspecting it, presumably looking for a spot to hook something onto. I'd never done this before, but I always assumed they attach a winch to your car and pull you out. I had no idea where or how they hooked it up. The man stayed behind the car for a while as I watched through the rearview mirror.

Then, a sudden rush of cold air hit me, he had opened the trunk. I looked back and saw him holding it halfway open while scanning the inside of my vehicle with his eyes. Sorry, he mumbled as he slammed the trunk shut again. I didn't know how this process worked, but it was really weird for him to open the trunk like that. I couldn't think of any reason why he would need to. My suspicion started to grow, especially since the man seemed disoriented, and I started to piece things together quickly. I called roadside assistance again. A few rings passed while I waited nervously. When the same person answered, I felt like my stomach dropped. Hey, I'm almost

there. Need anything else, the man said. Just then, the guy came back to my window and said he needed my keys and that I had to get out of the vehicle for a minute while he got things ready. I kept the phone close to my ear and, feeling uneasy, told him I needed a minute because I was on a call. He didn't respond, he just stood there watching me like he wanted to listen to my conversation. I tried not to panic with the man. Still next to my door, I rolled up the window. The man started banging on the glass, asking what I was doing in a somewhat aggressive tone. I then the doors, and as soon as he heard that, he tried to open my door and began yelling at me. I was terrified, knowing I couldn't go anywhere. While this was happening, I heard another door

close on the truck behind me and saw another man running toward my car with something in his hand. Then, an extremely loud horn blared behind us, followed by bright lights illuminating my car. The two men ran back to their truck and quickly left, revealing that it was actually the roadside assistance truck. Two men got out and came over to make sure I was okay. Apparently, I had left the call on, and they had heard what was happening, so they rushed over to help me. After notifying the police, I found out that there had been several cases very similar to mine on heavy snow days. Supposedly, the men drive around looking for stranded people, then rob their cars and assault them while pretending to be roadside assistance. I have no

out they were the ones who put that large object in the road that made me swerve and skid off the road. I was lucky that the events played out the way they did, and I don't think I'll ever drive in bad conditions again. One night for the delivery driver, I was a regular pizza delivery driver for Domino's in high school. I also worked part-time at a Jimmy John's on weekends, but that was just a side job. Anyway, I wanted to make that clear so you'd know I wasn't just some random guy making his first delivery, I was pretty familiar with food delivery, and what happened at night wasn't normal at all. 90% of the time, I didn't take phone calls.

Normally, someone at the restaurant would take the orders and prepare the pizza. I just picked it up and left. This time wasn't any different. I had just finished a previous order and ran into the store to pick up the next one. When I picked it up, my co-worker told me to make sure the customer paid. It was an obvious statement, so it seemed odd that he felt the need to say it. I was out on the snowy roads, so I just replied, yeah, as I walked out. I got in the car and got settled.

I thought a little more about what he had said and wondered why he mentioned it. I concluded that it was probably just an honest guy who wanted a discount. I started the trip, if I remember correctly, the place was only about ten minutes from the store. I should mention that it was almost 10 at night, so the streets were mostly empty. But as soon as I left the parking lot, I noticed a car speeding up behind me. It got very close, then slowed down and started matching my speed. I couldn't see what kind of car it was, but it's not unusual for people around here to drive fast at night when there's no one else on the road.

That said, it was snowing heavily, so speeding probably wasn't the best idea. I kept driving at my pace, hoping the guy would just pass me or turn off somewhere. But he stayed behind me. It wasn't until we got to a traffic light that the guy pulled into the lane next to mine. I always stare forward at stoplights to avoid awkward eye contact, but suddenly someone started shouting from the car next to me. I looked to the side and saw a man staring at me with the window down. I quickly looked away and stared forward again, but the guy kept shouting,

asking me to roll down the window. I pretended not to hear him and started fiddling with the pizza bag like I was looking for something. I kept the light in the corner of my eye and, as soon as it turned green, I sped off quickly. The man didn't stop. He kept driving next to me, swerving all over the road. His window was still down, and I could see he was constantly trying to look at me to get my attention. The man looked angry, so I had no intention of stopping to talk to him. But he was really bothering me.

I wasn't scared, just annoyed. I wanted to take a side street or something to try to lose him, but the snow made me doubt whether those roads had been cleared. I didn't want to get stuck in the snow with this crazy guy around. So I decided to stay on the main road. I was just one or two minutes from the customer's house when the guy next to me sped up and suddenly swerved into my lane right in front of me. I hit the brakes, but I only managed to slow.

down a little before my car began to skid. Fortunately for me, the other guy had the same problem, his car kept sliding until it went off the road into deep snow. His car nearly spun 180 degrees. My adrenaline had me shaking as I slowly drove down the road, watching my mirrors. The guy's car had spun a little more, giving me enough room to put some distance between us. I didn't think he'd be able to get out of there for a while. I felt bad for leaving him like that, but he clearly had bad intentions, and I wasn't going to stick around to find out what they were. I arrived at the customer's house and walked up to the door, knocking several times. After a minute with no answer, I called my manager, who called me back to let them know I was

there. I kept knocking and ringing the doorbell, but my manager called again to say they weren't answering. I stood there confused, looking at the lights on inside the house, and started piecing things together. I ran back to my car and drove out of the neighborhood, taking a different route back to the store just to make sure I avoided that car. Then I told my manager what had happened. I think the customer was the guy in the car. My manager said the guy had given him a bad vibe on the phone, which made him think he wasn't going to pay. I think the guy's plan was to follow me from the store, then make me stop so he could rob me, whether of the pizza, my wallet, or both. made sense that the guy wasn't home, he had gotten stuck in the snow. I don't know for sure,

I could be overthinking it, but my manager agreed with my theory. He said he'd report it to the police and give them the guy's number and address, though he never updated me about it, so I don't know if he actually did. But as far as I know, that guy never called the store again. Winter can be beautiful, but we always have to stay alert. These stories remind us that even in the calm of winter, danger can be lurking. The end. O.P.'s note, this is a true personal story from my childhood. The following events did happen, or at least how I perceived them. However, feel free to make your own judgments. Ever since I was a very young lad, I always pondered the existence of extraterrestrials, perhaps like all of us from a certain age. For me, growing up in

the northeast of England, no older than 10, the existence of aliens, or UFOs for that matter, was as mysterious and uncertain as the existence of God himself. Even the existence of other things like vampires, weirwolves, Bigfoot or the Loch Ness monster, Nessie, as we Brits like to call her, was either as likely or unlikely to exist. As that young, blonde-haired boy with pointy ears, the only aliens I knew of were from the movies I watched. Whether it was War of the Worlds or Independence Day, these movies could only imagine the possibility of alien life and the consequences of that, without providing the real thing. But by the year 2012 and barely into secondary school, it would seem I may finally have my answer, whether I really accepted it or not.

I have already recently shared both, yes, both of my childhood UFO experiences before. But being a writer by trade, I thought I'd use my craft to revisit them, in the hope of fleshing out as much of these two mysteries as possible, so I can decisively decide if what I saw as a boy was indeed real or not. For the reader, it will also be up to you to decide if the events I witnessed happened as I saw them, or if my childhood imagination got the better or me, or if I'm really just full of it. Not that it's really worth much of a dam without any evidence, but the following of what I'm about to tell you did in fact happen. As I saw it, and to the best of my recollection. By the year 2012, I had been growing up in the East Riding of Yorkshire for the past seven years, in the average-sized, but oddly named Port Town of Gould.

This town was of no particular interest, except perhaps for its two landmarks, two rather tall water towers, humorously named the salt and pepper pots. Settled besides a tributary river, ghoul was sparsely surrounded by patches of farmland and large crop fields, perhaps the perfect setting for a UFO story, like the crop circle stories I knew of in the United States. However, my first UFO experience wouldn't happen in some field on the outskirts of town, but in the town itself. More precisely, it would happen no more than 100 meters outside of my bedroom window. Unfortunately, I don't remember the precise year this first event took place, although I do know it happened in either 2011 or 2012. Therefore, I was either in my final

year of primary school, or my nerve-wracking first year of secondary. Regardless, I would have been around 11 years old. As a child and even through my teens, I was always a bad sleeper, either getting no sleep at all or waking up in the very early hours of the morning. It was on one of these early mornings that I woke up to my silent, pitch-black bedroom, with everyone else in my house fast asleep. Not having an alarm clock or phone to tell the time, I wondered what time of night it was, perhaps to know how much more sleep I could get. As I said, this was all a regular occurrence for me,

as was peeking my head through the curtain next to my bedside to see if the sky was still dark. By looking out for my bedroom window, I would have seen my 20-meter-long garden which I regularly played football on, as well as the neighboring house on the other side of my bedside. backgarden fence. But what I then saw, in the short distance over the roof of this particular neighboring house, would be a complete first. What I saw, flying, gliding, or simply just moving, 100 meters or less away from my bedroom window, was what I can only describe as a flying saucer-shaped-like object. In the past, I described this object as the most stereotypical flying saucer shape you could ever see or imagine. The night was too dark to see its color,

but I remember it making a distinctive humming noise as it moved over the town beneath it. But how I knew this object was saucer-shaped, was because as it moved, or indeed hummed, a single row of small bright lights moved around and around. At that age, if I imagined a flying saucer, I would have pictured a particularly large craft, but this object seemed no larger than a car or a small van. The speed at which this thing moved was not particularly fast or slow, but fast enough so that what I was seeing, was gone in the next five to ten seconds. Not knowing if what I had just seen was in fact real or just a dream, I pinched and

slapped myself, hard enough to wake up almost anyone, but I was awake, and as you can imagine, I was in disbelief. If any one thing, paranormal or otherwise, that you didn't already know or believe in just appeared to you, confirming absolute proof, whether it was God or Jesus Christ, a heaven or a hell, even ghosts and yes, aliens. I think anyone would have had the very same first reaction. This can't be real, I must be dreaming, do I need to question the meaning and my own understanding of life. That was the reaction I remember having, rational in the face of the unbelievable. If you were to ask me what I did next, having witnessed such an extraordinary and incomprehensible

sight, you'd be surprised to learn that what I did, was simply lay back down on my pillow and eventually fall back to sleep. You'd probably be surprised, but that's what I did. The very next day, with the event of last night still fresh in my mind, I found my mum putting laundry away in her and my dad's bedroom. Feeling comfortable enough to tell my mom almost anything, even which girls at school I fancied, I told her exactly what I saw the night before. Like any parent would, having been told a fictitious sounding story by your young child, my mom showed no indication of surprise or even shock, instead responding in the lines of,

oh, wow, or oh really, as she carried unfolding the laundry on the bed. I asked her if she believed me and she said she did, but even before I confessed to her what I saw, I knew she wouldn't. Maybe I just needed to get what I saw that night instantly off my chest, and telling my mum would be the best way to do it, without facing ridicule for my friends, being laughed at by my sister, or simply just ignored by my dad. As unbelievable as this story that I told my mom was, I knew what I saw that night was real, and I think most people on this planet know when they are dreaming and when they are not, and I just knew I wasn't.

If this was the case, then what I saw from my bedroom window that night was indeed a flying saucer, a UFO. It may then come as a surprise to whomever is reading this, as it did for me, to learn that despite bearing witness to what appeared to be an unforgettable UFO experience, I had almost completely forgotten about what happened that night, not fully recollecting what I saw until the latter part of last year. Was I in denial at what I saw? Did my mind just choose to repress the memory of it?

When I first wrote of this experience only recently, an online user speculated as much to me that my young brain couldn't comprehend what I had seen and therefore repressed the whole experience. But, like I have already said, this would not be my only potential UFO encounter, and the next time, thankfully, I wouldn't be alone. During the summer of 2012 and having just graduated primary school, my six friends and I ventured almost every day to the exact same place along the outskirts of town. We had found a field with a small adjoining wooded area, and very quickly, this area became our brand new den, which we spent most days climbing trees or playing tag hide and seek. At the very end of our den was a four feet wide creek, separating the field we played in from the town's rugby club that was also on the outskirts of town. The reason I bring up this creek is because my friends and I, upon discovering it, would also spend a lot of our time there

that summer. We enjoyed playing this juvenile game where one of us had to leap over to the embankment on the other side, or cross via a narrow wooden plank we found to make a bridge. Being the attention seeker I was at that age, I was always willing to jump up and over to the other side. In fact, I was the best, anyone else who tried mostly ended up with one foot in the less than sanitary water. Several months later, however, and nearly halfway through our first year of secondary school, our tradition of jumping creeks and field hide and seek had sadly become far less frequent with the ongoing school year. That was until one afternoon, or maybe it was evening, I don't remember, my friends and I ventured back to our den and the

nearby creek, crossing over and entering behind the grounds of the rugby club. These grounds of two large rugby fields and a smaller patch of grass by the side, which is where the creek had led us. What the five or six of us were doing there, I'm not sure. We did sometimes use the grounds to play tag hide and seek, or other times we just explored. But what I remember next from that afternoon slash evening, in whichever autumn month it was, was we caught sight of something flying in the not too distant sky, and heading directly our way.

At first, we must have thought it was nothing more than an airplane or Royal Air Force craft, as our town had them passing the sky on a regular basis. The closer this thing got, however, the more it started to look like something else, something none of us had probably ever seen before. It started to look like, what our juvenile, imaginative minds could only interpret as an alien spacecraft of some kind, so much so, that one of my friends said something in the lines of, is that a UFO, as though speaking the minds of all of us. Whatever this thing was, it was still coming our way, and flying curiously low.

As close as it was now, I think we were all waiting for this craft to visually clarify for us that it was some kind of plane. But what I can still remember vividly is this thing being directly over our heads, and my next thought while looking up to it was. That is a UFO. An alien spaceship. Before any other thought could then enter my mind, whether it be one of awe, dread or panic, I hear one of my friends a meter or two behind me shout, S-H-I-T. By the time I look behind me, all I see is every one of my friends. running away towards the embankment of the creek, as though running for their lives. If I recall, it was just me and my friend George who didn't.

I'm sure I thought of running too, but I must have been in such awe or disbelief at what I was seeing, and even if I did run, I thought it was sure to abduct me. Whether I ran or stood right where I was, I felt convinced there was nothing I could really do, if it was going to take me, it would. When I turn away for my friends to look back up at what I see to be an alien craft, craft, what I instead see is some kind of low-flying military jet, turned slightly away from us now and flying off. My friends also must have noticed it was just a military jet, as they had stopped running and now joined slowly back with the rest of the group, realizing there was nothing to be

afraid of anymore. Although my memory of the following conversation is hazy, we did discuss what we had just seen, with every one of us indeed thinking it was a UFO at first, only to then realize it was a military jet. I don't remember the conversation going any further from there, or what we even did afterwards for that matter. We probably just went back into town and played football at the park. However, something I discreetly remember to this day, is that in the next two years that I still knew them, before packing up my things and moving abroad with my family,

is that not a single one of us ever talked about the experience again, not even for a laugh. There was no, remember when we all thought we saw a UFO, but it was really just a plane. I did drift away from most of these friends by the following year, as we were all in separate classes in school and played for rival football teams. So perhaps they did talk about the experience, except without me there. In my last year before moving abroad, however, I did reacquaint myself with my best friend

Kai, who was there that day at the rugby club. We had drama class together that year, and it was in these lessons that we learned all about these terrifying urban legends, in which the class afterwards had to dramatically perform them. It was also from these lessons that Kai and myself became obsessed with urban legends, so much so that we would watch scary YouTube videos about them. But in that same year, enjoying to be scared together, not once, to my recollection, did either of us ever bring up that experience at the rugby club?

Not once. Kai was one of my friends I saw run away that day, so he was obviously scared by the craft as well. But I never brought it up either. In fact, I think I almost forgot about the experience altogether, just like my first experience a year prior to it. But what's even crazier to me is that I seem to forget. get about both of these experiences, regardless of what they were, for the next 10 years. If you're wondering why I am talking about this second experience, even though it only

turned out to be a military jet, it's because since recollecting my first experience recently, and becoming acquitent with UFO lore and history, some things about that day at the rugby club just don't seem to add up to me. Number one, if this was an RAF jet, then it was flying dangerously low, potentially 100 to 160 50 feet above us. From what I've researched, RAF jets can fly as low as 100 feet, but when it comes to populated areas containing vehicles and civilians, then it can go no lower than 500 feet. If this was a jet, it may not have even seen my friends and I, but it was still flying in and around a populated town. Number two, I was 100% convinced that this craft flying over

me was an alien craft, 100 feet or so above me and that is what I believed I was seeing. It was only when I looked to my friends running away and then back again, that it was somehow now a military jet. Number three, and perhaps the most confusing aspect of this experience, is that the RAF jet, from my recollection, made barely any noise. From what I've read, RAF jets at only 25 meters after takeoff are so loud, it can rupture your eardrums. Like I said, this jet was no more than 160 feet above us, yet I could still hear my friend cussed the S word behind me. Having recently fallen down the UFO rabbit hole in the past year, I did come across one video, whether real or a hoax, of a spinning, bright glowing light in the clear day sky, that slowly morphed into a standard airliner.

Although in the video, this transition took the better part of a minute, I then wondered if the craft I saw that day could possibly have done the same thing. However, when I previously shared my experiences online, only several months ago, one person rationally suggested that the craft I saw could have in fact been the Avrovolcan XH-558, which was active in 2012 and based at Doncaster Sheffield Airport, not that far from ghoul. The Avro Vulcan is indeed a very odd-looking military craft, with wings resembling something like you would see out of Star Trek, maybe that's why it was called the Avro Vulcan. From what I remember, in the few seconds that I fully believed this thing flying over me to be

a UFO, it didn't strike me as flying saucer shaped, not like the one I had seen a year before. Regardless, whatever this craft was, it definitely struck me as alien at first, and maybe what I thought I was seeing was a different kind of alien craft. Or maybe it really was just a military jet, an oddly shaped one at that. If you were to ask me now, in the year 2024, if what I saw in 2012 was either a UFO or simply an RAF jet, for the sake of rationality, I would say it was just a jet whose strange appearance merely confused a group of 12-year-old boys. However, to conclude the speculation of this second experience, I will leave you with this.

Not long after posting of my experiences, an online user advised me to share my story with a specific UFO investigator, who particularly focuses on UFO activity in the Yorkshire area. Feeling in need of answers, I emailed this very same investigator. Intrigued by my story, he requested a conversation over the phone with me,

and after relaying this second experience with him, highlighting how this jet was supposedly flying dangerously low, without producing much sound at all, he simply said to me that wasn't a military craft. If you were also to ask me whether I believe in aliens, would say that I do. Not because of what I saw, I still don't know if what I saw was real. I do believe in aliens, or whatever they are, there are countless theories, simply because since I first fell down this UFO rabbit hole,

learning of the experiences of many others, the existence of extraterrestrials no longer appears irrational to me. After all, can we really be the only intelligent beings to exist in this universe? The answer is I don't know. But what I do know is that for me, like it will be for countless others, the truth is still out there somewhere, maybe even right here on our very own planet. Okay, look. I don't even know how to start this without sounding like I've lost my mind, but I swear

I haven't. I'm 19, and I'm not exactly the kind of dude who jumps to conclusions or buys into conspiracies, but what I overheard, and what I later discovered, has had me seriously questioning everything I thought I knew about my dad. I haven't even told my mom about this. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I don't know. I guess that's why I'm writing this out now, trying to figure it all out. So here's the background first. My dad's American. Let's call him Robert. He's 48. He moved to the Philippines sometime in the late 90s, met my mom, fell in love, got married, and he had me and my siblings. He's always been a good dad. Like, really good. The kind that sneaks us

candy when mom's not looking and lets us stay up late watching movies. My mom, she's more of the disciplinary type. But that's just how it worked. They balanced each other out, and we never questioned it. Robert never talked much about his life back in the States, though. He told us he didn't get along with his parents, said they were abusive and super strict, and that he cut them off completely years before he even left America. It was always this taboo thing to bring up. My siblings and I just accepted it. Now fast forward to a few weeks ago. It was my mom's birthday. She was inside cutting the cake, music was playing, people were chatting, and the vibe was chill. I went outside to look for my dad because I needed help with something on the grill.

I figured he'd be out back, having one of his cigarettes. Sure enough, there he was, phone in one hand, smoke in the other. I didn't want to interrupt, but then I heard him say something that made me stop in my tracks. Hey, Dad, how's Mom, he said. Then he laughed. Like, full-on laughed. I was frozen. Did I just hear that right? He was calling someone dad. As in, his dad. He went on chatting like it was no big deal.

Said he was going to send them pictures of the kids, and talked about how grown-up we looked. Mentioned sending a birthday gift soon, and talked about mundane stuff like the weather and baseball. I didn't say anything at first. I just quietly went back inside, but my mind was racing. For years, he told us he had. had no contact with his parents. So why the hell was he talking to his dad on the phone like they were best buds? The next morning, I worked up the nerve to ask him about it. He was drinking coffee, scrolling on his phone like usual. I casually brought up the conversation I'd overheard.

He froze. Like, literally stopped moving. His hand mid-scroll, coffee cup halfway to his mouth, eyes locked on the wall like he saw a ghost. Then, slowly, he put the cup down and looked at me. His eyes were, weird, distant. Like he wasn't even really there. You probably misheard, he said after a while. I told you before, I don't talk to them anymore. Haven't in decades, he said it with this edge in his voice. That edge he gets when he doesn't want to talk about something. Like, don't push it. So I didn't. For a while, I let it go. I figured maybe they reconciled and he just didn't want to talk about it yet. Families are complicated, right? But the doubt was there. It stayed with me, gnawing at the back of my mind. Then one random night, I was messing

around online and decided to look up my dad's old university. He always bragged about being the valedictorian. Said he graduated top of his class, had some scholarships, the whole shebang. I tried finding any mention of his name. Nothing. No old yearbook entries, no alumni lists, nothing. It was like he never even went there. I even checked archived pages and forums, tried different spellings, nothing. So then I just Googled his full name. You know, out of curiosity. And that's when things got really messed up. One of the first results was a link to a news article from the mid-90s.

I almost scrolled past it until I noticed our last name in the headline. I clicked it. And what I read made my blood run cold. Apparently, back in the 90s, there was this double home invasion in the States. Two guys, armed with pistols, broke into two separate houses in one night. They shot the homeowners in their sleep. No robbery. No motive.

Just, murder. Cold-blooded. One of the suspects was caught not long after. The other one. He fled. Nearly shot a cop while escaping. He disappeared without a trace. Then I saw the pictures.

The guy who got away looked exactly like my dad when he was younger. Like, not just a resemblance. I mean identical. Same build, same hair, same jawline. Even the same weird mole near the left eyebrow. But the name was different. The last name matched ours, but the first name wasn't Robert. Still, everything else lined up.

I sat there, rereading that article over and over again, hoping I was just sleep deprived or tripping. But I wasn't. It was all there. And now I can't unsee it. I've been spiraling ever since. Every little thing he ever said is under a microscope now. All the stories from his past, all the gaps he never filled in, all the times he got weird or dodged questions.

I even started thinking back to when I was a kid. He never let us go visit the U.S. said it was too expensive, too dangerous, or that he just didn't feel like it. He never had any photos of his childhood, and any time we asked about his family, he just said, they weren't worth remembering. But what if that wasn't the truth? What if the real reason he left the States was because he was running? What if he changed his name, moved halfway across the world, and started over? And what if we were the second life he built after destroying the first one?

I know I sound like I'm in some kind of thriller movie, but I swear to God, I don't know what to think anymore. Do I tell my mom? I mean, she's been with him for decades. She loves him. She trusts him. She built her whole life with him. What if I blow all of that up over a misunderstanding? But what if it's not a misunderstanding?

I can't sleep. I can't focus. Every time he walks in the room, I feel like I'm looking at a stranger. Like I don't even know who my father really is. I've even considered contacting a lawyer or a private investigator, but then what? What if I dig deeper and confirm the worst? What if I have to turn my own father in? The thought makes me sick.

And yet, not knowing might be worse. I don't even know why I'm writing all of this out, other than I feel like I'm going to explode if I keep it in any longer. I haven't told a soul. Not my siblings. Not my friends. Not even my dog. Maybe someone out there will read this and give me some clarity. Maybe I just need to get it out of my system.

Or maybe I just needed to face it myself, that the man I called Dad might not be who he says he is. Whatever the case, I'm stuck in this web of doubt and fear, and I don't know how to get out of it. I guess all I can do is wait, and decide. Tell the truth. Or keep pretending everything is fine. God help me. The end. Jason wasn't sure what had changed, but everything felt different since that night.

at the fair. In the days that followed, it was as if a door had opened, one he'd never thought to look for. Their days blurred together, a steady rhythm of texts, late-night conversations, and casual meet-ups at places they'd soon come to consider their own. He'd never met anyone with whom conversation flowed so naturally, as though every sentence was merely an extension of something they'd been saying forever. She laughed easily, talked about things he'd never thought of, and made the world feel larger and more vibrant. There was an effortless ease between them that defied explanation, an unspoken connection that drew him in deeper each time they were together. Jason had never felt so at ease with someone, nor had he ever felt so thoroughly

pulled out of his own comfort zone. Lily's spontaneity brought out a side of him he rarely let see the light of day, the part of him that wanted to explore, to embrace the unfamiliar, to jump without looking. And the more time he spent with her, the more he saw their differences, but he couldn't deny how much he craved her presence. They met at the local park one crisp Saturday afternoon, the air carrying the sweet, earthy scent of fall. Leaves crunched beneath their feet as they wandered along the winding paths, golden and red, scattering in their wake. Lily was talking animatedly about an art class she'd just started, her hands punctuating each word as if trying to bring her thoughts to life. She had a way of lighting up when she

talked about her projects, and today was no different. Her face glowed as she described her latest piece, a swirling nightscape filled with stars she was trying to capture from memory, with deep blues blending into purples and greens. It's like, I don't know, she said, struggling to find the right words. The sky, it's just so alive. When you look up at it, you don't just see stars, you see this whole universe out there, moving and changing. I want to paint that feeling, like there's something just beyond what we can see. Jason nodded, captivated by the intensity in her voice, even though he didn't understand much about painting. I've never thought of it that way, he admitted.

For me, the sky's always just been, peaceful. Like something solid and dependable, Lily laughed, her eyes sparkling as she looked up at him. Of course you would see it that way. You're so grounded, Jason. You see order in things, patterns, even when they're just chaos. Me? I see the chaos and want to dive right in, he chuckled, feeling a slight blush creep into his cheeks. Maybe you're rubbing off on me.

I mean, before I met you, I never would have thought about seeing the sky like that. Good, she said with a grin. Everyone needs a little chaos now and then. And you know what? I think you could use a bit more of it. He laughed, unable to deny the thrill he felt at the idea. But beneath the laughter, he felt a sense of grounding he hadn't realized he'd been missing. There was something exhilarating about being near her, something that made him feel more alive.

as close as he felt to her, their differences were always there, like two halves of a hole that had never quite fit together until now. They walked on, discussing everything from art to music to the little quirks of their families. Lily's stories were vibrant, filled with spontaneity and moments of impulsive decision-making. She told him about her mom's art days, when she'd cover the entire kitchen in newspaper and paint with abandon, and her dad's tendency to disappear into long, philosophical musings that bordered on passionate debates. Her family sounded chaos. and warm, like a house filled with a thousand colors all at once. Jason's family, on the other hand, was structured, orderly, predictable. His mom was meticulous about keeping the house

clean, organizing things into neat compartments, a trait that extended into every part of their lives. His dad was a reserved, practical man, the kind who preferred his life planned out five years in advance, with no surprises. To Jason, they had always been the definition of stability, a steady presence, unwavering. Your family sound. intense, Lily said with a grin, tilting her head. But in a good way, I mean. Like, I bet they always know where their car keys are. He laughed, nodding.

Oh yeah. My mom's actually got a little bowl by the door where she makes us all leave our keys. It drives her nuts if we don't use it. Lily laughed, her laughter carrying on the breeze. That is so not my family. I don't think my mom's ever known where her keys are. She just, trusts the universe to help her find them eventually. He shrugged, grinning.

Guess it comes with the territory. My parents are both engineers, so I think it's hardwired in me or something. I grew up hearing about the scientific method before I could even spell it. That explains a lot, Lily teased, but there was a warmth in her smile, as if she found his practicality charming. My mom's an artist, too. She says artists have to learn to follow the currents of inspiration, even when it makes no sense. My dad, though, he's nothing like her. He's all business, structured, exact, super grounded.

But I think that's why they work together. Jason found himself smiling at the contrast between their families. My family's kind of the opposite. They're both logical thinkers. My mom is super organized, practically schedules our whole lives down to the minute. My dad, well, he's got a whole room in our house full of charts and diagrams for things like financial projections and project timelines. Sometimes I think he organizes his dream.

dreams, Lily's laugh rang out, her eyes sparkling with delight. Oh, wow. But I can see it. You're like this calm, collected person who probably never forgets an assignment or misses a deadline, Jason shrugged, smiling sheepishly. Well, I guess you're not wrong. As they continued down the path, Jason became aware of little details that seemed both familiar and oddly unsettling.

The way Lily laughed, open and genuine, reminded him of his younger sister, Sarah. and the color of her eyes, that clear, deep green, was eerily similar to his moms. But in Lily, those features carried a spark he hadn't seen in his own family, a fire that seemed ready to blaze out of control at any moment. And then there was her dad. Jason had only heard bits and pieces about him from Lily, but he'd seen a photo of him on her phone, a tall, lean man with dark hair and piercing eyes. The resemblance to Jason's father was uncanny, almost unsettling. But while Jason's father was practical to the point of being predictable, Lily's dad sounded

like a man driven by restless energy, always moving from one idea to the next, fueled by some inner fire Jason couldn't quite understand. Jason couldn't shake the feeling that their families were mirror images, physically similar in so many ways but fundamentally different in personality, like reflections in a distorted mirror. These little oddities nagged at him, making his mind itch with a need to understand, to explain the unexplainable. He told himself it was just a coincidence, but a part of him couldn't shake the feeling that

it was more than that. For someone as rooted in logic as he was, it was an unsettling thought. But with Lily, these boundaries between what made sense and what didn't seem to blur. So, Lily said, nudging him out of his thoughts, you ever wonder why we're so different? I mean, it's almost like we come from opposite worlds. He smiled, though her words struck a chord. Yeah, I guess so. Maybe that's why we get along so well, balance or something.

Maybe. She looked at him thoughtfully, her expression unreadable. Or maybe the universe just knew we'd need each other. Jason felt a chill, remembering the distant thunder from the night of the fair, the strange sensation that had passed between them. He wanted to brush off the eerie feeling, but it lingered, a whisper in the back of his mind. They fell silent, their footsteps crunching over the fallen leaves, the autumn air cool and sharp. As they walked, he felt the weight of questions that seemed to hang in the air, questions

he didn't know how to ask, let alone answer. One evening, as they sat tucked into a cozy corner of a dimly lit coffee shop, the conversation drifted, as it often did, to stories of their families and upbringings. A candle flickered on the table between them, casting a warm glow over Lily's face as she listened intently, her chin resting on her hand, her eyes on him with that steady, inviting gaze that always made him feel a little braver. was telling her about his family's rituals, the unwavering structure that had defined his childhood.

My mom is the queen of routine, he said, smiling at the memory. Dinner was at exactly 6.30 every night, no exceptions. She even had this little dinner bell she'd ring, like we were living in some storybook. And my dad, well, he has this habit of giving life advice every chance he gets. He calls them guidelines for the future, but we all know they're just mini lectures. Lily grinned, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee mug. That's so charming, though. I mean, yeah, kind of intense, but it sounds like there's a lot of love in those routines.

Jason chuckled, nodding. There is. It's like their way of keeping everything grounded. My dad always says, if you don't know where you're going, make sure you know where you are. I think that sums up my family pretty well. Lily's smiles softened, a distant look passing over her face. It's funny, she said, her voice. voice gentle, as if she were weighing each word.

Your mom sounds a lot like mine, but at the same time, they're worlds apart. My mom's organized too, but in this really, chaotic way. She'll block off creative time on her calendar, but then end up using it for whatever strikes her in the moment. One time, she set aside an hour to paint, but by the end, she'd rearranged the entire living room because she needed a new perspective. Lily laughed, her eyes bright. My dad calls it organized chaos.

Jason laughed along with her, though a strange, quiet unease settled in the back of his mind. It was a small thing, he told himself, just an odd coincidence. But he couldn't shake the feeling that it was more than that. Somehow, every story, every quirk, every habit their families had in common felt less like happenstance and more like echoes, reflections of one another across some unseen divide. He took a sip of his coffee, the warmth grounding him for a moment. But the thought lingered, a question that refused to fade. You ever wonder why we have all these little similarities, he asked, trying to keep his

tone light but unable to fully mask the curiosity, and unease, in his voice. Lily shrugged, a slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she watched him. Maybe it's just the universe's way of telling us we were meant to meet. Or maybe, she paused, her days drifting as if she were searching for the right words. Maybe we're just weirdly in sync. laughter was more nervous this time. Weirdly in sync, yeah, maybe that's it, but the unease lingered, growing almost palpable between them, as though there was something unsaid, something hiding just below the surface. He could see the hint of it in her expression too, the way her

fingers played absently with the edge of her sleeve, her eyes distant as though she was grappling with thoughts she couldn't quite voice. After a moment, she looked back at him, her smile gone soft and thoughtful. "'Do you believe in, fate?' she asked, her voice barely louder than a whisper, as though saying the word out loud might make it real. He hesitated, feeling an odd weight in her question. I'm not sure. I've always been more of a logic kind of guy. You know, a leads to be, cause and effect, he paused, considering his next words.

But with you, sometimes it feels like there's something more. Like we were, meant to cross paths, her eyes lit up, a soft, almost haunted smile tugging at her lips. I feel it too. Like there's this connection between us. something bigger than either of us can explain, Jason shifted in his seat, his fingers tightening around his coffee cup. He wanted to brush off the feeling, to laugh it away as he usually did when things got a little too mystical for his liking. But with Lily, the strange, inexplicable

feeling was impossible to ignore. She seemed to exist on a different wavelength, pulling him into a world of spontaneity and possibility he never would have ventured into alone. Maybe that's all it is, he said finally, attempting a smile. Just a really, really intense. coincidence, but Lily didn't look convinced. She leaned in, her gaze locked on his, and in that moment, the hum of the coffee shop faded away. What if it's more than that, she asked, her voice quiet but filled with a gravity that made his heart skip? What if we're, connected, somehow? Like, our lives were always meant to intersect, even if we don't know why, Jason felt a strange thrill at her words, an almost dizzying sense that she was putting voice

to something he'd felt but couldn't name. His rational mind wanted to our you, to dismiss it as nothing more than a product of their attraction, of spending so much time together. But another part of him, the part that had been quietly whispering since the night of the fair, wondered if there was something more. He shook his head, trying to ground himself. You make it sound like some kind of, cosmic alignment, he said, his attempt at a joke falling flat as his own words echoed strangely in his ears. Maybe it is, she replied, undeterred, her gaze unwavering. Maybe there are forces out there, things we don't understand. that pull us together, people were meant to meet. Her words hung in the air between them,

the weight of them settling over him, stirring something deep inside. And for a moment, Jason felt as though they were standing on the edge of something vast and unknowable, like the world as he knew it had stretched to reveal something just beyond his grasp. They sat in silence, her words reverberating in his mind as he tried to reconcile them with his usual worldview. The idea that they could be bound by some unseen force felt almost laughable, his logical mind instinctively wanted to brush it off, to tease her for being so fanciful. But something about the intensity in her gaze stopped him, made him wonder if maybe, just

maybe, there was more to this connection than he'd thought. Lily glanced around the coffee shop, her eyes flickering from wall to wall as if something were slightly off. You know. I swear the walls weren't this color last time I was here. Jason blinked, looking around the small cafe. The walls were a familiar deep green, a cozy, earthy color that made. matched the dim lighting and mismatched furniture.

He'd been here countless times, and as far as he could remember, the walls had always been that shade. Really, he asked, frowning slightly. They've always been green as far as I know. I don't think they've changed since I first started coming here. Lily tilted her head, her brows knitting together in concentration. Huh, she said, almost to herself. That's weird.

I could have sworn they used to be. I don't know, a warm brown or maybe even a dark blue. Jason chuckled, trying to lighten the sudden heaviness that had settled between them. Are you sure you're not thinking of some other place? She laughed softly, though the puzzled expression didn't leave her face. Yeah, maybe. It just felt like I'd been here before when the walls were a different color. But I must be losing my mind.

She shook her head, brushing it off, but a strange, thoughtful silence lingered between them. Jason wanted to say something to ease the tension, to dismiss the odd comment, but the uneased tugged at him. It was a small thing, just a passing remark, but something about it felt, wrong, like a detail that didn't quite fit. And as he looked at her, the flicker of understanding he'd noticed before was still there in her eyes, mirroring something he felt but couldn't name. In that moment, looking into her gaze, it didn't feel impossible. It felt as though she were a reflection of a hidden part of himself, a connection beyond

explanation, as though she held some piece of him he hadn't known was missing. And despite every instinct to brush it off, to hold on to his familiar logic, he found himself caught in that gaze, wondering if maybe she was right. Over the next few weeks, their relationship deepened in ways Jason hadn't expected. Each day seemed to reveal a new layer to Lily, a new piece of her world that felt just out of reach but irresistible all the same. She was constantly pulling him into her orbit, introducing him to parts of life he'd never thought to explore, spontaneous outings, unexpected detourers, and adventures that left him

feeling like he was experiencing life on a different frequency. With Lily, everything felt heightened, as if the world had turned up its brightness and warmth. They would skip classes to chase sunsets, hiking to high points on the edge of town, or spend hours stargazing on a chilly night, pointing out constellations while their breath hung invisible puffs in the night air. Jason found himself staying up until dawn with her, debating philosophy and the mysteries of the universe over cups of tea, talking about everything and nothing, the conversations deepening with each hour.

He caught himself letting go of his careful routines, embracing the unexpected, her energy breaking down his usual walls one impulsive decision at a time. And yet, no matter how close they became, a strange feeling lingered in the background. Sometimes he'd catch her staring off into the distance, her expression distant and pensive, like she was lost in a thought too complex or too heavy to share. He could sense a quiet struggle behind her eyes, as if she, too, felt the pull of something unseen. There were moments when they'd be laughing, sharing a quiet moment, only for her gaze to drift, her smile to falter, like she was trying to remember something she couldn't quite grasp.

The closeness they shared was undeniable, their lives intertwining in a way that felt almost predestined. Yet there was something separating them too, an invisible thread that both connected and distanced them, hinting at a deeper truth just out of reach. It was a barrier neither of them could name, an unseen weight pressing down on them both. One night, as they sat on a hill overlooking the city, watching the lights twinkle like distant stars, Jason felt the tension grow too much to ignore. The silence between them was heavy, the kind that begged for unspoken truths to be brought

to light. He hesitated, searching for the right words, but the question had been pressing at him for too long to keep silent. Lily, do you ever feel like? I don't know, like there's something off about all of this, he asked, his voice barely a whisper. Lily turned to look at him, her eyes reflecting the glow of the city below, her face softened by the shadows of the night.

A flicker of understanding passed over her expression, as though she'd been waiting for him to ask. She bit her lip, hesitating before she spoke. Sometimes, yeah, she admitted softly, her voice tinged with a vulnerability he rarely saw. It's like there's something pulling us together, something bigger than just, us. But also, there's this feeling that we're only seeing part of it, like there's this bigger puzzle we're part of and we don't have all the pieces. Jason nodded, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the cool night air.

I can't shake the feeling that there's more to this than we know. The way our families are so similar, the way we met, it just doesn't feel like coincidence. It's like, there's something that's been said in motion, something we can't control. Lily took his hand, her fingers warm against his, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Maybe we're not supposed to know, not yet anyway, she murmured, a trace of sadness woven through her words. Maybe it's one of those things that only make sense when you look back, not while you're living it. We just have to, trust that it'll all come together someday. Jason held her gaze, feeling the weight of unspoken questions pressing between them. They were opposites in so many ways, her wild

spontaneity, his careful logic, her impulsiveness, his grounded stability. And yet, they fit together in a way that felt like a long-lost balance, as if they were pieces of the same story that had finally found each other. Even as a sense of dread flickered at the edge of his thoughts, he pushed it aside, grounding himself in the warmth of her presence. But as they sat there, surrounded by the quiet of the night, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were caught in something far bigger than either of them could understand, their lives bound by invisible threads, tangled in ways they

couldn't yet see. He could almost sense the shape of something vast and intricate hovering just beyond their reach, a pattern woven into the fabric of their lives that defied the limits of logic and reason. They both turned their gaze back to the city lights below, the night stretching out around them in a vast, quiet expanse. And as Jason sat there with her, hand in hand, he felt the thrill and weight of the unknown settled deep within him, a sense that they were teetering on the edge of something extraordinary. The fortune teller sat alone in her dimly lit room, the quiet hum of the fair long faded into memory. Her hands, weathered and steady, hovered over

a shallow bowl filled with water that rippled with visions only she could see. In the shifting Reflections, Jason and Lily's faces appeared and vanished, two souls caught in an endless loop, bound by forces they could neither see nor understand. She watched as they sat together on the hilltop, hands intertwined, their words and fears drifting out like whispers on the night air. The faintest smile touched her lips, but it was tinged with a deep sadness. She had seen it all before, their paths, their struggle, their connection stretching across worlds like threads in an intricate tapestry.

And as much as she'd hoped to spare them the truth, the time had come to reveal what lay hidden. It is time, she murmured, her voice a quiet echo that filled the stillness of her room. The words carried an undeniable weight, as if spoken not just by her, but by the very universe itself. She dipped a finger into the water, and the images of Jason and Lily dissolved into ripples, fading into darkness. Their journey would soon bring them to her door, seeking answers they could no longer deny. But answers came with a price, and the fortune teller knew that the truth she held would

unravel more than they could ever imagine. The echoes of thunder still rang faintly in her ears, a warning as old as the worlds themselves. And as she extinguished the candle beside her, plunging the room into shadow, she whispered a silent plea that, somehow, they might find a way to mend the rift. Jason woke in the early hours of the morning, his heart racing, his skin damp with sweat as the last remnants of a dream slipped through his fingers. He lay frozen, staring up at the dark ceiling, as he tried to capture the scattered fragments still lingering in his mind.

The images were vivid yet disjointed, a landscape that was both familiar and foreign, a place where every detail felt slightly askew, as if viewed through the haze of a memory he couldn't fully recall. He could still feel the damp air pressing against his skin, the whisper of leaves rustling in a wind that seemed to carry voices just out of reach. He closed his eyes, trying to summon the details, but they darted away like shadows retreating from light. There had been a path, lined with towering trees that seemed to arch overhead, their branches

weaving together like the ribs of some vast, ancient creature. He remembered a feeling of being pulled forward, like an invisible thread was leading him, tugging at him, burging him deeper into the heart of the forest. And somewhere, just beyond the trees, he felt something, or someone, waiting for him. A name lingered on his tongue, fading even as he became aware of it, Lily. He felt sure she had been there, in that strange dream-scape, though he couldn't place her presence. It was as if she had been just out of sight, her voice blending with the wind, her laughter echoing faintly in the distance.

In the pit of his stomach, he felt a sense of loss, of separation, though he couldn't understand why. They were bound somehow, tied together by invisible threads he could sense even now, but in the dream, she had felt distant, unreachable. Jason turned on to his side, frustration-building as the pieces slipped further from his grasp. It was more than a dream, it had been a message, or maybe a memory of a place he was supposed to find, a part of his life he had yet to live or maybe had already lived before. He tried to steady his breathing, closing his eyes and letting the silence of the room settle

over him, but the uneasy feeling remained, a quiet whisper at the edge of his thoughts, pulling him back toward that strange, elusive vision. He glanced at his phone, debating whether to text Lily. He wanted to tell her about the dream, even if it sounded crazy. What would he say? That he had dreamed of her in a place he couldn't name, feeling a connection he couldn't explain. Before he could overthink it, he typed out a quick message. Jason, hey.

Are you up? Can you meet me at our usual spot? He hit send, his heart pounding as he waited for her response. It was barely dawn, and the sky outside his window was a deep, inky blue, tinged with the faintest hint of morning light. For a moment he worried she'd think he was crazy, that showing up at this hour with nothing but a strange dream would make him seem unhinged. But the sense of urgency nodded him, growing stronger with every passing minute.

A few seconds later, his phone buzzed with a response. Lily, yeah. Couldn't sleep. I'll be there in ten. He exhaled, feeling a strange mixture of relief and tension as he grabbed his jacket and headed out into the chilly morning air. The streets were deserted, the world wrapped in the quiet stillness that only existed before dawn. As he made his way to the park, the dream replayed in his mind, images flashing before

his eyes like fleeting snapshots, the towering trees, the shadowy path, the feeling of being pulled towards something he couldn't see. When he reached their spot beneath the old maple tree, Lily was already there, sitting quietly on the bench, her face softened by the pale light of dawn. She was staring out over the pond, lost in thought, and as he approached, she gave him a faint, tired smile. Couldn't sleep either, huh? she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of weariness, though her eyes held that same distant,

searching look he'd seen more often lately. He nodded, feeling a little ridiculous but pushing through. Yeah. I. I had this dream, and it's been bugging me all morning. I couldn't shake it. Her eyes widened slightly, a glimmer of recognition flickering across her face. Let me guess, a forest. Tall trees, a winding path, Jason's pulse quickened, a chill running down his spine. How did you know? She looked away, her fingers tracing the thin scars of the bench. I had the same dream. It was unsettling. I felt like I was supposed to find something, or someone. I kept hearing your voice, but every time I tried to follow it, you'd disappear.

Jason exhaled, feeling the weight of the dream settle more heavily over them, their shared experience deepening the strange bond between them. It's like we were, there, together. But it didn't feel like a normal dream. It felt real, like a memory. Lily nodded slowly, her brow furrowing. Exactly. It was as if we'd been there before, or maybe, like we're supposed to go there.

They sat in silence, each grappling with the implications of their shared vision. Jason took a step closer, his voice low, as if speaking too loudly might break the spell. Do you think, do you think it means something? All of this. He gestured between them, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and fear. The dreams, the strange coincidences, even our families. It's like there's something hidden, something connecting us that we can't see. Lily's gaze softened, her eyes searching his with a depth that made his breath catch.

I don't know, she said quietly, her voice carrying a tremor she couldn't quite hide. But it feels like we're meant to find out, doesn't it? Like maybe everything has been leading us here, to this. She reached out, her fingers intertwining with his, grounding him with a warmth that contrasted sharply with the chill in the air. Her hand was small but steady, a silent reassurance that they would face whatever lay ahead together. Jason felt the tension in his chest ease, her presence a calm amidst the unknown. Whatever this is, she continued, her voice filled with quiet determination, whatever's pulling us together, I think we're supposed to see it through.

Jason gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. Then we'll see it through. Together, they sat beneath the maple tree, a silent promise hanging in the air between them, unspoken but understood. As the weeks went on, the strange synchronicities only intensified. It was no longer just the occasional finishing of each other's sentences or mirroring each other's gestures. It became something deeper, something that seemed to weave through their days like an invisible

threat. Jason would begin a sentence, only to have Lily finish it in perfect alignment, her voice echoing his thoughts as if she pulled the words directly from his mind. At first, they laughed it off, their shared amusement a bomb against the growing strangeness. But as it happened more frequently, laughter gave way to shared glances filled with unspoken questions. They'd reach for the same item at the same time, their hands brushing in a way that felt electric, charged with a familiarity they couldn't explain.

Sometimes they'd both moved to do something in unison, like turning to look out a window or walking in the same direction without speaking. It was as if they were tethered together by an unseen force, their movements and thoughts flowing as one, without the need for words. Then there were the memories, half-formed, shadowy recollections that seemed to bleed into their conversations, slipping through the cracks of their shared moments. They'd talk about childhood experiences, only to stumble upon details that didn't quite add up, moments that felt like they belonged to both of them and yet, somehow, to neither.

One evening, as they sat on a park bench beneath the fading light of dusk, Jason started talking about a family trip to a lake. He could picture it vividly, the cool morning air, the mist rising from the water, and the way his family had rented a small red rowboat. He remembered dangling his hand over the side, trailing his fingers through the rippling water as they drifted lazily across the lake. Lily's face lit up as he spoke, and she chimed in, almost without thinking. We did that too. We went to this lake up north, and I remember my family renting a boat, though ours was blue. I used to let my fingers trail through the water too, watching the ripples spread. She laughed softly, as though reliving

a cherished memory. But then her brow furrowed, her expression tinged with confusion. It's so strange, though. It feels like, like I can almost picture your red boat too, even though I know we never had one. Jason felt a chill creeped down his spine, a strange mixture of recognition and disorientation washing over him. That's, weird, he murmured.

I can picture the blue boat now, like I've seen it somewhere before, even though I know that's not right. They exchanged a glance, both sensing the eerie similarity between their memories, the way the details overlapped yet contradicted each other, like two halves of a story story struggling to fit. Later, the topic came up again when they were grabbing groceries together. They were wandering down the aisles, laughing about some of the strange items they found, when Lily stopped abruptly, her eyes narrowing as though a distant memory had resurfaced.

You know, she began, her voice soft and reflective, when I was a kid, I used to be terrified of getting separated from my mom in places like this. The tall shelves made me feel so small, like they were closing in on me. I got lost once. Jason nodded, almost instinctively, feeling a strange familiarity with her words that made his chest tighten. It was in the serial aisle, he interrupted, the word slipping out without thought. You stood there, calling out, but it was so crowded that no one could hear you. And you, he hesitated, suddenly aware of how strange it was that he knew this, that he could feel it so vividly. You were holding a box of. Frosted flakes, right? Lily froze,

her eyes widening as she stared at him in shock. Jason, I've never told anyone about the frosted flakes. I didn't even remember that part until just now. The color drained from Jason's face as he tried to reconcile what he just said, how he could know something so specific, something she'd never shared. He could practically see her there, a small, frightened child clutching the box, her wide eyes darting around as the shelves towered over her, the fluorescent lights casting long shadows that only deepened her fear.

I don't know how I knew that, he admitted, shaking his head, as a chill ran through him. It's like, it's like I can picture it. Like I was there, Lily's hands trembled slightly as she tightened her grip on the grocery cart, her gaze distant, unfocused. I. I don't understand this, Jason. How can you know something that I barely remember myself? They stood there in the middle of the aisle, surrounded by shelves of cereal and brightly colored boxes, but it felt like they were the only two people in the world. The strange connection between them, the feeling that their lives were somehow woven together

in ways they couldn't explain, pressed down on them, as if an invisible force was pulling them closer, binding them in a web they couldn't yet see. Do you think, Jason began, his voice barely a whisper? Do you think there's more to this than just coincidence? Like, maybe our lives have been connected somehow, even before we met, Lily's eyes met his, a flicker of fear and wonder mingling in her gaze. I don't know, but it's starting to feel that way, she's. admitted. The eerie familiarity between them only grew, as if their lives were blending

together. Then, one afternoon, as they strolled down the main street on their way to grab coffee, they passed an old craft store with a weathered sign, and Jason felt a pang of deja vu. Jason's gaze was drawn to an old, weathered shop on the corner, tucked between more modern storefronts. It looked out of place, like a remnant from another time, its exterior worn by years of wind and weather. The paint was faded, a washed-out shade that might have once been a cheerful yellow but now looked more like dull ochre. The windows were thick with dust, obscuring whatever lay inside, and an old wooden sign above the door read, Crafter's Cove, in chipped, curling letters that barely caught the light.

A collection of wind chimes hung from the awning, tangled and silent, swaying faintly as though stirred by some unseen force. Jason slowed, staring at the shop with a sense of familiarity that prickled at the edge of his mind. I feel like I've been here before, he murmured, the word slipping out without thought. His family would never have come here, they weren't the type to venture into small, odd craft stores. And yet, as he looked at the faded storefront, he felt a pole, like a thread connecting him to something he couldn't name. Lily nodded, looking at the store with a faint smile.

I remember coming here with my family once, but I know it looked, different somehow. Like it wasn't so faded and run down, Jason nodded, feeling an inexplicable urge to keep looking, to push through the dusty glass and discover what lay hidden inside. It's like, a dream I can't remember. Lily took a step closer, peering at the dimly lit window. I remember, my mom was looking for paints or something, and there were these cute little sculptures on a shelf near the front, she said slowly, as if piecing together the memory as she spoke.

They were little clay animals, Jason interrupted, surprising himself. A tiny fox, a rabbit with a little chipped ear, and, a turtle painted in shades of blue and green, with a little flower on its shell, Lily turned to him, her mouth falling open in shock. Yes, she whispered, her eyes wide with disbelief. Exactly like that. The fox was painted orange with these tiny white spots, and the rabbit looked like it was about to hop away. Jason shook his head, his heart pounding.

I've never been in this store. I've never seen those sculptures in my life, Lily. But, it's like I know them. Like they're etched into my memory, even though I've never set foot in there. They stood there, the dusty windows and faded paint somehow feeling more significant, more alive, than the bustling street around them. Jason could almost see the sculptures on the shelf just inside the door, could picture the way the light would catch the colors, the way his fingers would itch to reach out

and touch them. Jason shivered, the sensation creeping over him like a cold mist settling into his bones. The logical part of his mind insisted it was nothing, that it was just an odd series of coincidences layered on top of a natural connection. But he couldn't deny the feeling that lurked just beneath the surface, a quiet certainty that there was more to this than chance. It was like he and Lily were only seeing the edges of something vast and complex, a puzzle they were part of without fully understanding its shape.

They continued walking, the shared silence stretching between them. Jason's thoughts churned, trying to grasp what all of this meant. Every instinct told him that something lay hidden beneath the surface, waiting to be unearthed. He felt like a traveler lost in a maze, each turn pulling him closer to a truth he could sense but not yet see. It was as if he and Lily held two halves of the same story, both essential but incomplete, their lives tangled together by a force beyond either of their control. Finally, he broke the silence.

Do you think, do you think there's something we're supposed to remember? Something we've both forgotten, Lily glanced at him, her eyes reflecting the same confusion in curiosity he felt. I don't know, she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. But it's like, it's like I'm on the edge of a memory I can't reach, like something's pulling me toward it, but it's just out of sight. They shared a look, the weight of unspoken questions pressing down on them, wrapping around them like an invisible thread drawing tighter with each passing day.

The puzzle pieces continued to hover just beyond their grasp, teasing them with glimpses of a truth that felt both inevitable and unknowable. One night, they lay stretched out on a blanket in the grass, their breaths visible in the cool air as they stared up at the vast night sky. The stars sparkled above them, like fragments of secrets too old to be understood, scattered across the universe. The silence stretched around them, punctuated only by the occasional rustling of leaves and the distant hum of the world beyond. They'd been talking for hours, sharing fragments of their pasts, trying to trace the lines that seemed to connect them, but every detail only led them back to the same unsettling

truth, a realization neither of them could name but both felt. Jason finally broke the silence, quiet and hesitant. Do you think, he paused, swallowing hard, as if saying it out loud would make it all too real? Do you think maybe, we've known each other before? Lily turned to look at him, her eyes wide and searching. Her face was cast in shadows, her expression unreadable, but he could see the flicker of something in her gaze, something he couldn't name.

Like, in another life, she whispered, as if afraid of the answer. Jason shrugged, though he felt a strange sense of relief in voicing the thought that had been plaguing him, haunting him, since their first encounter. I don't know. It sounds crazy, but, there are things about you, about us, that just feel like, like they've always been there. He could feel his heart pounding, his mind racing with the impossible possibility that they were somehow part of each other's story long before now.

Lily took a deep, shaky breath, her gaze drifting back to the sky. I felt that too, she murmured, her voice barely audible. Like I've known you before. Like meeting you wasn't the first time, but, the first time I can remember. She hugged her knees to her chest, the vulnerability in her posture mirroring the tension growing between them. But what does that even mean, Jason? Are we?

Are we supposed to be together? Is this all just fate, or, or something else? Jason felt a tightness in his chest, and ache he couldn't explain. I don't know. But what if it's all just some, cosmic fluke? Like maybe we're reading too much into this because we want it to mean something. He hated the thought, but he couldn't ignore it either. They were falling together so easily, as if by some design, yet the mystery of it all was

beginning to weigh on him, filling him with a mixture of wonder and dread. Lily's face tightened, her confusion clear as she stared into the night. But it doesn't feel like a fluke, she whispered, her voice laced with desperation. Every time we talk, every memory we share, it's like we're. I don't know, like we're peeling back layers of something that's been buried. that we're supposed to find, she turned to him, her eyes glistening in the dim light. Maybe it's a past life, or fate, or, or maybe it's just that, she faltered, her voice catching, and then she forced herself to finish.

Or maybe it's just that we're supposed to love each other. Jason's breath caught at her words, his heart racing as he struggled to process the implications. The idea of love felt almost too simple, too human to explain what they were experiencing, yet it was the only answer that felt real, something he could understand in a world that suddenly felt vast and unknowable. But why, Lily, he asked, his voice laced with a quiet desperation. Why would love feel this way? Why would it come with, with memories that aren't ours, and feelings that don't make sense?

They lay there in silence, the weight of their questions pressing down on them, suffocating and profound. Jason reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers, grounding himself in the warmth of her touch, the one tangible thing he could hold on to in the midst of so much uncertainty. Maybe we're not supposed to know, he said final. his voice a rough whisper. Maybe it's enough to just, be here, together, and let whatever this is unfold. Maybe it'll make sense one day, or maybe it never will. But I can't deny that, that I'm meant to be here, right now, with you. Lily squeezed his hand, her grip tight,

like she was afraid he'd disappear if she let go. I feel the same, she whispered, her voice trembling. But I'm scared, Jason. I'm scared of what this means, of what we'll find if we keep looking. Me too, he admitted, his heart heavy with the weight of their shared fear. But I'm more scared of walking away, of never knowing what this really is. They lay in silence, clutching each other's hands as if they were lifelines, tethered together by a force neither of them could understand. And as the stars shimmered above them, endless and unreachable, they felt like two small pieces caught in something much bigger, a story too vast for them to comprehend, yet one they

were bound to unravel, together. Far off in the distance, a faint rumble of thunder echoed across the sky, The small fairground glowed softly under the deepening evening sky, a cozy warmth settling over it despite the bite of the cool autumn air. Overhead, strings of lights stretched between wooden poles, casting a flickering glow that painted the pathways in soft halos. The lights wavered like fireflies in the distance, creating a patchwork of gold against the dark, almost inky blue of the sky.

Stars dotted the heavens, faint and far off, nearly hidden by the brightness of the fair, as though the universe itself had decided to give them privacy tonight. Around them, the low hum of conversation mingled with bursts of laughter and excited shouts from children darting through the crowd, faces sticky with cotton candy in hands clutching bright, plastic prizes. A steady stream of music drifted over from the carousel, the familiar, lelting melody blending with the occasional clang and rattle of carnival games, the voices of vendors calling out to passers-by with promises of one more chance to win. The scents that filled the air were thick and sweet, caramel apples, fresh popcorn, and a hint of cinnamon from the churros sizzling. in deep friars. Each smell beckoned, inviting them to forget, if only for a moment, the strange realities they had been navigating. Jason and Lily strolled hand in hand, their fingers laced together, grounding them as they moved through the crowd. Their pace was

unhurried, almost languid, as if they had nowhere to be, and every step was just another part of the night's embrace. They leaned into each other as they walked, sharing warmth as they stopped to take bites of the spun sugar melting on their tongues. They could feel the world around them in every sense, the laughter echoing, the distant sound of the ferris wheel creaking as it turned, the metallic clang of rings hitting glass bottles in the game stalls. The air held a slight chill, enough to flush their cheeks and bring a briskness to their steps, but it only added to the enchantment of the night. The fairground's lights glowed with an inviting warmth, drawing couples and families toward

booths lined with stuffed animals and colorful trinkets. It felt safe, almost timeless, as if they had entered a sanctuary where, for a few precious hours, the world would wait for them. Jason glanced at Lily, noting the way the lights cast shadows across her face, her eyes reflecting the brightness around them like tiny mirrors. She caught his gaze and gave him a soft smile, and for a moment, he felt like they were alone, hidden from the strange forces that had been haunting them. Here, in this fleeting world of laughter and lights, there were no mysteries to unravel, no memories blending and blurring. Just the crisp night air, the warm scent of caramel, and her hand in his.

They walked past booths and stalls, taking in the sights and sounds, trying to lose themselves in the simplicity of the evening. It was a night stolen from another world, a place where the only questions they asked were which ride to go on next or which treat to share. Hey, look! Lily said, her voice bubbling with excitement as she pointed to a small tent tucked away at the far edge of the fairground. Hidden behind a row of colorful pop-up game booths, the tent seemed almost forgotten, as though

it belonged to another era. A wooden sign hung above the entrance, painted with peeling letters that read, Madame Vera's mystical visions, fortune-teller extraordinaire. The script was ornate, curling and twisting as if inviting only the most curious to enter. The tent itself was draped in dark, thick fabric, heavy and foreboding, like the folds of an old, musty curtain. The material seemed to absorb the light around it, creating a stark contrast to the brightness of the fairground. The only illumination came from a dull, red glow that seeped out through the tent's entrance, casting eerie shadows across the trampled grass.

The red light pulsed faintly, as if alive, shifting in a way that made the tent seem to breathe, inhaling and exhaling in rhythm with the muted hum of the fare. Jason felt a flicker of unease creep over him as he looked at it, a sense that the tent didn't quite belong here. It seemed too old, too worn and frayed around the edges, as if it had seen countless fares come and go. The shadows spilling out onto the fairground stretched long and twisted, distorting the figures of passers-by into strange, elongated shapes that melted back into the darkness as they moved away. A cold shiver ran down his spine as he looked at the entrance, feeling a strange dread settle

in his stomach, an instinct telling him that whatever lay inside was best left alone. Lily, however, was practically glowing with excitement, her eyes dancing with mischief as she tugged on his arm. Come on, it'll be fun, she insisted, her smile widening as she took in the ominous details of the tent. For her, it was all part of the fair's charm, a touch of mystery and wonder that made the night feel like an adventure, a story waiting to unfold. The fairground had always filled her with childlike delight, a sanctuary from reality where each ride in game felt like an invitation to let go and believe in the impossible, if only for a night. Jason hesitated,

feeling the weight of dread pressing against his chest. But as he looked at Lily, her face alight with excitement, he felt his resistance soften. He could see the thrill in her eyes, the way she practically vibrated with enthusiasm, and he didn't have the heart to deny her this small adventure. For her, the fair was magic, for him, it was simply a place to be with her, to share in the moment. He took a deep breath, swallowing his unease, a fortune teller. Really?

Oh, come on, Lily teased, nudging him. We could use a little distraction, don't you think? Plus, it'll be fun. She tugged him toward the tent, her eyes bright with excitement and a hint of mischief. inside, rolling his eyes with a smile as he followed her. Fine, but if she starts telling us about tall, dark strangers, I'm walking out, Lily laughed, pulling him through the tense narrow opening, and they stepped into a world that felt as if it had been plucked from another time.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of incense, rich and smoky, mingling with a faint hint of sandalwood and herbs. It clung to their clothes and filled their lungs, heavy and almost stifling, like stepping into the depths of a forgotten temple. The red glow that had seemed so ominous outside now emanated from a single, tall candle flickering on a low wooden table in the center of the room. The candles flame danced, casting shadows that moved across the interior like ghostly figures. The tense walls were lined with shells that sagged under the weight of strange, glittering objects, crystals in every color, worn leather-bound books, weathered talismans, and intricately carved figurines that looked as if they'd been collected from ancient places. The furniture was old and worn, yet strangely luxurious, as if it had once belonged in an

elegant parlor. The table was scuffed and scratched, but its surface gleamed with a dark, polished richness. Two plush, velvet chairs sat across from the Fortune Teller's seat, their fabric faded but still retaining hints of deep red and gold, embroidered with intricate patterns. The edges were frayed, and a few loose threads dangled from the armrests, but the chairs carried a sense of forgotten opulence, a touch of faded grandeur that seemed strangely fitting in the eerie light. Behind the table sat the fortune teller, Madame Vera. She was an older woman, her skin lined with the faint marks of time, though her eyes gleamed with an unsettling sharpness. Her hair, streaked with gray, was tied back in a loose, messy braid that fell over one shoulder,

adorned with small charms and beads woven into the strands. She wore layers of richly colored fabrics, shawls and scarves in deep purples, midnight blues, and flashes of silver that shimmered as she moved. Her fingers were adorned with rings of all shapes and sizes, each one glinting in the candlelight, their stones dark and mysterious. Her gaze was intense, piercing as she studied them, her eyes like embers that seemed to hold centuries of wisdom, and secrets. Her expression was serene yet heavy, as though she were not merely looking at them but through them, reading things they could not see. Jason felt a chill run down his spine, a prickle of awareness, as though this woman understood more about him than he understood himself. Her smile was

faint, almost hidden, yet undeniably knowing, as if she were aware of things they were yet to learn. She sat with her hands folded neatly on the table, her fingers tapping gently, a steady rhythm that matched the flickering of the candle's flame. Her mannerisms were calm, measured, every movement precise and deliberate, giving her an air of quiet authority. Welcome, she said, her voice rich and smooth, each word carrying a weight that made Jason's skin prickle with unease. Please, sit, as they settled into the worn velvet chairs, Jason felt an unsettling sense of anticipation coil within him, his pulse quickening in the dim red glow.

The weight of the room seemed to press down on them, as if every corner held secrets waiting to be uncovered. Madame Vera's gaze flicked between them, lingering with an intensity that made him feel exposed, as though she could see straight through his carefully constructed thoughts. She leaned forward, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of the table, her eyes dark and steady. Jason. "'Lilly, it's good to see you again,' she began, her voice soft but waiting.

each word sinking into the quiet of the room like stones. Jason's spine stiffened, his hand instinctively tightening around Lily's. They hadn't told her their names. He opened his mouth to say something, to demand how she could know, but Lily beat into it, her voice a mix of unease and curiosity. How, how do you know our names, she asked, her eyes wide as they locked on to Madame Vera's. The Fortune Teller's lips curled into a faint, enigmatic smile, and she held their gaze with

a look of quiet certainty. Because this is not the first time you've come to see me, she murmured, her voice threaded with a strange, almost sorrowful nostalgia. And it will not be the last. Jason exchanged a look with Lily, his heart pounding, his mind racing. What, what are you talking about? he asked, his voice edged with disbelief. We've never been here before. We've never met you, Madame Vera's gaze softened, as if she pitted their confusion.

You may not remember, but your souls remember, she replied, her fingers tapping lightly on the table, a quiet, rhythmic pulse that matched the strange tension in the air. You find me each time, drawn by the same force that pulls you together. Over and over, you come to me seeking answers, but rarely do you heed my warnings. A chill crept down Lily's spine as she looked into Madame Vera's eyes, seeing something ancient and unyielding there. So, we've met you in other lives. Other worlds, she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Madam Vera nodded slowly, a shadow crossing her face. Yes. In one form or another, you are always drawn back to this moment, to the edge of a choice that could change everything. But each time, you come to me, hoping for a different truth, a different ending, Jason shook his head, refusing to believe it. This is ridiculous. You're just trying to scare us.

We haven't met you before, this is the first time we've ever set foot in this tent. Madame Vera's expression remained impassive, her eyes fixed on them with a sadness he couldn't understand. That's what you always tell yourselves, she murmured. But the truth remains, whether you accept it or not. Your fate circles back to this moment, a pattern that repeats with each life, each world you touch. And unless you choose differently, you will find yourselves here again.

Jason glanced at Lily, her face etched with doubt and fear, her hand trembling within his. He wanted to pull her away, to dismiss Madame Vera's words as nothing more than that. than theatrics, a performance crafted to leave them unsettled. But a part of him, a small, unshakable part he couldn't ignore, felt the weight of her word settle over him like a deep, old ache. He looked back at Madame Vera, his voice strained, a question bubbling up from a place he didn't want to acknowledge.

If this is true, if we've been here before, why? Why do we keep coming back to you? Madame Vera's gaze softened, a flicker of sadness mingling with the knowing look in her eyes. She held her hands over the table, as though tracing a thread only. she could see. Two souls drawn together from different places, she murmured, her eyes narrowing, her focus shifting between them, as if she were studying an invisible cord stretched top between their hearts. A connection, powerful, but dangerous, bound by the threads of fate,

trapped in a cycle of love and destruction. Jason felt Lily's hand tighten in his, her breath catching at Madame Vera's words. He opened his mouth to argue, to deny this cycle, the fortune teller claimed they were caught in, but Madame Vera continued, her voice filled. with a solemn certainty. Your bond is stronger than worlds, more potent than the barriers meant to keep you apart. And so, you find each other, drawn across lifetimes and realities. But each time, your connection pulls against the very fabric of reality, and each time, the same fate awaits. Love that endures beyond reason and a destruction that cannot be avoided, unless you choose differently. What do you mean?

Lily asked, her voice barely a whisper. Madam Vera's gaze softened with something akin to pity as she looked between them, but her tone held a grim finality. You were never meant to be together. Not in this world, or any world. The words hung heavy in the air, reverberating through the stillness, a quiet echo that seemed to press down on them from all sides. Jason felt the weight of her word settle into his chest like a stone, an unexplainable fear tightening his grip on Lily's hand. That's, that's ridiculous, he said, his voice strained, almost offensive. We're just two people who met at the right time.

There's no cycle of fate or, Madame Vera's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile, but her gaze held no amusement. You may try to dismiss it, Jason, but reality does not bend to your understanding. The bond you share is older than this world, older than either of you, a thread that weaves between worlds, but that thread is frayed, torn by forces beyond your control. She leaned forward, her eyes piercing. You are not meant to exist together in this world, and you're very very very. presence here is a wound, a crack in the foundation of reality. Lily's face drained of color,

her hand trembling as she tried to steady her voice. But, we're real, she said, her tone wavering as she looked to Jason, a desperate plea in her eyes. We're here, together, right now. How can you say we don't belong? Madame Vera's face grew solemn, her tone shifting from mysterious to something darker, almost ominous. There are forces here you do not understand, she said softly, her gaze shifting to Lily. You, were never meant to exist in this world, my dear. Your presence here, it's a mistake. Lily's face turned ashen, her fingers clutching Jason's hand tightly. A mistake, she whispered, her voice barely audible, as though the very ground beneath her had shifted. Madame Vera nodded slowly, her gaze sharp and unyielding. Yes. Your presence here, it creates a rift,

a tear in the fabric of reality. The world itself feels it, like a wound festering beneath the surface. Piece by piece, it will begin to unravel, until there is nothing left. She leaned forward, her intense gaze fixed on Lily, her words carrying an ominous weight that sent a chill down Jason's spine. If you do not leave, Madame Vera continued, her voice dropping to a grave whisper, you will take this world with you, as if summoned by her words, a deafening clap of thunder cracked overhead, shattering the silence and making both of them jump. Jason's heart raised, his grip on Lily's hand tightening as the walls of the tent seemed to shudder around them, trembling as though the very air were charged with energy. They felt the

rumble deep in their bones, a heavy vibration that seemed to echo endlessly, reverberating through the ground beneath their feet. The storm had been nowhere in sight, yet the thunder's intensity made it feel as though it had been lying in wait, lurking until this very moment to release its fury. Outside, the fairground sounds dulled, voices falling silent as people look to the sky in confusion, caught off guard by the sudden eruption from above. Lillie's hand trembled in his, Her face still pale as she glanced at Jason, fear widening her eyes. Jason, what if she's right? She whispered, her voice breaking, barely audible above the echo of thunder still rolling

across the sky. Jason shook his head, trying to steady himself, to stay grounded, but even he felt the crackling energy in the air, as if reality itself had splintered, hanging by a threat. He wanted to tell her it was all nonsense, just a scare tactic, but the woman's words and the thunder felt too eerily aligned, too pointed to ignore. The fortune-teller's expression remained solemn, her eyes shadowed yet piercing, fixed intently on them. Do you see now, she murmured, her voice cutting through the tense silence left by the thunder.

The world is warning you, child. This is not a place you belong. It will push back, it will resist, until there is nothing left to resist. Jason glanced at Lily, her pale face reflecting the same dread that was twisting in his stomach. The weight of Madame Vera's warning hung between them, dense and suffocating, and just outside, as as if echoing their shared fear, another low rumble of thunder rolled across the sky, a quiet reminder of the storm gathering in the distance.

Lily's voice shook as she finally spoke, gripping Jason's hand as if it were the only thing anchoring her. What do you mean I'm not supposed to exist? She demanded, desperation sharpening her words. I do exist. I'm here. I'm alive. Her eyes pleaded with Madame Vera, searching for any sign that this was all some dark joke,

a test to gauge their reaction. How can I not be real? Madam Vera's face softened, and for a moment, her gaze held a kind of quiet pity that only made the truth she spoke feel more unsettling. Not here, not now, she murmured, her voice low but steady, each word laced with an ancient weight that made Jason's skin prickle. You are a reflection, a shadow cast from another world, another life. You belong somewhere else, a place where your presence does not disrupt the delicate balance

of existence. Jason, frowning, looked from Madame Vera to Lily, confusion and fear mixed. in his gaze. But she's here now. She's real, just as real as I am. How can you say she doesn't belong? Madame Vera's gaze turned to him, her eyes as dark and inscrutable as the depths of the ocean. Jason, you see her, feel her, love her in this world, but her presence here is like a splinter in your skin. She wasn't meant to be here, and her being here weakens the boundaries that hold your world together. Each moment she remains, the very fabric of reality strains, like a delicate web trembling under a weight it was never meant to bear.

Lily's eyes glistened with the effort to hold back tears. I don't understand, she whispered, a tremor in her voice. You're saying I'm just, a mistake. An accident that doesn't belong, Madam Vera shook her head gently, her expression unreadable. Not an accident, she said softly, her voice tinged with regret. But a choice, a pull from somewhere deep within you both. Your souls reached across the divide, through lifetimes and realities. to find each other.

And while love is a powerful force, it is not without consequences. The two of you, bound as you are, are creating a fracture, a wound in the very world that sustains you. Jason's frustration bubbled over, and he squeezed Lily's hand tightly. So what are we supposed to do? He demanded, his voice tight. If we're not supposed to be together, then why did we find each other at all? Why go through all this if it's just going to destroy everything?

Madame Vera's gaze lingered on him, a mixture of sympathy and resignation in her eyes. Because some things are meant to be, and yet not meant to last, she replied, her words heavy with the sorrow of ancient knowledge. The pull between you was too strong, powerful enough to bend the rules, to bridge worlds. But now you face a choice, to let each other go and allow this world to heal, or to remain together and watch it unravel, piece by piece. Lily's grip tightened, her face stricken. But, can't we find a way to stay?

Isn't there a way for us to be together? Madam Vera sighed, her eyes darkening. Some choices carry too great a price. The longer you stay, the more the boundaries will weaken, pulling pieces from one world into another until neither world is left whole. If you remain together, reality will warp around you, and in the end, there will be nothing left for either of you. A deep silence filled the tent, heavy and stifling,

as Lily and Jason exchanged a look filled with both love and fear. Another rumble of thunder rolled through the air, faint but unyielding, as if the universe itself were offering its warning, pressing down upon them, urging them to understand the cost of their bond. Do you see? Madame Vera said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper. Your love, as beautiful as it is, was born from worlds that cannot hold it. It is a force too strong for this reality, a fire that will consume everything if you let it burn.

The air in the tent felt heavy, charged with an invisible weight that pressed down on them, each word from Madame Vera sinking into Lily like stones settling in her chest. She could almost see it, a world beyond this one, hazy and indistinct, a place where she might belong completely in a way she could never feel here. Fragments flickered through her mind, like pieces of a dream just beyond reach, familiar landscapes blurred by time, people who felt known but unseen, echoes of herself moving through spaces that didn't fit within this reality. Jason shifted beside her, his own face pale and tense as he looked between Lily and Madame Vera.

His voice was steady, though tinged with disbelief and frustration. How do you know all this? he demanded, his words thick with skepticism. Who even are you? And how can you possibly know about, other worlds, other versions of us? Madame Vera's gaze settled on him, dark and unreadable, and a faint, almost bitter smile touched her lips. Who am I? she repeated, her tone carrying a hint of amusement layered with a weary wisdom. I am a conduit, a keeper of secrets, a witness to cycles that stretch beyond the reach

of time and space. I know because I have seen it, time and time again. I have watched souls like yours, drawn together across the divide, pulled back and forth, breaking and reforging, trapped in cycles of love and loss, hope and ruin. I know because it is my burden to know, to watch these truths unfold while others remain blind, she leaned forward, her voice lowering to a whisper that seemed to draw the air from the room itself. Your world, this world, was never meant to hold her. Lily belongs to a place just out of her. of reach, a world that mirrors this one but exists on a different plane. But the bond you share defies the natural order.

It pulled her across the boundary, a force so strong it altered the fabric of reality. And now that bond, that pull, threatens to unravel everything, like a thread tugged from a fragile seam until all that remains are broken fragments. Lily's voice was barely steady as she spoke, her mind struggling to process the enormity of Madame Vera's words. But if I leave, what happens then? Madame Vera's gaze softened, though her expression remained somber. If you leave, reality will heal itself.

The rift will close, and the balance will be restored. But if you stay, she hesitated, her eyes shifting to Jason, who stared back at her, torn between fear and defiance. If you stay, everything you know, everything he knows, this world and everyone in it will begin to fracture. Memories will seep through boundaries, identities will blur, and reality itself will warp under the strain. It will twist, pulling in pieces of your world and his until both are left in ruin. Jason's heart pounded, his mind pushing back against every word, refusing to accept her warning. So, you're saying that just because we, because we care about each other, because we met, that everything we know will collapse. His voice shook with disbelief, his mind scrambling to find some flaw in her logic,

some way to unravel her words as easily as she had unraveled their understanding of their lives. Madam Vera sighed, meeting his gaze with a weariness that seemed older than time itself, a sorrow born from witnessing too many others caught in the same relentless cycle. Love is a powerful force, Jason. It binds, it strengthens, it defies, but it does not always heal. Sometimes, love and reality cannot exist side by side. The bond you share with her is one that reaches beyond this world, a thread that stretches across boundaries that were never meant to be crossed.

lily's hand slackened in his, her expression shifting to one of quiet horror as the gravity of the situation took hold. So, I'm a danger, she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. Just by being here, I'm—I'm hurting this world. Madam Vera nodded slowly, her voice soft but unyielding, each word carrying a weight that seemed to deepen the silence around them. Yes, this is not your fault, and it was never your choice. But this world, this fragile reality, it cannot.

contain you, nor can it withstand the force of the connection between you and Jason. Reality is already beginning to strain, you have felt it, seen it. Objects appearing and vanishing, memories slipping into your mind like fragments of forgotten dreams. These are only the first signs. As time goes on, the fractures will deepen, and eventually, reality itself will shatter under the weight. Lily's grip on Jason's hand tightened as memories of the odd, inexplicable moments flashed

through her mind. Her voice wavered, almost as if she were speaking more to herself than to Madame Vera. The coffee shop walls, they were green, but I could have sworn they were brown. I kept telling Jason they'd been painted, and he kept saying they hadn't changed. Madame Vera's expression softened, her gaze tinged with sympathy. Yes, child. That was a glimpse of the coffee shop in your world, a place where the walls truly are brown. The inconsistencies you see, the small shifts, a color that doesn't belong, an object that

appears out of place, a face you think you recognize but shouldn't know, they are more than confusion. They are the first signs, small rips in the fabric of this world. They signal that reality is beginning to unravel under the strain of your presence here. Jason glanced at Lily, and she nodded, recalling yet another moment. Like the time we both ordered pie, she murmured. Jason's family always got cherry, but I could swear we'd had blueberry, even though he said they'd never ordered it.

Madame Vera nodded knowingly. These memories you both carry, these fragments, as you call them, they are reflections of a world you once knew, a world your heart still remembers even if your mind does not. That is why they feel so vivid, so real. Your two realities are colliding, bringing echoes of each world into the other. For now, it is pie flavors and colors of walls, minor details that create subtle disturbances. But as time passes, those small inconsistencies will grow more pronounced. felt a shiver run down his spine as he thought of what she was saying.

So, what happens if we ignore it? Madam Vera's expression darkened. Then you will see more than colors and flavors changing. Imagine pieces of the landscape altering before your eyes, buildings that flicker between forms, faces that seem familiar yet shift into strangers. You will see entire memories begin to fade and blur, voices that sound like whispers, as your world and her world battle for dominance. It will start with brief lapses, brief moments of,

remembering that feel like deja vu. But soon, reality itself will begin to fracture, time may skip, people may forget who they are, entire parts of your world may simply disappear as hers tries to overlay it. Jason's heart pounded as he looked at Lily, a storm of fear and frustration churning inside him. So, you're saying all these little things, the differences we've noticed, they're actually from her world. He shook his head, struggling to make sense of it all. But why now? Why is it only happening since we met?

Vera's eyes softened, her expression grave as she looked between them. Because, Jason, your meeting was the catalyst. Your connection, your love, it is what allowed her to cross over, what lets her memories and echoes slip into this world. Love as powerful as yours does not know boundaries. It reaches beyond reason, beyond realms. When you two came together, you created an anchor, a bridge that binds her world to yours. And every memory, every inconsistency you encounter, weakens that bridge, it more fragile with each passing day, Lily's face turned pale, her mind racing back to every detail that had felt just slightly, wrong. The colors that didn't match, the flashes of deja vu, the strange sensation of feeling like she was both here and somewhere else. It was

as if parts of her existed in places she could barely reach. So, all the things I remember that don't fit, she whispered, her voice trembling, they're from, somewhere else. My world, yes, Madam Vera said gently, though her words were unyielding. And the more you try to reconcile these memories with his reality, the more strain you create, like a storm building beneath the surface. You are in a place you do not belong, Lily, and that discord is tearing reality apart, one small fracture at a time. Jason ran a hand over his face, his frustration bleeding through.

But if our bond is so powerful, if it's what brought her here, isn't there a way we could use it to keep her here safely? couldn't we somehow anchor her so that her world and mine? I don't know, stabilize, Madame Vera's expression turned sad, almost mournful. Jason, love is powerful, but it is not without consequences. The world you're asking for, a world that could support you both, that could reconcile two separate realities, would be a world torn apart at its core. The balance of existence is delicate, each world tailored to sustain itself.

The more you try to hold her here, the more your world will unravel, bending and shifting until neither of you can recognize it. Lily swallowed, her voice shaking. So, if I stay, I destroy everything. But if I leave, her voice faltered as the full weight of their choice settled on her. If you leave, reality will mend itself, Madame Vera said gently. The rift will heal, and the balance will return. You may go on, each with memories that will eventually fade, the edges blurring with time.

But if you stay, both worlds will continue to clash, colliding and merging. until neither resembles what they were meant to be. Lily's heart clenched, a sharp ache radiating through her chest as she held Jason's gaze, his eyes mirroring the same turmoil that tore at her. She wanted to deny it, to tell Madame Vera that there had to be another way, but a quiet voice within whispered that she had already known the truth. She had felt it in every strange memory, in every moment that defied the world around her. Her eyes shimmered with tears she could no longer hold back.

She looked at Jason, her voice breaking. Jason. I don't want to lose you. Jason held her gaze, his own heart pounding with an ache he could hardly bear. I don't want to lose you either, Lily. Her voice was barely a whisper as she asked, What if I don't go? Her hand trembled in his, holding on as though he were the only solid thing in a world slipping away.

Madam Vera's face grew solemn, her voice steady but filled with sorrow. Then reality will unravel, slowly at first, but inevitably. You will see it everywhere, familiar places shifting, objects fading in. and out of existence, time itself bending under the strain. In the end, there will be nothing left, only fragments and echoes of what once was. A world broken by love, Jason's mind raced as he considered everything Madame Vera had said. The endless cycles, the versions of themselves meeting, falling in love, and being torn apart, it was unbearable to think they were trapped in some endless loop of heartbreak and destruction.

He looked at Madame Vera, his jaw set, determination filling his voice. Is there a way to break the cycle? To end this once and for all, Madame Vera's gaze grew heavy, her expression turning almost mournful. Yes, she said softly. There is a way. But neither of you will like the answer, tell us. If there's even a chance, we have to know, Madam Vera's eyes shifted from Jason to Lily, as if weighing the strength of their resolve. To break the cycle, she began, her voice low and steady, one of you must choose to let go entirely.

Not just in this life, but across all lives, all realities. One of you must choose to sever the connection completely, to release the bond that ties your souls together. Lily's breath caught, her face paling as the weight of Madame Vera's words sank in. Sever, the bond, she whispered, her voice trembling. You mean, one of us has to forget the other. Forever, Madame Vera's gaze softened, but her expression remained solemn, each word spoken with quiet, unyielding weight. To forget, as you imagine it, would be a mercy. But to truly sever the bond that has brought you together across lives, across worlds, requires

something far greater. One of you would have to give up this reality. One of you would need to cease to exist. Jason's heart pounded, the finality of her words settling over him like a suffocating shroud. Wait, so, one of us would have to leave this world completely. Two, his voice caught, and he could barely bring himself to say it. To die, Madame Vera shook her head, her face filled with a mixture of sorrow and understanding. No. To truly break this cycle, one of you must relinquish everything, your soul, your past,

your present, your future. Not merely to die, but to surrender existence itself, as if you had never been. This means all memories, all traces, across every world. It is a sacrifice unlike any other, and it is final, Lily's face drained of color, her hand trembling in jasons as she grasped the full extent of the choice. So, you're saying, that one of us has to give up everything, every moment, every memory, to break this bond." Her voice broke, thick with disbelief and horror. But, all the other Jasons and Lilies we were, they died, didn't they? That didn't stop this from happening.

Madame Vera's expression turned grave. Yes. The others before you, they have all died, each in their turn. They loved deeply, they fought to stay together, and yet death did not free them from the cycle. Because death alone does not break the bond. It leaves a trace, a shadow, an echo. That is why it has never ended. Madame Vera's gaze held them both, her face softened with an ancient sorrow.

It is a price as high as the bond you share is strong. To let go in this way would end the cycle, yes. It would bring peace to both of your worlds. But you must understand, this is a choice you must face together, knowing that it will change everything, permanently. Jason's voice was barely a whisper as he looked at her, trying to grasp the scope of what she was saying. But, if no one has been able to make that choice, how long has this been going on?

Who were the first? How did it even start? Madame Vera closed her eyes briefly, as though seeing something from long ago, and when she opened them, her gaze was filled with a sorrow that seemed older than time. It began so long ago that even I cannot remember the world where the first Jason and Lily met. But they were, as you are now, two souls drawn to each other across boundaries they did not understand, their love fierce and binding.

They defied the natural order and became tethered in ways that worlds could not contain. And so, they have carried on, lifetime after lifetime, pulled into existence by a love too powerful to fade. She looked at them both, her voice laced with a quiet sadness. Each lifetime brought a new chance, a new choice to make. Yet none before you have been willing, or able, to give up everything. The connection remains, lingering, and so you return. But to end this cycle now, one of you must make the ultimate sacrifice, to be truly erased from all memory, all time, Jason's grip tightened around Lily's hand,

his mind reeling as he struggled to comprehend the enormity of Madame Vera's words. He looked at her, disbelief etched into every line of his face. How can you expect us to believe this, he said, his voice trembling with equal parts fear and frustration? All these cycles, these other lives, and now one of us is supposed to just, disappear. You're talking about erasing an entire existence, and we're supposed to accept it without question. Madam Vera's gaze didn't waver, she met his eyes with a steady, sorrowful look. I know it's a lot to ask. But I do not expect you to choose blindly, Jason. I would never ask that of either of you. Jason shook his head, his mind swimming in a haze of

doubts and half-formed thoughts. But how do we know any of this is real? These lives you're talking about, how do we know this isn't just some story? A trick, Madame Vera remained silent for a moment, then nodded, as if she had anticipated his reaction. Your heart tells you the truth, but if that's not enough, I can show you. This isn't something I want you to accept on faith alone. She moved to a small shelf tucked into the shadows, retrieving a silver bowl that seemed to glow faintly in the dim light. She placed it carefully on the table in front of them, the metal reflecting flickers of candlelight that danced across its surface. The air in the tent felt suddenly heavier, charged with an almost electric energy. Jason eyed the bowl, his pulse

quickening. What is that, he asked, feeling an unexplainable pull toward the object before him. This, Madame Vera murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, is the mirror of worlds. Through it, one may glimpse the truth that lies beyond sight, a truth that words alone cannot convey. It is also how I can show you what you've forgotten. It will allow you to see the echoes of the lives you've shared, the choices you've made, and the paths that brought you here.

It is the only proof I can offer. She looked at them both, her gaze somber. But once you look, there is no unseeing it. Do you still want the truth? Jason exchanged a look with Lily, their silent understanding answering for them. They both nodded, and with a steadying breath, Jason leaned forward, his eyes locked on the surface of the bowl as Madame Vera placed her hand over it and murmured something softly. The water in the bowl began to ripple, small waves forming concentric circles that shimmered with

a faint, silvery light. into the water, she said, her voice soft and commanding. See what lies beyond your understanding. Jason hesitated, but Lily reached out, almost mesmerized, her gaze locked on the shifting patterns in the water. As they peered into the bowl, the ripples steadied, revealing a vision within. Shapes emerged, hazy at first, like figures caught in mist, but gradually sharpening until they could make out a world, Lily's world.

They saw familiar places, streets and buildings that mirrored their own, yet held a subtle, uncanny difference. The colors were slightly muted, the edges sharper, and there was a sense of order and precision that felt both strange and familiar. But as they watched, Jason noticed something unsettling, every scene was devoid of him. People passed by, figures laughed and moved, but his presence was missing, as if he had been erased from her world entirely. Where, where am I? Jason asked, his voice barely a murmur, feeling an odd pang of absence as he watched Lily's world unfold without him. Madame Vera's voice was grave.

You do not exist there, Jason. This world, her world, has no place for you. Her reality is complete without you, a world balanced and untouched by your presence. Your love draws her here, where you belong, but her world cannot contain both of you. You are separated, divided by forces that have kept your paths from crossing, until now. Lily peered into the water, her face a mixture of longing and confusion as she watched. The scenes continued to shift, revealing fragments of her world, a life that seemed both hauntingly familiar and heart-breakingly distant.

She couldn't shake the feeling of something missing, as though she were looking at a home she couldn't return to, a version of herself she could barely remember. But, if he can't exist in my world, what happens if I stay here? She asked, her voice barely above a whisper, fear slipping into her words. Madame Vera's fingers brushed the surface of the water, and the vision in the bowl shifted again, as the ripples stilled into a new image. This time they saw two figures embraced, holding each other tightly, as if defying the chaos swirling around them. Jason and Lily recognized themselves, but these versions were older, their expressions filled with a mixture of love and despair.

The world around them was crumbling. The sky was darkened, fires erupted across the horizon, and buildings collapsed as though reality itself was unraveling. The figures in the vision clung to each other, seemingly oblivious to the destruction, their faces etched with sorrow as they shared one last kiss before the chaos overtook them. Lily gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Is that, us, she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. Madame Vera nodded solemnly. This was one of the lives you shared, a world torn apart by your love, by your refusal to let go.

In that life, you chose each other over the world, and the world broke under the weight of it. No, Lily's voice was barely audible, a tremor in her tone as tears pricked her eyes. This can't happen. I didn't mean to, Madam Vera's gaze softened with sympathy. Reality is fragile, and your love defies its boundaries. You pull each other's worlds into a state of discord that cannot last. This is the cost of your bond, the consequence of a love that crosses worlds. Jason clenched his fists, his mind racing with denial, with desperation to find a way to change what they were seeing.

There has to be a way to stop this, he insisted, his voice tight with determination. This can't be the only choice. I can't just, lose her. Madam Vera's eyes held his, a flicker of sorrow passing over her face as she lifted her hands over the bowl again, letting the water shift into one last image. The ripples calmed, and in their place appeared two figures, Jason and Lily, but somehow, not them. They seemed to blend, their reflections shifting and merging like faces seen in half-formed dreams. As the shapes came into focus, the distinction between them blurred, as though they were fragments of a single person, two halves of a whole, reflections that mirrored and overlapped with a strange harmony.

Jason and Lily stared into the bowl, their breaths shallow as they watched the figure within, flickering and shifting. It was as if the water itself were caught in a constant state of indecision, unable to settle on a single form. The face in the bowl was sometimes lilies, sometimes Jasons, and sometimes both at once, their features blending, merging, then separating again, a singular, blurred shape cast between worlds. What, what does that mean?" Jason asked, his voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

His heart raised, a quiet dread settling deep within him as he stared into the shifting reflection, a reflection that seemed to pull him closer, reaching out to grasp a truth just beyond his understanding. Madame Vera's gaze grew distant, unreadable, and she let her hand hover over the bowl, casting an elongated shadow across the shifting image within. Her lips parted as if to speak, but then she hesitated, something dark and knowing in her eyes as she looked at them both. No, she murmured, almost to herself, as she lifted her hand from the water, letting the vision

in the bull ripple and blur once more. You are not ready for that truth, not yet. She looked at them both with an intensity that was both compassionate and stern. Some things, you must choose to understand, and that choice lies ahead of you, Lily's fingers tightened around Jason's, her voice trembling as she whispered, so, we're supposed to just decide our fate without understanding this? Without knowing what, what we even are, Madame Vera's face softened, a faint trace of sorrow in her expression.

It is not what you are that matters, child. It is what you will choose to become. The path you walk now will determine whether this, she gestured toward the rippling water, the shifting figure that neither of them could fully recognize, becomes your reality. You must decide before that choice is made for you, and this truth becomes your prison. Jason's mind world, his pulse racing as he stared into the bowl, trying to make sense of the figure, of the strange merging and separating that felt both familiar and terrifyingly foreign. Every instinct screamed at him to understand, to demand answers, but something in Madame

Vera's eyes told him he was only glimpsing a shadow of something much larger, a truth he wasn't ready to face. But how are we supposed to decide? he asked, his voice filled with a mix of desperation and anger. How can we make a choice like this without knowing what it all means? Madame Vera's gaze turned piercing, her eyes steady as she replied. You must follow your heart, as painful as that choice may be. It is not the mind that will guide you in this, logic cannot hold the weight of your connection.

But know this, every moment you linger here together, every memory you share, draws you closer to this fate. Jason looked at Lily, his heart torn between the love he felt and the uncertainty that nodded him, a fear that they were crossing into something irreversible. What if we're not ready, he murmured, a question that felt as vast and unknowable as the universe itself. Vira placed her hands over the bowl, her fingers resting gently on its rim, obscuring the last traces of the shifting image within.

Ready or not, the choice is yours to make, she said quietly. But once made, it cannot be undone. The water settled, the reflections fading as the room plunged back into stillness, the candles flickering light casting shadows that seemed to stretch further into the dark corners of the tent. And as Jason and Lily sat there, the weight of her words pressed down on them, the haunting image of the figure lingering in their minds, a silent reminder of the choice they would soon have to make, before the shadow in the water became their reality.

Lily's eyes filled with tears, her face pale and stricken as she shook her head, trying to deny the weight of the fortune teller's words. I didn't ask for this, she whispered, her voice breaking. I didn't ask to be, whatever I am, Jason's heart twisted as he looked at her, a fierce protectiveness welling up inside him. Wrapping an arm around her, he pulled her close, shielding her from Madame Vierrez, as penetrating gaze. Enough, he snapped, his voice cold and hard.

He turned to the fortune teller, anger flaring in his eyes. You've had your fun, but that's it. We're done here. Madame Vera watched him calmly, her gaze steady, as though his words meant nothing to her. Jason felt his jaw tighten, his pulse racing with a mixture of anger and disbelief. How dare she toy with them like this, with her ominous prophecies and dark warnings, as if she had any control over their lives? This is all just, nonsense, Jason muttered, shaking his head as he pulled Lily toward the tense

exit. A bunch of theatrics, illusion magic, cheap tricks to scare people who don't know any better, Lily hesitated, glancing back at the fortune teller, doubt flickering in her eyes. Her usually carefree spirit was shaken, and she felt the weight of Madame Vera's words settling over her like a shadow she couldn't shake. But Jason, she murmured, her voice wavering. What if, what if it's all true? The inconsistence. the coffee shop walls, the deja vu, the way things just don't fit. She looked at him, her eyes wide and pleading. What if this is real?

Jason let out a sharp, humorless laugh, trying to push back the creeping dread gnawing at the edges of his mind. It's not real, Lily. It's just a fluke, a scam, someone trying to mess with us. A nut job with a crystal ball trying to make herself sound important. He shook his head, dismissing the unsettling images and words as he tried to ignore the part of him that remembered every strange, inexplicable thing they'd experienced since they met. But Madame Vera's voice interrupted his thoughts, calm yet carrying a weight that silenced his denial.

Believe what you will, Jason, she said softly, her tone tinged with an almost sorrowful finality. But remember this, illusions cannot unravel reality, and trickery cannot tear apart the world. You can dismiss me if you wish, but the truth does not bend to your will. Jason kept his grip on Lily's hand, pulling her toward the exit, his mind refusing to to entertain the fortune-teller's ominous warnings. Let's go, Lily. This is nothing but some sick joke. None of it is real, but as they reached the tent's entrance,

Madame Vera's voice cut through the air, a final, chilling warning that seemed to resonate beyond the tent walls. Be careful, both of you. Once you choose your path, it will not be undone. I cannot protect you if you make the wrong choice. Lily turned back, her gaze lingering on Madame Vera, caught between fear and a quiet sense of understanding. But Jason tugged on her hand, his grip firm as he led her out of the tent and back into

the noise and lights of the fairground. The world outside seemed almost too bright, too loud, the night air heavy with the mingling sense of caramel and smoke, as if the fair itself were an illusion. Lily glanced up at him, her expression conflicted. Jason, don't you think, don't you think we should at least try to understand? What if she's right? Jason shook his head, forcing a smile he didn't quite feel. She's not right, Lily.

She's just a woman who makes a living off scaring people into believing they're part of some cosmic mystery. None of this is real. She didn't know what she was talking about, okay? It was all just to scare us. Don't let her get in your head. Lily looked at him, her eyes filled with doubt, her voice a whisper. But what if she was right, Jason?

What if, what if I don't belong here? What if? I ruin everything just by being here. took her hands, his grip firm, determined. You're here with me, Lily. You're real. You belong, I love you, and nothing she said can change that. But as they walked further from the tent, the echo of Madame Vera's words lingered in the

back of Jason's mind, a dark, unsettling reminder he couldn't shake. The fairground lights and laughter seemed distant, muffled, as though he were moving through a half-formed dream. He wanted to brush it off, to return to the warm simplicity of the fair with Lily, yet Madame Vera's warning clung to him. her voice woven into his thoughts like a shadow. Just beyond the threshold of the tent, Madame Vera watched them leave,

her expression solemn and filled with quiet sadness. Her gaze lingered on the place where they'd stood, as if she could still see them, their figures etched in the dim glow of the tent's interior. They think they have all the time in the world, she murmured to the empty air, her voice low and filled with an old sorrow. Her fingers trailed over the table

as though searching for a connection to something unseen, something fragile. But time is slipping, faster than they know, she paused, her eyes narrowing as though she were peering into the spaces between moments, listening to something that only she could hear. The mirrors of fate are cracking even further, she whispered, her voice barely audible. And once they shatter, only fragments will remain, Jason and Lily left the fortune teller's tent, stepping back into the bright lights and bustling energy of the fairground. The sights and sounds felt overwhelming after the dim,

haunting quiet of Madame Vera's tent, and they walked in silence, both lost in thought, still feeling the weight of her warnings hanging over them. As they passed by a row of food stalls, Jason's friend Cole spotted them from a distance and jogged over, his usual grin replaced by a look of mild concern. Hey! You two look like you've seen a ghost, he joked, eyeing their pale faces. What happened? Jason ran a hand over his face, trying to shake off the lingering unease. It's, we just had the weirdest experience, he said, glancing at Lily, who nodded, her eyes still wide. We went to see this fortune teller, and she, she said some pretty unsettling things.

It felt, real. Way too real. Cole raised an eyebrow, amused but intrigued. Fortune teller. Here at the fair. He looked around, his brow furrowing. I've been all over the grounds tonight, and I didn't see any fortune teller. Jason frowned, glancing over his shoulder in the direction they'd come from.

Yeah, the tent was right over there. I'll show you. He turned, pointing toward where Madame Vera's tent should have been, tucked at the edge of the fairground near the game booths. But when he looked back, the tent was gone. In its place was only a brightly colored game booth, packed with people tossing rings and winning stuffed animals. Jason blinked, his heart pounding as he scanned the area, but there was no sign of Madame Vera's tent, no shadows, no flickering red light, nothing.

It was as though the fortune teller had vanished without a trace. Lily's hand tightened around his, her face paling as she realized the tent was truly gone. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, a flicker of fear reflecting her own sense of disbelief. Uh, you sure you're okay, man? Cole asked, chuckling nervously, sensing the tension in their silence. Jason shook his head, a chill creeping over him. It was here, Cole. I swear, it was here, but no matter how hard he looked, the tent, and Madam Vera, were nowhere to be seen.

Jason pulled his hood tighter against the chilly breeze as he wandered the crowded fairgrounds. It was early October, and the air was thick with the smell of popcorn, warm cider, and the faint, earthy scent of fallen leaves that clung to the ground in scattered, vibrant heaps. Lights from food stalls and rides cast a soft glow over the pathways, blending reds, oranges, and yellows into a warm, autumnal haze. It gave the whole scene a feeling of timelessness, as if he'd stepped out of his everyday life and into some other, more colorful world. This annual fair was one of the few events he genuinely looked forward to.

It was a chance to escape the routines that filled his life, the calculated paths he followed day after day. Here, in the swirl of laughter, music, and flashing lights, he could lose himself among strangers, letting their energy replace his own, if only for an evening. And maybe, just maybe, tonight would be different, there was something in the air, a subtle crackling, a feeling he couldn't shake. It was as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for something unexpected to happen. Jay.

Wait up, his friend Cole's voice pulled him out of his thoughts. Jason turned just as Cole jogged to catch up, an easy grin on his face and a slight flush from weaving through the crowd. Jason couldn't help but smile, Cole's enthusiasm was infectious, even if Jason rarely shared the same exuberance. You're supposed to enjoy the fair, not wander around like a ghost, Cole teased, giving Jason a playful nudge. Come on, let's grab something to eat.

Jason smirked, rolling his eyes. Just taking it all in. Besides, you're the one that's supposed to keep an eye on me, remember. Cole laughed, his voice warm and familiar over the chatter around them, and started leading them toward a food stand selling corn dogs. Jason followed, his attention drifting as they moved through the crowd. The laughter, the shrieks from the nearby rides, the flashing lights, all of it felt like a strange, exhilarating dream. Normally, he'd stay in the background, finding comfort in

observing rather than plunging into the center of any scene. But tonight, something felt different. It wasn't just the energy of the fair or the excitement in the air. It was something deeper, a sense of possibility buzzing just beneath the surface, like the hum of electricity before a storm. As they stood in line, Jason's gaze wandered from one group to another, capturing fleeting glimpses of people's faces illuminated by the warm, flickering lights of the fair. Friends huddled close, their laughter rising above the hum of the crowd, children dashed between their parents, hands sticky from cotton candy, while couples strolled hand in hand, their smiles private, their words quiet in the midst of the bustling night.

Jason almost envied them, their ease, their openness, wondering what it felt like to move so freely, to be so alive in the moment. And then, he saw her. She was leaning casually against a game booth a few yards away, laughing with a group of friends, her presence cutting through the noise and color of the fair like a flash of flame. Her hair, a striking shade of red that deepened into warm Auburn under the lights, spilled down her shoulders in loose waves, catching the glow of the lanterns above. She wore a dark leather jacket that fit her like it was made for her, and a scarf in deep plaid hues, casually draped around her neck. Her skin had a warmth to it, freckled in a way that seemed both timeless and striking, her cheeks flushed

from the cold or maybe the excitement of the evening. But it was her eyes that truly held him captive, even from this distance, bright and green, sharp with an energy that was equal parts mischief and intensity. She seemed to see everything around her with a focus that made the world feel smaller, more intimate, as if each moment was meant to be lived fully, without restraint. Jason's pulse quickened, and he couldn't tear his gaze away. It was more than her beauty, it was her presence, something magnetic and raw, a force that seemed to pull him closer, even though they were still feet apart. She was vibrant in a way he didn't often see, alive in a way that made everyone else around her fade into the background.

He didn't know her, had never seen her before, yet somehow, she felt familiar, like a dream he was on the verge of remembering. For a moment, he forgot the noise, the laughter, even Cole standing beside him. In the middle of the crowded fair, with light swirling in the air thick with the scent of autumn, Jason found himself rooted in place, captivated, as though he'd stumbled upon something he was never meant to find. Hey, birth to Jason. Cole's voice cut through the haze, pulling him back to the present.

Jason blinked, finding a corn dog shoved inches from his face. Oh, uh, thanks, he muttered, taking the corn dog without looking, his eyes still locked on the girl by the ring-toss booth. She laughed at something her friend said, and the sound carried over the noise, light and clear. Jason felt his heart skip. Cole followed his gaze, a slow smirk creeping onto his face. Ah, I see what's going on. Redhead by the ring toss. She's cute.

Want an introduction? Jason shook his head, feeling his cheeks flush. No, no, it's, never mind, right. Just a random stranger you're staring at like she's the only girl in the world. Cole grinned, nudging him with his elbow. Dude, your ears are actually red. Just go talk to her. What's the worst that could happen?

Jason swallowed, glancing back at her and then looking away just as quickly, trying to play it off. She's probably here with friends. Besides, she probably thinks I'm some weirdo. Cole laughed, clapping him on the back. That ship sailed about five minutes ago. You've been staring like she's got the secrets of the universe written on her forehead. Just give her a casual wave or something. Girls dig confidence.

Jason huffed, trying to ignore the anxious knot in his stomach. Since when did you become an expert on girls? Hey, you'd be surprised, Cole said, his tone mock serious. I've picked up a thing or two. Rule number one, don't overthink it. Rule number two, don't think at all. Just act. Jason rolled his eyes, but he couldn't deny that part of him wanted to take the advice.

Easy for you to say. You're not the one whose life just flashed before their eyes. Wow, she's got you that bad, huh? Cole laughed, clearly enjoying this. All right, listen. You go up to her, give her your best smile, no, not that serious one you all. always do, like an actual smile. Just say something simple.

Like, I don't know, hey, I'm Jason. I couldn't help but notice you from across the fair. Girls love that stuff, trust me, Jason rubbed the back of his neck, hesitating. Or she thinks I'm a creep who noticed her from across the fair. Yeah, that'll go over well, Cole chuckled, slapping him on the shoulder. Suit yourself, man. But I think you've been officially spotted, Jason's heart skipped a beat. The girl was looking right at him, her head tilted in mild curiosity, a hint of a smile

tugging at her lips. Before he could think better of it, he gave her a small, hesitant wave. She laughed, openly, brightly, and waved back. Then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, she broke away from her friends, her movements easy and confident. Jason's heart pounded as she strolled over, her eyes meeting his with an openness that somehow made him feel both exposed and at ease. She stopped in front of him, hands casually tucked into the pockets of her leather jacket,

a playful smile on her lips. Hey, she said, her voice warm and relaxed, carrying an energy that matched the fire in her hair. I'm Lily. Don't think I've seen you around before. What's your name? Jason, he managed, his voice coming out a little rougher than he'd intended. He cleared his throat, fighting the urge to look away. And, yeah, I don't really, get out much, I guess.

She raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking in amusement. There was something about the way she looked at him, direct, unfiltered, as if she wasn't just making polite conversation but genuinely curious. Well, Jason who doesn't get out much, nice to meet you. She extended her hand in a mock formal greeting, her grin widening. I'm a bit of a fair junkie, so if you need the lay of the land, I'm your girl. Jason chuckled, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease a bit. There was a spark in her eyes, something daring and alive that drew him in, like she was inviting

him to step out of his comfort zone, if only for a moment. That might actually be helpful, he replied, allowing himself a small smile. I usually just wander around aimlessly. Good thing I found you, then, she said, her grin bright and full of mischief. Come on, stick with me. I'll show you how to experience the fare the right way. to walk around, Jason nodded, feeling an unexpected thrill of excitement as she turned, leading the way.

He stole a quick glance back at Cole, who was giving him a ridiculous double thumbs up before disappearing into the crowd. Jason took a steadying breath and fell into step beside her, the sounds of the fair swelling around them as they moved together through the buzzing crowd. So, Jason, she began as they wandered past rows of brightly lit booths, her voice teasing, if you don't get out much, what do you do? winds wandering aimlessly, of course. Jason laughed, scratching the back of his neck. I guess I'm more of the quiet type. I read a lot, study, that kind of thing. I like history, and the stars, he added, almost embarrassed by how dorky it sounded when he said it out loud. History and stargazing. I like that, she said, her voice sincere. Maybe you're quiet, but that's interesting stuff. It's like you're already living a little in the past and a little in the future. Jason blinked, surprised by by the thought. He'd never really looked at it that way before, but somehow, her word struck

something deep within him. Yeah, maybe you're right. She flashed him a knowing smile, and for a moment, he felt like she could see parts of him he'd never even noticed himself. So, what about you? he asked, eager to turn the spotlight off himself. What's a fair junkie like you do for fun? Lily's eyes sparkled. Oh, me. I'm all over the place. I paint a lot, whenever I need to get thoughts out of my head. Sometimes I sneak out to stargays too, when the sky's clear and the city lights are low enough that you can see everything. There's something about it, you know. Looking up at all those stars, makes you feel like anything's possible. Jason nodded, his eyes flicking up toward the night sky above them, where only the brightest stars manage to shine through the fair's bright

lights. Yeah, it kind of puts everything in perspective, doesn't it? Exactly, she said, her voice softening. Makes you realize how small we all are, but in the best way. Like, there's this whole universe out there, and we're just, part of it. They fell into a comfortable silence, the sounds of the fair fading into the background as they shared the moment. Jason could feel the connection between them building, an unspoken understanding passing through the space between them. So, what do you say, she asked, breaking the silence as she grabbed his hand, tugging him toward the nearest game booth. First stop on the tour, the ring toss. But I'll warn you, I'm a bit of a master at this.

He laughed, letting her pull him along, the warmth of her hand somehow grounding and electrifying at once. Oh, yeah. I guess I better watch out, then. They spent the next hour darting from booth to booth, challenging each other to ridiculous games, from the ring tossed to the high striker, each contest more competitive than the last. With every laugh, every playful nudge, every stolen glance, Jason felt himself slipping

further from his comfort zone, his usually reserved demeanor cracking open under her infectious energy. He was swept up in her presence, feeling lighter than he had in years. As they reached the edge of the fairgrounds, away from the noise and chaos, she slowed, looking up at him with a warm smile. Her eyes were still bright, but softer now, like she was seeing something in him she hadn't noticed before. I'm glad I ran into you, Jason, she said, her voice carrying a quiet sincerity that surprised him. It's funny, but, it kind of feels like we've known each other longer than just tonight. Jason felt his pulse quicken again. And the words resonating deeply.

I was thinking the same thing. It's, strange, isn't it? She held his gaze, her expression thoughtful. Yeah, strange. But, a good kind of strange, they stood there in the dim light, the fairs glow casting long shadows around them. Jason had the feeling that he was on the edge of something he couldn't quite name,

like a door opening to a world he'd never thought to look for. Maybe this is just what happens at the fair, he said, trying to play it off, though his voice came out a little softer than he'd. intended. Maybe, she replied, though there was something unreadable in her eyes, as if she, too, felt the weight of the moment. She let out a breath, a soft laugh, and looked away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Or maybe some things are just, meant to happen. They stood in silence, the sounds of the fair falling away, replaced by the quiet intensity of the moment

between them. The air was thick with an unspoken understanding, a sense of familiarity neither could explain, as if they were two pieces of a puzzle that had always been meant to fit together. Jason felt it deep in his chest, a pull, undeniable and all-encompassing, toward this girl who seemed at once a stranger in someone he'd known forever. In that moment, under the dim glow of the fair lights, he felt himself falling, slipping into a connection that defied every rational thought. He'd spent so much of his life carefully grounded, tethered by logic and predictability. But here, with Lily standing in front of him, that solid ground seemed to dissolve, replaced

by something wild, uncharted, and profoundly real. It was as if he'd been waiting for her his whole life, without even knowing it, and now, faced with her gaze, he felt like he was stepping into a part of himself he'd never truly understood. But then, as he looked into her eyes, something shifted. A subtle chill washed over him, threading its way down his spine. It was as though a shadow had passed between them, cold and fleeting, a ripple through an otherwise clear pond. For just a second, her face seemed to change, not in any physical. physical way, but in its expression. Her eyes, normally so open and warm, took on a haunted, distant look, as if she were

staring through him rather than at him. Jason's heart stuttered, the connection between them twisting into something strange, unsettling. He blinked, and the shadow was gone. Lily was simply Lily again, her face alight with laughter, her smile soft and reassuring. She seemed entirely unaware of the flicker that had passed, that momentary glimpse of, something else. You okay? she asked, raising an eyebrow, her voice gentle, a hint of concern in her gaze. Yeah, he replied, the word slipping out before he'd fully processed what he'd seen.

He forced a smile, willing the strange feeling to pass. Just, glad we met. She smiled back, her eyes worn, a spark of something genuine in her expression that melted away his lingering unease. With a gentle, almost natural gesture, she slipped her arm through his, a casual intimacy that somehow felt completely right. Me too, Jason. Me too, she said softly, her words a quiet affirmation that sent a warmth spreading through his chest,

dispelling the last traces of the strange chill. Neither of them could know that forces beyond their understanding were already shifting, unseen but powerful, pulling them together even as the world they knew began, quietly, to unravel. They stood at the edge of something vast, something that would carry them beyond the boundaries of everything they believed to be real. And though neither could name it, both felt the weight of the moment pressing down on them, a sense that this was more than mere chance,

more than a fleeting coincidence. Then, out of nowhere, a low thunderclap rolled through the air. It echoed across the fairgrounds, deep and resonant, as though it were the voice of the earth itself. Jason felt it in his bones, the sound rattling something deep inside him, and he glanced up instinctively, scanning the sky. But it was clear, undisturbed by any sign of rain or storm, stars twinkling innocently above. His brow furrowed, and her fingers tightened slightly around his arm.

She looked at him, the confusion in her eyes mirroring his own. Did you hear that? Yeah, Jason murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, the hairs on his arm standing on end. He forced a smile, trying to shake off the eerie feeling. Probably just, fireworks, or something. But even as he said it, he knew it wasn't true. There was something off about that sound, something that felt strangely familiar, as though he'd heard it before in a forgotten dream.

In that quiet space between heartbeats, Jason found himself daring to believe that maybe, just maybe, the universe had brought them together for a reason. Yet beneath that hopeful thought, a faint unease lingered, a whisper he couldn't quite silence, the feeling that this was only the beginning, and that the thunder-clap had been a warning of things to come.