The Lets Read Podcast - 116: Creepy Farmer & Middle Of The Night Stories | 24 True Scary Horror Stories | EP 104

Episode Date: December 28, 2021

This episode includes narrations of true creepy encounters submitted by normal folks just like yourself. Today you'll experience horrifying stories about Farms, The Middle of the Night, and Cartels... HAVE A STORY TO SUBMIT?► www.Reddit.com/r/LetsReadOfficial FOLLOW ME ON - ► Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/letsread.official/ ► Twitter - https://twitter.com/LetsReadCreepy ►YouTube - https://www.youtube.com/c/letsreadofficial ♫ Background Music & Audio Remastering: Simon de Beer https://www.instagram.com/simon_db98/ PATREON for EARLY ACCESS!►http://patreon.com/LetsRead

Intro Things weren't always terrible as they are now. As recent as 2018, my life was going great. I've been saving nearly 10 years to get some land of my own. That fall, a guy from work mentioned some land near him was up for sale. He drove me out there to look around. It was beautiful. Everything I'd been dreaming of.

Not to mention a steel. But so cheap that I smelled a rat. I asked the guy's reason, he claimed he wasn't sure. However, the story that he'd heard was that the previous owners had a family emergency and moved east. I was still concerned I wasn't getting the full story, so I met up with the agent selling it. He told me all the stories going around were BS. The fact was, they couldn't make the payments, plain and simple. The bank foreclosed and sold at that auction. That's how he got involved.

He got it for a good price and just wanted to get back his investments. It sounded fair to me. We agreed on the price and got the wheels in motion. By the end of that month, I was pulling my trailer into my new home. It would add a little time to my commute, but I wasn't planning on keeping that job once spring came around anyhow. The spread topped out at 80 acres, a quarter of which had been developed, a few acres of beautiful forest faced the road. Not until you turned onto the drive and followed it a hundred or so yards did it open up. At least a mile in every direction. If you continued down the hill, a massive pond

came into view. Lucky for me it had been stocked just five years before. This is where I parked the camper. It would be home for the next few years. In between work and the weather I began rebuilding a pole barn to the west of the pond. When he felt like it, the guy from work would help me out. Most of the heavy equipment we used belonged to him. That first winter was peaceful. It also went by too fast.

By my birthday that March, we were wrapping up the barn, just in time for me to start the garden. I had grown up in the suburbs, but one thing I knew was gardens. Our house had been on a corner lot, so was larger than the others on that street. Every spring, my dad would till up a quarter of the backyard and plant a wide assortment of veggies. He'd grown up in the country, not to mention been incredibly poor. A lot of the times, their garden was the only thing that kept them alive.

His dad had taught him and in turn he taught me. We didn't get along much of the time but we shared a love for guns and growing food. As soon as it was dry I borrowed the neighbor's old Ford tractor and got to work. At the top of the hill I'd marked out an area around 75 by 75. I spent the next four days turning over the earth and adding loads of organic supplements and fertilizer. I managed to get down my seed potatoes before another storm came along. For the next week, it rained like Noah's flood. I was blocked from planning for at least another week, so I took the time to check out the far northwest corner of the property. I'd only seen it briefly that fall. It was kind of hard to get to and in less than ideal condition. The road back there was primitive. Very little maintenance had been done.

Any gravel there once was had been washed away long ago. The property off to the north was swampy and no one had lived on it for ten or more years. My side of the fence there was a wooded area around six or seven acres. I think it had been clear cut at one point. The majority of the trees didn't appear to be more than twenty years old. The result was a dense thicket of every terrible tree available in that part of Texas. This was why all the ATV tracks in the ground mystified me. My gate was little more than four lengths of barbed wire wrapped around a fence post. There wasn't really any excuse for anything better. From what I could see, someone had been

going in and out of this gate with four wheelers and on foot, and it was recently. I figured it was poachers. I followed the tracks into the trees and expected to find a gut pile. Instead, they ended at a wall of giant cedars. I stopped and scratched my head for a second. This doesn't seem right, I thought. With no better idea, I pushed my way through and came out into a massive clearing, a good hundred or more yards around. It had clearly been done by people. That explained the tracks. It had to be maintained, but why? I had a few ideas but no clues pointing in any specific direction. One visit to Amazon and two days later, I had four game cameras on my doorstep. I discreetly posted them around the area and

went about my regular work. The garden was now dry enough to plant. My week became so consumed by planting all of my favorite veggies I almost forgot the cameras. I took a quick drive down and swapped out the memory cards. There were fresh tracks everywhere. I downloaded the photos. There were a few men cleaning the area, trimming trees and the like but no clear indication of what they had planned. On the upside there was also a shot of a beautiful ten point buck. Now I knew how I'd spend my November. I'd just have to wait and see what my visitors had planned. Another week would pass. I wasn't able to wait any longer Just those five days Things had changed a lot, however

It looked like an army had been through there When I broke through the cedars My jaw hit the ground They had brought in buttloads of irrigation equipment and chemical fertilizer So much fertilizer had been spread The forest stunk to high heaven I followed the irrigation lines through a hole in the fence. About 50 yards ahead, they led to a spring-fed pool. I'd read about

stuff like this before. It appeared my friends were getting ready to plant pot on my land. A lot of it. The pictures all but confirmed this. I considered going to the sheriff right then, but thought twice. I figured they couldn't sheriff right then, but thought twice. I figured they couldn't get them for anything other than trespassing as it was. I'd have to wait until I had pictures of them planning before I'd be taken seriously. A watch pot never boils, as they say. So I tried to focus on more pressing matters until then. Between seeding the pasture, maintenance on the garden, and other stuff, I stayed busy. That Friday evening, I headed out to check the cameras and almost blundered

right into the growers. Instead of being careful, I was trying to beat sundown. I was around a quarter of a mile from the gate and saw a truck pulling out. I slammed on my brakes and backed up as quickly as possible. I wasn't sure if they saw me, so I pulled off into the trees and got out. Watching through my binoculars, I waited to see what they'd do. They must not have seen me. A guy closed the gates and hopped into the truck. They drove the opposite way and out of sight.

It had gotten too dark, so I turned back for the camper. Since I was almost certain they didn't come around on the weekend, I returned the next morning. I brought along another couple of cameras to place inside the growing area. Over the week, a lot had been done. Hundreds of seedlings had been planted and the irrigation system set up. I couldn't help but admire the orderly way that they'd done the job, although their use of chemical fertilizers was an unforgivable sin in my book. I hid the cameras as well as I could and swapped out the other cards. Now I had all the proof that I'd need to go to the sheriff. Monday morning, I headed into town. After asking to see him on an important matter, the sheriff invited me into his office. I tried to explain my situation as clearly as

possible. His smile confused me. I have proof. Loads of pictures of them preparing the soil and planting the crop. They're all on these thumb drives. I wasn't expecting his answer. Not in a million years. Son, we already know about that operation. It's been going on almost five years. This was the first time anyone had indicated they knew anything about what was going on. Hearing him say this in such a nonchalant manner knocked me for a loop. At first I thought maybe he'd confused me with another person. Oh, I think you might have your properties mixed up. This place is completely hidden in the woods

off where no one's gone in a long time. It's probably no more than two years old. I doubt the previous owners even knew what was going on. I know they didn't make it a year. His grin grew just a bit. I was beginning to see the glint of his teeth. Why do you think they move so quick young man? They were fully aware of it.

Fact is they're the reason we found it. They had stumbled onto it and ran to us for help. We were ready to go in there and shut it down. Before we could the stupid landowners get caught spying on them and were told to keep their mouths shut or else. The raid was two days from going down and I get a call from them saying that they weren't going to testify. Not long after that, they head for the hills leaving the place to the growers. By the time I got a warrant to go in on my own, they'd harvested the crop and moved on.

I'd hoped they'd left the area, but it appears they're here to stay. What can I say to that? I'd heard so much in the last few minutes, I thought my head was going to blow up. A queasy feeling began to well up in my gut. It looked like I'd gotten myself and over my head and the idea that everyone had lied to me about this place. It ticked me off. Fear, however, was a much stronger feeling right then. I told him I was going to need some time to think about this place. It ticked me off. Fear, however, was a much stronger feeling right then. I told him I was going to need some time to think about it. I went ahead and gave him the drives.

As I left, he thanked me and gave me one last piece of advice. Young man, these folks got a lot of mean mothers on their payroll. Ain't nobody gonna think less of you for tucking tail and running. I wasn't sure what he hoped to achieve for telling me that. At first I thought if someone like a sheriff is scared of these people, I had no reason not to be. It wouldn't be until that Friday that I'd understand his goal. I was pulled off the road at the same place I had before I watched as those a-holes as they went in and out of my gate Talking and joking like it was their property

Like they had a right to be there Then one of the men took a drag from his cigarette and flicked it onto the ground And that was the last straw Anyone in Texas knows rain can be a scarce resource in the warmer times of year So scarce, we often have wildfires burning out of control on a regular basis, and seeing the scum mindlessly chucking burning cigarettes down made my blood boil. By God, this was my land. I was going to do anything I could to get these trespassers off of it,

even if it cost me my life. This was the moment his words clicked in my brain. Reverse psychology, huh? Well, whatever it takes. That evening, I let the sheriff know I was on board. He congratulated me and told me to stay near the phone. Saturday morning, I returned to remove the cameras. The sheriff had said that we had enough evidence to move forward. The crop was growing fast. I walked through it, stopping on occasion to admire the healthy plants. It was a shame, really. In another world, I may have been growing hemp like my ancestors did back

in Virginia. This wasn't quite the same stuff, but you get my drift. However, because of our drug laws, that's almost impossible now now It's funny how life works out sometimes Please pardon my little political diatribe Back to the subject at hand I got a phone call from the sheriff a couple of weeks later It was a Tuesday evening and he wanted to prepare me Their surveillance was done and the warrants were in order The next morning, just after 9, his deputies and a team from the DEA

raided the operation. They took about ten people into custody. I was fiddling with the fence when I got the call. I'm not sure why I thought it was all over. I'd soon realized that was the easy part. The hard part would be surviving until the trial. That morning, the sheriff told me I may be safe from moving somewhere else, at least until the trial came around. He didn't have the manpower to protect me, and I thanked him for the consideration, but this was my home and I planned on dying here. I regret my choice of words now. I almost ended up dying there far sooner than I'd hoped. I hadn't been completely negligent when it came to my protection. I kept my AR ready to go next to my bed and my 40 cal M&P on my hip anytime I was

outside. It had been a few weeks since the raid and all was quiet around the farm. One hot evening, I was in the pole barn building a workbench. I was listening to an audiobook at the time. Other than the cicadas pulsing screech, I heard nothing. Out of nowhere, complete chaos. It sounded like one of those machine gun shoots they have in Kentucky. Against my instincts, I ran out the door and peeked around the corner. The dusk was lit up by five or more rifles dumping round after round into my camper. I wanted to scream curses at them. My home was being blown to shreds and I couldn't do a thing. The mag dump continued for another minute until all went quiet

and the shooters disappeared back into the woods. I didn't dare walk out into the glow of the burning rubble. My propane tanks exploded at some point rendering the camper to a bonfire By the time the fire trucks and sheriff arrived it had almost burned out Fortunately my truck had been parked in the barn They may have ended up like the camper While I'm not sure whether they were trying to kill me or just send a message I knew my life was forfeit while I stayed in the area

As the sun rose that morning I grabbed a few baskets and filled them with all the ripe produce I could. I loaded these along with two 5 gallon buckets of potatoes into the bed of my truck and drove away. I followed the highway north and drove until sundown. A cheap motel had some vacancies. I checked in and made one my home. I stayed a week or two and then moved on. That's been my life since August of 2019. Once or twice a month I'll check in with the sheriff. He gives me updates on the case and I let him know that I'm still alive. The wheels of justice move slowly these days. It was months before we even had a trial date. When it was finally

announced, I had some hope, some goal to strive for. We were three months out when all this flu mess started. I hoped it would blow over quickly, but it looks like it's going to last forever at this point. I imagine everyone reading this is aware that the courts are shut down across the country. As things stand now, only God knows when they'll restart. Every day this continues, my detractors get a little closer to finding me. I have no guarantee I'm actually being hunted. Regardless, I think it's wise to live as if I am. I know every time I see a car with Texas plates I get a little nervous. A night doesn't pass that I don't think of my paradise down south. I wonder if it's being overtaken by a herd of wild pigs or some bubba has poached that big

wonderful buck. It's great fantasizing, but for now my goal is just to make it long enough to testify. Even then there's no guarantee I can return home. We can all have a dream, right? I'll only ask you all one favor. If you're a religious person, please include me in your prayers. If you're not, keep me in your thoughts. Maybe together it will be enough to help me see my home again, and just maybe, someday. This happened in Oregon close to where I live. A friend from school had a birthday coming up. He invited a group of five of us up to his family's ranch to camp for the weekend. He was a cool enough guy and I had just gotten a K98 that I was eager to shoot.

The ranch is a big one, around 500 acres, maybe more. When I arrived, the host announced that we were going out about five miles to camp. The spot was by a riverbank and everything. We jammed our stuff into the bed of an old work truck and rode out to the site. Four of us had brought along these little two-man tents. We set them up all around the surrounding fire pit. One of the guys, Dustin, said tents were for wusses. He was going to sleep out under the stars like a real cowboy. One of the other guys quickly pointed out that he was a 17-year-old city kid and

then called him an idiot and we all just had a good laugh. I don't think he'd even camp before then. He shut up for the rest of the afternoon. Sundown came quicker than we'd expected. Instead of cooking our dinner after setting up, we went shooting. I just stuck a can of chili in the fire and kicked back. A couple of the guys had to cook their bacon and stuff by flashlight. After burning their food, they shared a Slim Jim and walked off to their tents. I did the same around an hour later, leaving Dustin to enjoy his night out under the stars. I managed to fall asleep easily, only to be awakened around 3am by Dustin. It had started raining and he wanted out of it. If it wasn't so funny,

I might have been mad. So much for real cowboys. Just after 7 I stepped over Dustin and out to eat. The host, Donnie, was already up. He'd gotten the fire going and was cooking some eggs. I wish him happy birthday and took the kettle from the fire. After partially filling my basin, I return it. I poured a little cool water from the creek into it and washed up. Donnie had finished so I grabbed his skillet and scrambled a few eggs for myself. I just ate them from the skillet like I do at home. I cleaned the skillet in a tub of fresh water and left it for the next guy. Then I hung my sleeping bag over my tent to dry. Everyone had gotten up by now, including Dustin. We voted on shooting or fishing, and shooting won out. We grabbed our guns

and walked over the hill. Three steel targets had been set up about 50 yards away. Each guy loaded up and began taking shots. I was letting Donnie shoot my Mauser as a birthday gift. I watched the hits through my binoculars. A car caught my attention off in the distance. The road looked to be about half of a mile away. Donnie didn't say anything. I assumed the road wasn't on his property. The car pulled over and three people got out.

I ignored them and went back to watching my friend shoot. A minute later I hear a whistle go past my head. I knew what it was. I was surprised a ricochet could come back that far and just as I started to say something another went by, only closer this time. For a second I was confused. No one had been shooting at that moment to cause a ricochet. Then it clicked in my head. Run, man. Somebody's shooting at us. I made for the truck. I looked back and they were all staring at me. Dustin was laughing. They went back to fiddling with their guns. Another shot sent up a puff of dirt. Everyone but Dustin saw it. They also began running for the truck. Dustin must have thought it was a prank. I'm not that stupid, guys. Nobody's even out here.

Meanwhile, all of us were hiding behind the truck, yelling at him. Another round hit the windshield and made a big hole. Dustin finally realized this was real and ran for the safety of the truck. Everyone was yelling and trying to see where the shots were coming from. I peered through the binoculars and saw the parked car. I panned over to a bush. Behind it I could see some shapes moving around. Not thinking, I yelled out their direction.

Two of the guys opened up on it with their rifles. I freaked out. Just because they're shooting our direction didn't mean it was on purpose. The stupidity of this didn't hit me until later. Donnie and I screamed for them to stop. Then it got quiet. The shooting had stopped from the hill. We watched as they fled to the car and sped away. Everyone let out a sigh of relief. One by one, each camper stepped from cover to survey the damage. The windshield was the worst. Two other rounds had struck the front fenders. I realized my hands were shaking uncontrollably. No one had been hurt though. That was all I really

cared about. The trip was obviously over and Donnie suggested that we return to the house. I assumed to contact the sheriff. I was taking my tent down and heard, hey. From inside, it was Dustin. I noticed a big wet spot on the front of his pants. I saw my reaction and lowered his head. I felt bad for him and stepped away for a moment. A few seconds later he emerged in a new pair. I returned to breaking down the tent.

Dustin was the last to load his bag into the truck. We'd all been standing around waiting. A friend asked what took him so long. His eyes flashed over to me. He was expecting me to tell the others and instead I told the guy to shut up and get in the truck. Dustin smiled and jumped into the bed with us. The drive only took a few minutes. Donnie went inside to tell his dad while we waited.

They came out a minute later. His dad silently looked over the damage, his jaw dragging on the ground. My God, he said. He said it so low the last words were imperceptible. You boys sure none of you were hurt? He said so loudly and fast I jumped. We all nodded our heads saying no one by one He watched us for a moment then said to go in and relax

Donnie and his dad came in a moment later I overheard him telling his wife that the sheriff was on his way When he showed up he asked a bunch of questions First among them was why We had no answer Then had us show him where it had happened. We took him out there and stayed about 30 minutes. The sheriff suggested that we all go home and inform our parents of the incident.

Each of us packed our stuff up and left. My folks didn't seem to understand how serious it was. My dad just assumed it was an accident and blew it off. My mom followed his lead. That Monday I asked Donnie if he'd heard anything from the sheriff but he hadn't We all got busy with graduation and the shooting took a back seat When I get time to call in I was told no one had been identified I lost hope for any resolution after that Without a why, what could they do?

Nothing has changed in the two years since then. Considering the state of the current world, all classes were cancelled at my college. I've been loafing around my folks' house since then. About a month ago, Donnie rang me up asking if I was up for some shooting. I said yes and drove out to the ranch. We took his jeep out to the creek Some nice new steels had been set up I was eager to be the first one to shoot I was loading a magazine and happened to glance at the hill I saw the road and it all rushed back to me

A sick feeling arose in my stomach My anxiety must have been clear Donnie put his hand on my shoulder and said We could shoot from behind the jeep if you want to My anxiety must have been clear. Donnie put his hand on my shoulder and said, We can shoot from behind the jeep if you want to. Both of us cracked up and I declined the offer. His joke made me feel much better and we had a fun day shooting after that. My episode that day taught me something, however.

I know now that even if you're able to forget about something scary or traumatic, it only takes one little thing, no matter how insignificant it may be, to bring it all flooding back. This was the incident that taught me you can never really truly know someone, even after 20 years. When I was about 5, I was shipped off to kindergarten. At the time, I was a very shy and quiet girl. I was standing off by myself when this chubby little boy approached me. We'll call him Sonny for the story. Sonny began talking to me and mentioned his family owned a farm close to mine. I was curious and asked which one. The two of us spoke together until nap time and we soon became good friends. On the weekends, one of us would ride our bikes over to the other's farm to play. Not many kids lived in the area so

it was just us most of the time. By middle school we were like siblings. He was even my first kiss although it meant nothing to either one of us. Early in high school we'd date other people and see each other at parties. I don't think either one of us ever thought of the other person anything other than platonic terms. It stayed this way until our junior year. I was eager to go to prom, but no one had asked me. I heard Sonny didn't have a date, so I asked him. He said yes, but as a favor to an old friend. The night of the prom, some of our classmates rented a hotel room to party in. Both of us had too much to drink and ended up making out. The next day,

we talked about what had happened. It was ultimately decided that we should start dating, if nothing more to make sure it wasn't the booze that caused our actions. For the rest of that year and the next, we continued dating and things went well. When the time came, we lost our virginity to each other. It was special, but the relationship didn't go on to be very intimate. We were basically the same friends we'd always been. The only difference was that we never dated anyone else and occasionally hooked up. Overall, it may have been the happiest time of my life. Sonny had always treated me well and even when I left for college, he understood breaking up was for the best. We kept in touch, calling one another about once a month. This was how I found out that he'd started

seeing one of our classmates. Rose was the same age as us and a really nice girl. She had stayed in town and was going to our local community college. When I visited for the holidays I'd hang out with them. They made a really cute couple and I said so. Rosa's past, on the other hand, was not a happy one. From what I'd heard, she'd been messed with as a child. This had done considerable damage to her psychology and she even attempted to end her own life at least once. In middle school, she was institutionalized. She returned her freshman year and seemed a lot happier.

We all assumed her demons had been conquered and the self-harming behavior was in the past. This was why her disappearance and presumably taking her own life was such a disappointing thing to all who had known her. According to Sonny, they'd had a fight over dinner or something else equally stupid. After this, she became gradually more and more disconnected. One afternoon, she was supposed to be on her way to his house, but never showed up. He called around looking for her,

until finally reporting her missing the next morning. A county-wide search was undertaken, and her car was found parked at a rest stop beside one of our larger bridges. No signs of foul play were discovered, so the case was ruled, probable of her taking her own life. I'd heard about it on Facebook and called Sunny to express my condolences. We only spoke briefly and it was clear her death hit him hard. The next few years flew by fast. Before I knew it, I was graduating with no real prospects. I figured moving back home was my best option. Dad could always use an extra hand.

Sonny's mother, his last remaining family member, had passed the year prior to Rose. He inherited the farm and a little money. He invested in a few pigs and a bunch of chickens, and by the time of my return the chickens were paying off. They were these fancy free-range ones that were popular with upscale restaurants. They were smaller than usual but very delicious. He and I began hanging out again and soon discovered we still had feelings for each other. The relationship moved quickly until I was staying at his place almost every night. Meanwhile, at the same time, a new DA was elected and she had reopened Rose's case unknown to anyone. Nobody I know is aware of her reason, but it's not really important. What is, is that she had several powerful friends.

With little more than a hunch, she was given a warrant to search his house. I wasn't around when it was executed. I just got a job working with disabled children at a daycare. Sonny never mentioned it happening, let alone that they found blood. Luminol had been sprayed in various rooms. The kitchen showed small amounts in the cabinets, however the largest amount was found around the tub and drain. I walked around completely oblivious for another four months. DNA tests had confirmed all of the blood samples belonged to Rose. Once again, I was working when Sonny was arrested. For some crazy reason, he didn't ask for a lawyer immediately.

He was doing well. He could have hired himself a great one if he wanted to. Instead, he let them grill him for hours. Maybe he thought he was smarter and could convince them that they messed up. If that was it, his hubris was his undoing. For over four hours, the cops hammered him. He always had a plausible reason for every question. Why was there blood in the kitchen? Maybe she cut her finger while preparing a meal. Why did we find so much blood in the shower and drain? Maybe she had a bloody nose. I wish she was here to answer your questions. This battle continued until one of the officers

tried a new angle. Can you explain why you were seen driving Rose's car in the direction of the bridge the evening she was supposed to be missing, and then seen by the same person returning on foot the following morning? I'm paraphrasing of course, but something like that was what tripped him up. No one had witnessed anything of the like. Sonny didn't know this though. When he had answered, they knew they had him and attacked.

Soon after, he broke and admitted to killing her. They finally had the confession they needed, but one question still remained Where was Rose's body? Other than admitting he had dismembered her and disposed of the parts The full story never reached the public I only heard because it happened to be in a restaurant with a police officer involved with the case He was a friend of ours

A few years older and was having drinks with a group of us He'd had a lot to drink One of the guys nagged him for some inside information That was when he spit it out A few years older and was having drinks with a group of us. He'd had a lot to drink. One of the guys nagged him for some inside information. That was when he spit it out. I personally wish I'd never heard it. To be as brief as possible, after he had dismembered her body in the bathtub, he intended to bury the remains in one of the pastures.

He thought it through and decided against it, mainly because he was afraid coyotes or other scavengers may dig them up. That was where our friend hesitated. Well, come on, man. Don't be a tease. Say it. We were all on the edge of our seats, and the guy pushed harder. Our friend gulped the last of his beer and blurted out, He fed her to the pigs, man. Is that what you want to hear? Your friend. A girl who'd never heard a fly, he chopped her up and fed her to his freaking pigs.

We were all dumbstruck. It was the last thing I would have expected. I'd had a hard enough time wrapping my head around my best friend being a murderer. And when I heard that, any shred of respect I still had for him melted away. This case had obviously affected everyone involved greatly, even this young cop, a guy who had known Sonny as long as most of us. A few seconds passed before he stood up and stormed off to get another drink. After being served, he sat alone at another table and cried for several minutes. I'd been home from work for just a few minutes when he called. I told him I'd head over after showering. I didn't give him a chance to speak. Once I'd shut up, he spoke calmly and

quickly. I can still remember every word. I'm sorry, Sandy. I did something terrible. You and I aren't going to get to see each other again. Thank you for being my friend. I'll always love you. Goodbye. Then he hung up. I didn't understand. I called his house right away but got no answer, and none of it made any sense. He'd never done as much as jaywalk in his life. Then Rosa's death flashed in my head. What had he done? Why would he confess to something he didn't do? I was so upset I couldn't think straight. I think I was still crying when the news came on, and I hadn't known about the DNA results. It was still almost impossible to believe he'd done it. No reason was stated and I still don't think he'd ever given one.

Since he confessed, the DA took the death penalty off the table. A deal was cut for life with parole after 30 years. I tried to talk to him at the hearing, but he just ignored me. After he'd been led away, his lawyer handed me a note. It simply stated not to try to contact him. move on and find someone who isn't a monster. Any hope I had left crumpled in that courtroom. bar my father. I hadn't gone over a month without talking to him since I was five. It had been a very hard loss to overcome and I'm not sure I'll ever be able to trust again. For the last month, our farm has been under siege. While coyotes have always existed in the area, they've gotten much bolder lately. More than once, I've gone out in the morning to find tracks near my house.

If they were my only problem, I wouldn't be that concerned. However, around the end of June, my kids claimed they saw pigs running around in our neighbor's woods. Stories have been going around for years about hordes of feral pigs running roughshod around the south. Until recently, we've managed to avoid them around here. I didn't pay them much attention. That was until the second week of July. I found a big mud wallow in one of my fields. Those filthy buggers eventually churned up several spots in my land before I was able to finally drive them away. The road to our inevitable showdown began a few weeks after they were spotted. It was dawn and I headed out to start my day.

I was getting some chicken feed from the shed and noticed something was wrong. The garden, our primary source of sustenance, had been demolished. The pigs had rooted up or eaten a good three-fourths of it. Almost all of the potatoes, tomatoes, and squash were ruined. What wasn't torn up was knocked over or trampled. Our family saved what we could, but the damage had been done. In a normal year, it would make life hard for a good nine months. However, in our current crisis, this was a disaster. The worst of this illness could be ahead of us. If cases blow up into the millions as they did a hundred years ago, the stores would be stripped

bare, much worse than this past spring. We bought as much as we could afford but the fear it may not be enough still lingered just below the surface. When I'm made to be scared for the future of my family I get angry, very angry. I was determined to get revenge and a few days later I did. I purchased a couple of bags of feed corn and mixed it with diesel. I buried the concoction in a couple places throughout the field. All that was left was to wait. My wife made me a thermos of coffee. I took it and my rifle to the shed. I planned to sit up every night until they returned. Thankfully, I didn't have to wait long. Sometime around 5am, I was jolted awake by my wife. She just woke up and saw a herd of about 7-10 hogs rooting up my

bait. They were only 50-60 yards from my perch inside the shed. I quietly nuzzled up to my rifle and took aim. The first shot took down a large boar. A quick follow up took out another next to it. They began to scurry by then but were still well within range. My third round just missed another but the fourth hit its target, a smaller sow. I tried to take out a few more on the move but they were too quick. The pleasure I felt as the rest fled into the woods was immeasurable. My mother used to say, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade. I just made a lake full of lemonade. After we processed the pigs, I figured that we'd had enough to feed us for two years. And just one night I went from serious

fear for our future to living high on the hog, if you'll excuse the pun. My elated state wouldn't last long though. Just a few nights later around ten, my daughter's Yorkie scratched at the back door. I assumed he needed to relieve himself and let him out. He was gone a while so I went out to check on him. I was sweeping through the yard with my spotlight when I caught sight of some glowing eyes. For a split second I thought it was him but quickly realized it was too big. Also, its eyes glowed white instead of green like those of the dog. It could only have been a coyote. I drew my.357 and shot at it. I've been carrying it since the pigs have been spotted.

It ran off into the dark, apparently unscathed. I called out to the dog again, but nothing. Not far from where I'd spotted the coyote I noticed a lump of something. When I got close enough I could see it was the Yorkie. It looked like the coyote had killed him. Probably just before I saw it. And I contemplated burying him without saying anything but that seemed cruel. So I went back inside and told my wife.

Her and I called my daughter out to tell her. As you can imagine they were very upset. The dog had been by her side most of her life. The next morning, I made a nice box for the little guy and we held a funeral. I buried him next to my German shepherd, Schultz, who I'd lost at 16. I'm fed up now. For the second time in less than a month, my family had lost something very important to a nuisance animal. I was determined to make that coyote pay. Like with the feral pigs, I sat up all night waiting

to shoot it. After a week I gave up. I assumed my pistol had done its job and the coyote bled out later. We hoped our troubles were finally at their end. Two days passed with no problems, then on the third my worst nightmare almost came true. My wife was preparing breakfast that morning and noticed we needed some eggs brought in. I sent our daughter out to the coop to grab some. She was taking a long time. From the window I couldn't see her so I went out to see what was holding her up. I was on my way to the shed and I heard, Daddy, in a low, barely audible voice. I would have walked right past had she not said something.

I glanced over and saw her standing stock still. In her hands was a pail with ten eggs. At first I didn't see the coyote. He'd been blocked by the corner of the coop. My heart shot up into my throat. I took a long jagged breath and attempted to focus on the threat. She quietly asked me what to do. I advised her to stay still and not make any sudden moves.

A long moment passed until I remembered I had a pistol. I lowered my hand slowly and quietly. When I reached the holster I found it empty I must have left it inside Panic began creeping into my head At some point soon that coyote was going to maul my daughter and there was nothing I could do My heart began pounding A crazy idea came to me in that moment

I was going to have to jump on him before he could attack I may die in the fight but I wasn't about to let him kill my little girl. It had to be now. So I took a deep breath in and let it out slowly and just before I pushed off with my feet a loud bang broke the silence. It surprised me and caused me to flinch. Another quickly followed. The coyote was tossed onto its side.

He didn't move after that. My daughter and I turned toward the sound of the shots and standing there was my wife, holding my.357 wearing a disgusted sneer on her face. She never looked more beautiful than she did in that second. My daughter began crying and ran into my arms. I waved my wife over. We had a big family hug. Leave it to my son to be completely oblivious. He walked out while we were having our bonding moment and asked why we were shooting. I couldn't help but laugh. After everyone had calmed down, I drug the coyote to the far fence and slung him over it. It was something my grandfather used to do. He claimed it kept

them away from the property. I'm not sure if it works, but at this point I'm willing to try anything. When I got back to the house, breakfast was finished. It was possibly the best meal I'd ever had. It's been almost two weeks since we've had any problems. I can only hope my animal troubles are gone. I still carry my pistol at all times. Just to be safe, we may not be so lucky again. This message reminded me not to take life for granted. Hold those you love close. Any second, any one of us could be lost.

Every day, remind your family you love them and live each one as if there is no tomorrow. Since the early 2000s, I had wanted my own small-scale farm. I think the popular term is hobby farm. While I have no intention of having thousands of acres or a large herd of cattle, I am hoping to make a go of it year-round. Just as last year, I found 30 acres close to town. This specific parcel had been part of a large farm, but was broken off for a member of the owner's family.

That family member recently died, making way for my purchase. The house was in good shape but the outbuildings had seen better days. I began to tear down immediately with the help of some friends and was able to get the hay barn completed in a fairly short order. I moved on to a second smaller storage building. The winter would slow our work though. However, by late spring the roof was all we had left. Most of it was completed when I had an accident.

I was alone putting on shingles and lost my footing and fell. My arm was broken. The injury didn't stop me from working my real job. During the healing period I took all the overtime I could. I'd been avoiding it until then, but it's nice to have all that extra money. I plan on putting it towards supplies to build a chicken tractor and some chickens. Unfortunately, during this time, I lost a family member of my own. He and I had been very close when I was growing up. Since my father spent much of his time on the road, his younger brother would help any way he could. Any major occasions my dad was unable to attend, my uncle always made sure to record it for him.

It was a lot like having two dads. My mom also liked having him around. Most of her time was dedicated to my disabled sister. She feared I wasn't getting enough attention. You can see how important he'd become to my family and myself. His loss has been very hard for me. I found myself brooding on his death more than I should have until this past week when I made a disturbing discovery in the woodshop. My doctor had given me the all clear, the cast was off and I was free to get back to

the farm work. My friends had finished the shingling for me so I moved on to the last job. A decent sized building used for woodworking and carpentry. The benches were still in good shape. I disassembled and stored them. After a cursory inspection I determined the frame was still solid so I started by pulling up the floor. The boards from which it was made were rotten and full of holes. I made it about halfway when I found an old tin box under a loose board. It was square,

about the size of a lunchbox. Inside I discovered a few old trinkets and a stack of photographs. The trinkets included some rings, an old lighter, and even a metal barrette with a bow on it. The photos had been placed face down. I pulled out a stack and turned them over. Most were nude or partially clothed young women. They looked to be from the 80s and 90s. Many were old and faded. As I flipped through, something struck me as odd about them.

Soon I realized what it was. None of the women were smiling. A lot of them looked scared in fact. I began turning them over and discovered each had a name and year written on the back. Mira, 1988. Sybil, 1991. Stephanie, 83. I counted and found 42 in total. They aren't your average dirty pictures. The models didn't look pleased to be taking them. In that moment I had a terrible idea pop into my head. I'd seen something like this before. I watched a documentary about a serial killer. The cops had found loads of pictures in his home. Many of the women still had yet to be identified. I also remembered some killers liked to keep objects from their victims. I pulled a plain gold band out of the box.

I turned it around until I saw a name engraved inside. The name matched one of the women in the pictures. A terrified blonde from 1981. A shiver ripped through my body. Had I found a serial killer's photo stash in the middle of Kansas? That's when my idea seemed to fall flat. I did some research and I couldn't find a killer active at that time, not in this part of the state. Maybe I jumped to conclusions and the pictures weren't that bad. I recognized the possibility these deaths occurred under the radar. It's just hard to believe 42 women disappeared without anyone noticing. 42? The number still amazes me. How could anyone get away with taking 42 people's lives and not be caught? That's the biggest problem with this whole theory. In all likelihood, just some creep kept his trophies under the floor of his

woodshop and that's all. But what if? Frankly, I change my opinion every few minutes. I've sat on this box for over a week, unable to decide if I should go to the cops. Just last night, I had a nightmare. A dirty old man killed a woman in front of me. I tried to tell people but no one would listen. I woke up soaked in sweat, shaking. And that was the last straw. I've decided I'm giving it to the cops tomorrow. What happens after that is up to them. I just want to go back to my normal life.

A simple wannabe farmer. However, if I ever hear anything new I'll write an update. Just between us I hope it turns out to be nothing. If that's what I think it is, it means somebody got away with murder 42 times and was never punished for it. That, perhaps, is the late 80s. I was working at a seed and feed store in the northern U.S. And one day I happened to notice a post on our community bulletin board. It was for a job as a caretaker on a nearby farm.

This aroused my curiosity, so I called. The job turned out to be temporary, which made it even more alluring. I've been wanting to move back to Florida for some time and the higher pay would make that possible, and sooner. The number on the posting actually belonged to the owner's children. They needed a caretaker to fill in for their elderly father. He had a stroke the month prior and it was expected it would take six to nine months, possibly more, for him to rehabilitate. In the meantime, he'd be living in a rehab facility, so they were looking for a single person or couple to live on the farm. There was no crop to plant or harvest, only a

pair of horses that required basic care and exercise whenever possible. I provided a brief list of my past jobs and a few references. They promised to get back to me soon and hung up. It was almost a week until I heard from them again. They wanted to offer me the job. Naturally, I took it and moved in that weekend. The place wasn't anything fancy. A modest three-bedroom home and a couple of large outbuildings built on 125 acres. My day consisted of mucking out the stalls and providing fresh food and water for the horses. When I finished that, a few times a week, I'd saddle up one and go for a ride around the property.

This was all before lunch. After, I'd take care of some little things in need of fixing. If there wasn't any work left, I'd pass out in front of the TV until dinner. Overall, it was a pretty cushy job as farm work goes. The owner's kids would call or swing by on occasion, but I had the place to myself for the most part. I'd been there around seven months when my prep for lunch was interrupted by a pounding on the door. I answered and was greeted by a swarm of guys in suits and FBI jackets. They handed me some papers and said that they had a warrant to search the property.

I had no idea what to say. So I told them the circumstances and that I had to call the owner's family. They seemed a bit miffed but understood. I rang the family up and they told me to let them do their job and to stay out of their way. They'd contact their lawyer and he'd handle it. I said okay and let them do their thing. They appeared to have been looking for something in particular. The house was left alone. Instead of searching any buildings, a truck with a trailer carrying a backhoe drove toward the back of the property.

They passed out of my view and I returned to making my lunch. Cars came and went for the next few hours. I dozed off in front of the TV. Later that day I was awakened by a ruckus out front. I peeked out the curtains and saw a swarm of news vans and cameras camped out on the front lawn. One of them saw me and shouted, There he is! I was still groggy and had no clue what was going on.

A group of reporters and cameras rushed towards the window. I jerked the curtain and closed real fast and returned to my post on the couch. I flipped through the channels until I caught sight of the house. What exactly was happening wasn't clear at first. I wiped the sleep from my eyes and turned up the volume. On the screen, an anchor was talking to another guy over the phone while footage of the farm was being shown. The man over the phone mentioned a guy who had disappeared some years prior. A member of the mafia, supposedly.

Then footage switched to a helicopter view of the back field. A bunch of the same FBI guys and some state police officers were standing next to the bobcat. Next to that, a big hole had been dug. A helicopter scanned over from the hole and we saw two black bags laying next to another on the ground. To anyone who's ever seen one, they were obviously body bags and they looked to have bodies in them. My jaw must have been dragging on the floor. I felt drool rolling down my chin and wiped it away and I was freaking out. What in God's name have I gotten myself into? I needed some answers and needed them now.

I called the family back and told them what was going on. They said that they were aware but not to worry about it. I wasn't in any danger, legal or otherwise. I was told to stay in the house and to not talk to the media. They had been notified and I was not involved in any way and should be leaving soon. None of this made me feel any better but there wasn't much that I could do, at least at that moment. I hung up and went back to watching the news coverage. As the hours ground on, the story became clearer. The bodies belonged to two

mob guys who had disappeared a few years earlier. The scariest part was the revelation that the nice old man who owned the farm was actually a long time mob associate. The entire mess had been twisted into knots. I tossed and turned the whole night. I couldn't decide whether to quit or stay on for the remainder. The world of organized crime was foreign to me and something I had no desire to be involved in. On the other hand, this was my dream job. I had been treated well and had seen no sign of criminal activity. Even as I dialed the phone that morning, I wasn't sure what I would say. However, the moment they answered, my mouth made the choice for me. I said I was calling to let them know that I was giving my one week's notice. Any longer was just out of the question. While my time at the farm was wonderful, the recent events were playing on

my mind heavily. The owner's daughter was who answered. She tried to talk me out of quitting but I guess she could tell that I was afraid and she quickly relented and thanked me for doing such a great job. I briefly felt a tinge of guilt but my brain took over. I thanked her and we ended the call. The media had moved on as well. So I was free to finish my week in peace. The feds must have gotten all they needed that first day. There was no sign of them after that. I rode one of the horses down to the gravesite the next morning, mainly out of curiosity. The hole had been filled in and other than some tire tracks, the area looked normal. I don't know what I was expecting.

I soon lost interest and returned to the stables. The morning I moved out, the owner's kids showed up to give me the rest of my pay and say goodbye. They were going to stay at the house until they found a replacement. I recommended a few people and provided their numbers. We made some small talk until I had loaded the last of my things. They wished me luck and I pulled away. I pointed my truck south toward Florida and arrived a few days later. I had been here ever since. I didn't intend on ending it here but I realize some of you may be wondering what became of

the case. Well, the fact is, I had no clue until I read up on it prior to writing this. It appears nothing would happen for a long time. The feds had some suspects, but no one was talking. Then, just after the new millennium began, they got the witnesses they needed. A slew of gangsters involved were convicted and will likely die in prison. The family who owned the farm, I have no clue what became of them. The job was great and they treated me really well, but that's where it all ends for me.

Behind closed doors, they were into some very crooked stuff. Stuff I didn't want to be roped into. I'm a simple fella and my life had been great since. I don't regret leaving once before we moved in. I think I was seven then. I don't remember much from that time. When Mom and Dad passed, I tried to put that part of my life away. Eric and I were left with no other family but my aunt.

She was living overseas. So Mom's dad was the only remaining option. Grandpa Mac lived on a 500-acre farm in the southeastern part of Montana. He'd been raising sheep there since immigrating from Scotland in the 1930s. When we arrived, it was lambing time. Neither of us had any idea what to do, but Mac was a patient teacher. We caught on fast. We had no choice, really. Any day we had a little free time, Mac took us hunting or fishing. Seasons meant little to him. He'd follow most of the game laws, but if he saw a big buck, he'd kill it. It was his land, he'd say. Nobody was going to tell him what he could or couldn't do.

As far as I know, he never had any trouble, but it was the 60s. It may have helped being friends with the game warden. That initial spring was my first time to see a grizzly. We'd ran into one on our way to the river. Even from 50 yards, its power was clear. Its size awed me. One quick swipe with its giant paws could have ripped a tree in half. No warning to stay away would be needed. Neither Eric or myself wanted any trouble from one of those monsters. Mac led us away down a new path. I wouldn't see another for almost three years. A hungry male had caught a ewe out on its own. When Mac found the body, he knew well what had to be done. He grabbed his rifle and saddled his favorite horse, Penny. I was left to guard

the remaining flock. While he was away, I drove the truck out into the pasture. Eric rode in the back with Mac's.30-30 as I patrolled the field. No more than 45 minutes passed and I caught sight of a grizzly up ahead. I gunned it. We got about 50 or 60 yards away and I told Eric to shoot. The first shot hit but only made him mad. He roared at us and I told Eric to keep shooting. He dumped five more quick rounds in him before it fell. This great brute fought bravely but was no match for the Marlin's power. The beast may have appeared dead, but I told Eric to stay in the truck. We had been watching for long when Mac and Penny came barreling over the hill. He slowed as he got closer, watching the motionless bear himself.

He dismounted and drew his mouser from his scabbard on the left of Penny's saddle. I held my breath as he inched closer to the beast. He was within spitting distance when he poked at the bear with a rifle. Once, twice, thrice, but nothing. The monster had truly been slain. A 13-year-old boy had fallen one of Mother Nature's greatest predators. Once I was sure it was safe to breathe, I ran over to the grizzly, Eric right behind. Mac's work-worn face wore a smile, the first and last I could remember ever seeing.

I'm not sure I believe it, but I surely see it. Well, you're a man now, boy. The remnants of a Scottish brogue bled through. Despite slight pangs of jealousy, I congratulated my little brother. Mac jestingly messed up his hair and shook his hand. If I would have known this day would be the high point of our time with Mac, I perhaps would have savored it a bit more. Since everything we did was a learning opportunity, Mac drew his knife and gave us a lesson on butchering a grizzly in the field. The three of us carried the meat and hide over to the truck and tossed them into the bed.

While Mac brought Penny into the stable, I drove the bear bits to the house. Most of that spring we ate grizzly in every possible way. It is certainly an acquired taste. I've had a coastal brown bear in Alaska and the flavor proved far too fishy for me. Our bear was much more to my palate. I don't think Eric liked it much but you ate what you were given when you lived with Mac. Besides, I think it made him proud to provide such a large kill for us to eat. Life would continue much as it had through summer and into winter. That year's winter was especially

bad. The blizzard of 1969 is still spoken of today around Montana. Things were certainly tough, but Mac wasn't about to let a little snow beat him. We were all overjoyed to see the thaw arrive. Our hands were full with the lambing but the moment we had some time, Mac drove us out to the river for some fishing. The trout were biting like crazy and we soon became separated. I never got the full story from him but I believe he witnessed most of what happened. We all knew that there would be grizzlies in the area. Fish is among one of their favorite foods. By this time, Eric and I had become accustomed to watching out for them. I have no doubt that morning both creatures just stumbled upon one another.

If you run into a female grizzly with her cubs in tow, she's going to attack. It's surely possible a fishing rod could look like a rifle to a bear. No matter what she was thinking, Eric never had a chance. Mac was the only one carrying a weapon and it was already too late to do any good. He'd gotten off a few shots, but I think her having Cubs along made his aim a bit wide. Perhaps even at the time, he was reluctant to make those Cubs orphans. Sure, Mac was definitely all torn up about what he'd seen. I just don't think he blamed that sow for how she'd reacted.

The water was much too loud for me to hear the attack. The gunshots were what first got my attention. That haunting wail that soon followed. That's when I knew something very bad had happened. When I reached the scene, Mac sat holding Eric in his arms, crying and moaning. Just the sight of it caused me to buckle. Soon I too was wailing and screaming, cursing God for taking my little brother. I begged and bargained. In the end, it made no difference. I had a large hole inside me for a long time, but for Mac, I think he died that day.

I don't recall much of the rest of that afternoon. Dark was coming on when the sheriff showed up at the house. Eric was laid out on the table. I greeted him and his deputies at the door. Mac sat silently at the table alongside Eric's battered body. I let them into the kitchen. The sheriff talked to Mac, paying his respects and the like. I don't think he heard a word of it. Once the sheriff saw the body for himself, any doubt he'd had was gone. He soon left us alone to grieve, but the outside world kept butting in.

A new person was calling every minute offering their condolences. A few of the surrounding farmers even showed up. All that pity quickly became suffocating. I tried my best to be courteous to everyone, but without Mac to help, I got overwhelmed. I finally just started asking folks to go away. Most were understanding. It would eventually get quiet at around 10.30. I made for bed not long after. Before I did, I stuck my head into the kitchen and bid Mac goodnight. He was in the process of cleaning the mess from Eric's body. He didn't bother to answer. Briefly, I considered telling him to leave that to the funeral home, but then reconsidered.

It was something he needed to do, and I didn't want to take it away from him. The days leading up to the funeral, little was said. Mac would speak, but it clearly pained him. Things still got done, but I think it was more out of habit and necessity than desire. When the funeral people came for Eric, I could tell Mac had a real hard time letting go. He'd spent the day in his room occasionally talking, I think to Eric.

Although myself and the hands didn't mind one bit picking up the slack, I personally was concerned for his sanity. For me, work and school were a saving grace. It kept my mind off of my feelings. I know if I sat and dwelled on things all day, I would have come unwound in short order. In my opinion, Mac let himself feel too much too fast. As for the funeral and the day itself, I'm going to leave that to your imagination. Even today when I think about the ceremony and all the fine things folks said, I fall apart.

Suffice to say, Eric was a well-loved young man and he was put away in a fine manner. About a week after the funeral, we got a call from Aunt Bessie. Word of Eric's death had reached her all the way in France. I didn't ask her how. She said that she'd be moving back to the States. I didn't know her well, but the news did cheer me up a little. I mentioned my concerns about Mac. She agreed it sounded like he was slipping away. We spent some time swapping stories about the farm and our favorite places. Just before letting me go, she gave me her flight information.

I promised that we would be there to meet her and we hung up. I mentioned Bessie was coming back to Mac and expected he'd be excited. He instead just said, that's nice and went back to his paper. We met Bessie the following week. Mac picked me up from school on the way to the airport. She was nothing like I had expected. I had seen hippies on the news but she was different. Bessie was the very image of free love, albeit decked out in the nicest of Paris fashion. I may have been a little taken aback by her style but Bessie was the kindest of people. Her and I hit it off immediately. Once she changed into more of a rural outfit,

she resembled the Aunt Bessie that I'd seen in pictures Despite being a dedicated lover of all things French fashion, she dove into sheep husbandry head first I had to remember that she'd grown up on this farm Although a tad rusty, her experience was a great help In the evening, she'd tell me about Europe and all the amazing change going on in the world I was in awe of, she'd tell me about Europe and all the amazing change going on in the world. I was in awe of all she'd seen. Even after living the first 13 years of my life in a city, just a few years in the country had changed me.

Occasionally, the topic would shift onto Mac. He'd improved somewhat, but the spark he once had was gone. He soon took to taking long walks in the hills. was a definite change but we considered it a good one I'd always thought of the hills as Mac's church Assume the walks gave him time to himself Perhaps to even have a cry I certainly wouldn't have thought less of him for doing it The walks would carry on for about a week until

One day, he didn't return I wasn't immediately concerned He knew that land like the back of his hand Walks would carry on for about a week until, one day, he didn't return. I wasn't immediately concerned. He knew that land liked the back of his hand. He was also a top-notch woodsman. Staying out overnight was not a big deal, and even then, however, the other possibilities began turning around in the back of my head. There was always the chance a bear got him.

The last, well, I wasn't ready for that yet. We gave him till noon before starting a search. Bessie and I split up. I wouldn't have to look long. When the walks began, I'd always assumed this would be his destination. After all, it was the source of all his grief. My fear was some animal would get to him before I could, and the closer I got,

I could tell he hadn't been scavenged. Other than the little blood in his temple, he looked like he was sleeping. Just for a moment I tried to pretend, but it didn't last long. This was the first time I'd cried since this mess started. I'd been suppressing it as much as stalling, and when it started, it took a long while to stop. For a long time I sat on a rock listening to the river. I wasn't ready to move him quite yet. It was the first peace he'd had in months. Just before four, Bessie came over the hill in the truck. She must have figured it all out. A few tears sat in the corner of her eyes, but actually seeing her father's body in the flesh didn't shake her as much as I'd expected. I hope he's in a happier place now.

It looks so peaceful leaning up against that tree. I nodded in silent agreement. She expelled a big sigh and suggested that we move him before dark. I took him around the shoulders so she wouldn't get bloody. We loaded him into the bed and began the long, mournful return to the house. The hands were waiting for us as we pulled up. Frank, this worn out old cuss who'd been with Mac for over twenty years, pulled his hat from his head and held it over his heart. The others soon joined him. They in turn each said a little goodbye and made for home. Frank helped me bring

Mac into the kitchen where we laid him out. I thanked him and he also left. I sat at the table alongside the body just as Mac had with Eric a few months prior. I'm not sure how long it took for the sheriff to arrive. Bessie showed him in. He walked up to the table and offered his condolences. I now knew what Mac had been feeling. Not much of what he said registered. I silently watched as he examined the body. I felt like I was, well, truth is I don't remember feeling anything. The examination was brief. He said he didn't see any problems and approached me to leave me alone to grieve again. I nodded and Bessie led him and his deputies out.

I knew what came next, but was too terrified to do it. I continued sitting there for a long time, not saying a word. It was dark when Bessie touched me on the shoulder and said that she'd cleaned the body. A feeling of relief, but also guilt, rushed through me. I could feel myself about to break down. So I quickly ran into my room and closed the door. Mac's service was very basic and short. Fifteen of his closest friends got together at the graveside while the preacher made a brief eulogy.

I handled this service far better than my brothers. I felt a duty to Mac to put on a brave face. I did almost crack up when Bessie sang the Bonnie Banks of O'Lock Lamont. I never knew she had such a beautiful voice before that day. Once the service was over and the will had been read Bess and I were left with some choices The farm had never been much of a money maker Honestly despite being raised around sheep she wasn't the royal type anymore The city had gotten in her bones

She asked me what I wanted to do I had been thrown onto the farm by fate While I did love the outdoors and the activities it offered I was eager to see the outside world Bessie had told me so much about. That fall we made the decision to sell. Bessie didn't want to see any of the guys lose their jobs so she worked out a way for Frank to buy it on installments. She probably could have made more elsewhere but we figured Mac would approve. Bessie and I would get an apartment in San Francisco. I'd stay there all through college until I got a job in Los Angeles.

We continued to see each other during holidays. She finally got married to an engineer in 1974. They remained happily together until she passed from cancer in 1987. I seem to have caught a bit of Bessie's wanderlust. I bounced around the country going from job to job until I started my own company in Silicon Valley. A friend of mine and I found some investors and got in right at the beginning of the 90s tech boom. We also got out just in time after selling to a fledgling Google. Once my kids flew the coop, my wife and I spent almost a year seeing the world. More times than I can count. I've told my family about my brief time with Mac, never forgetting to include Eric's great feat that made him a man.

During our world tour, I took the wife to see the ranch. I'd lost contact with the guys around 77 or so. I was very nervous and unsure about what I was going to encounter and the knot in my stomach was proof. As the car topped the hill, I could see right off the house was gone. In its place sat a beautiful two-story log cabin. Other than that and some new outbuildings, things hadn't changed much. Driving up the gravel road, the knot grew larger. I was afraid the new owners wouldn't like some city slickers bothering them. They doubtlessly had a lot of work judging by the massive flock that grazed in the distance.

I had my wife wait in the car while I rang the bell. A girl about 14 answered. I quickly explained that I had once lived there and was wondering if I could show my wife around, just for a moment. She asked me to wait while she got her mom. The woman who came to the door introduced herself and I repeated my purpose for being there. Something about her name seemed familiar. I didn't want to seem intrusive, but I asked her husband's name. It's Frank Hodges.

There was no way old Frank could still be alive, let alone working sheep. I don't want to come off as nosy, but... Was his father Frank too? The lady made a kind of smile and answered with a plain yes. I felt like I was back in 1969 again. I explained that the gentleman Mack's family he had purchased the farm from that I was his grandson and had lived here in the late 60s. Her face came alive when she heard this. Old Frank used to talk about you and your brother all the time. He'd talk about Mac, of course, too. Do you want to meet my husband? I know he'd love to meet you.

I was overwhelmed. I'd never imagined anyone connected to Mac would still be around. I said yes and naturally waved for my wife to join us. I introduced her quickly and we all walked out to this massive barn thing. A man stood talking to another. One looked identical to old Frank, minus the hutched back. I was having a hard time controlling my joy. The lady introduced us to her husband. The second he heard my name, he too came alive. A huge grin popped across his face. Oh my god. Dad used to talk about y'all constantly. Your aunt's the reason we got this place, still. There were a few years dad had trouble making the payments, but your aunt told him to send the money when he could.

I heard she passed away. I just want you to know how grateful we are to her. The rest of that day, he drove us around on an ATV, showing us all the new ways of farming and everything he and his dad had changed. About an hour before dusk, we found ourselves near the river. It looked much as it had as a kid. A concerned look came across his face. I asked if we could check it out.

He smiled and we parked, not far from where Eric had died. I walked off to a little puddle and crouched down to taste the water. It was just as I'd remembered. Even after all that had happened, it was just as sweet. And in spite of all the pain,

I was so happy to be home again. This happened a few days ago when my family decided to visit Mexico. They usually visit not only to visit my grandparents but to also donate want to, but because of the pets that need sitting as well as our valuables as our neighborhood is sadly now being targeted by robbers ever since the events of 2020. My parents would urge me to go to Mexico with them, but I kept insisting that I'd stay and boy do I now have another reason why I never want to go back to Mexico. My uncle, who I'll call Rick for privacy reasons, wanted to tag along to see his mom as it's been over a decade since he hadn't paid a visit to Mexico. My stepdad gladly took him along and was willing to go to California just to pick him up and take him. My stepdad took our truck and trailer which was filled to the brim with bikes, clothes, and other pieces of furniture. You name it, we have it and were willing to donate. While my mom wanted to take a plane as my three year old baby sister wouldn't stand a four day drive.

I obviously didn't want to go as I needed to watch the cats in our house. Despite my mom trying to convince me that she would hire someone to watch the house for us. I would have agreed to go and relax without having to worry about my pets for a bit and let to watch the house for us. I would have agreed to go and relax without having to worry about my pets for a bit and let someone do the work for me but me being me I don't trust people looking after our stuff after the events of 2020 and other personal events that I will not go into for the purpose of the story. My mom's flight was due a few days after my stepdad's initial journey from our state up north all the way to California and to Mexico. It let my mom prepare for her flight while also telling me what to do around the house and what to do and what not to do.

Basically all of the mom things that you hear when you're going to be the man of the house. Two days went by without incident until I walked to the kitchen and spotted a cricket up on the ceiling. A lot of questions popped in my mind like, how did that cricket get up there? Why is it up there? I told my mom and her reaction was not something I would expect. She urged me to kill it and without question, I got the bug spray and slapped it out of the ceiling with my shoe, making sure it was dead. I didn't understand why my mom wanted me to kill it, let alone have such a shocked reaction. My mom was never scared of bugs. Why was she suddenly terrified by this one little cricket?

Two days went by faster than I expected. My mom invited me to go out to eat and talk and to go shopping. I obviously agreed and went out to eat. We had long discussions about our family, friends, etc. I remember sitting back for a moment and remembered the cricket incident. I asked my mom if she remembered the cricket and why she had such a negative reaction towards it. What she told me next makes me regret asking, but at the same time question my own beliefs and ideology. She told me a story about how a few years ago she also spotted a cricket. She tried to kill it but much to her dedication escaped her sight. She searched as much as she could trying to find the thing until she had given up and continued on with her day.

As a few weeks rolled by, she got a call from my grandma telling her that my grandpa tragically passed away from having a stroke. Let me tell you, hearing my mom cry over a family member is nothing nobody wants to relive. She had a theory about the crickets, telling me about how they're warning signs to something tragic like spotting a crow or a black cat. I was skeptical because I didn't believe in that kind of stuff. But I gave her the benefit of the doubt and we continued on with our day, but little did we know, this day would take a complete 180 for all of us. I was upstairs playing my video games and talking to my girlfriend. I told her I would be right back as I wanted something to drink. I went downstairs and saw

that my mom was on the phone with a panic expression. I waited for her to end the call and to ask what happened. Apparently my dad did make it to across the US border, but was stopped by the cartel. For those who don't know, the cartel are the Mexican mafia, responsible for all of the illegal drug trafficking, human smuggling, and murder. When they don't get what they want from someone, they kidnap them and torture them for fun while carving into their skin, leaving behind their signature symbols to put out some message to people telling them to pay their fee or be tortured and killed. My stepdad was held at gunpoint, demanded to pay a fine of $600 per person. My uncle and stepdad didn't have the money which

angered the group. They told him to follow them as they were going to take them somewhere. What my stepdad did next was something that still even surprises me. He pretended to follow them only to take a complete 180 from their truck, speeding off the highway, almost making them crash into the now busy road. When people want to escape from impending danger, they try to look for the earliest way to escape any way possible, even if it might cost them an arm or limb. They got away, but the cartel weren't giving up there. They thankfully didn't follow as they knew that they would be caught as members in public, ultimately screwing them over. They went back to the nearest police station,

trying to have something done about the incident. Instead of sending police out to patrol the area, let alone escort them to a safe place, all they said was, if I were you, I wouldn't have come here to try to solve this. I later then learned that they were in a cartel owned city, where the police wouldn't bat an eye as the cartel could do whatever they wanted. The cartel basically have the Mexican government at their fingertips, seeing how much they had grown and killed to get to where they are now. My uncle decided to call US government officials like the FBI and the CIA to ask what they can do. Since they were still in Mexican territory, they couldn't do anything unless they traveled back and they would have to do it immediately.

They were forced to rush back to the United States as soon as they found out that the cartel members that tried to rob them hired a few guns to kill my stepdad and uncle. The cartel don't take failure so lightly and they were willing to do whatever it takes to get the job done. They luckily made it back into the US and sure enough, there were agents outside of the borders waiting for them. My mom demanded my stepdad to drive back home but he couldn't as the cartel members took their money so he was forced to finish the trip. But luckily the agents and Mexican officials from another border area insisted on escorting them to their destination.

My mom then told me how, during the entire ordeal, Uncle Rick was on the phone, saying his goodbyes to his wife and kids, thinking that he was going to die. My stepdad had to control himself and I absolutely admire his attitude when he was confronted by the cartel. My mom still went to Mexico via plane, but during her final night at the house, I couldn't help but have a massive mental breakdown as all of the horrific thoughts came through my mind. What if my mom and baby sister were there? What if the hired guns found them and shot them dead like animals? All of these thoughts flooded my mind for the entirety of the night until early in the morning when I took my mom to the airport

We were talking throughout the drive about the situation and how lucky Uncle Rick and Stepdad were I couldn't agree more But then the thought of the cricket came into my mind I reminded her again and she explained how lucky we were to find it and kill it as it possibly prevented another death. My mom made it to Mexico as well as my stepdad and uncle who called me the next morning after my mom left to Mexico to tell me that he was fine. Even after all of that had happened, I still ask myself, what if I didn't kill that cricket? I want to know, but at the same time, maybe some things are better left forgotten and buried, never to be heard from again.

In other words, I don't think I ever want to find the answer. To be continued... This was a pretty tedious task. The warehouse had been abandoned since the 80s and the decades had not been kind. The plants had not overtaken the building as it was well within a concrete jungle but it was still far enough off the beaten path that it had attracted a number of residents who had not been kind to it. Most of the copper that wasn't bolted down or just too difficult to reach had been stolen, so all the wiring had to be redone. The windows had cracked, the ceiling had leaked in places, you get the idea. In truth, part of me wondered if it wouldn't have been easier just to tear the place down and rebuild. The earlier days of the job were largely uneventful. The squatters and random urban explorers quickly caught on to the fact that the building was being renovated. A chain-link fence topped with barbed wire was up around most of the construction equipment,

new locks were placed in the doors, and there were various security installments to deter anyone from trying to make off with exposed equipment or materials. You know those motion-sensing lights that people place outside their homes to deter burglars? We had a sort of enhanced version of those. They would flood an area with this bright, almost sickly green light, but it was blinding to whoever was caught in it. We also had a silent alarm that would sound if it were triggered, and as a final failsafe, a deafening alarm could be pulled by security in conjunction with it. For some relevant context, there was one largely unsupervised entrance into the building. A series of maintenance access corridors spanned through the walls

and these could mostly only be entered from inside, but there was one external entrance. There was a sort of unloading area that adjoined to the basement of the building. Trucks could drive down a ramp into a tunnel and enter this area, and along the side of the tunnel there was one entrance into the maintenance access corridors. Most of the employees weren't aware the store existed, as it now served precious little purpose. Hell, I only knew of it because it was pointed out to me by some of the renovators. That tunnel in the adjoining area would likely be the last place to be touched,

and in all honesty, I wasn't even sure it was going to be as I didn't know if the current company intended to make use of it. The door wasn't in plain sight, it was behind a guardrail, and it went up into the building at a sort of angle that made it difficult to see unless you were facing it from a certain direction. It would be entirely possible to walk or drive right past it and never know it existed. It was an imposing albeit unassuming old steel door. The hinges themselves had some rust on them but the door was in mostly good shape. It was dark in color though it didn't seem to be painted.

The handle was stainless steel and had aged the best of all from the door. This is the one giveaway of the door's existence. If you were in the tunnel and it was dark enough, a flashlight or natural lighting would glint off of the handle, indicating it was there. This door was kept locked for obvious reasons, but it was easy to forget that it was there. This door was kept locked for obvious reasons, but it was easy to forget that it was there. We never patrolled the maintenance access corridors as part of the security routine. It was generally assumed to even get inside of them, an intruder would have to trip the alarm well before even being able to enter those, and it wasn't entirely safe.

There were exposed wires, and those corridors were extremely claustrophobic, not to mention that once you were in them, you had to know where the exits were or you'd be wandering around lost for quite a while. Moreover, some of the exits no longer worked, or at least weren't operational for now due to the ongoing construction. This brings us to December 22nd. It was one of the worst sort of winter nights. It was cold and it was raining, but it was just warm enough that we'd be pelted with freezing rain and denied snow. The wind didn't quite howl, but it had an eerie moan as it passed by the warehouse. At that time of the year, it got dark at around six or so, so by

midnight it was nearly pitch black outside. The storm just added to this. It had been a particularly boring night. The lull of rain and constant hum of yellow fluorescent lights had me rather sleepy. I had tried reading the past the time. There wasn't any wifi and phone reception was rather poor, but I couldn't make myself focus. I considered sleeping, but I had this weird myself focus. I considered sleeping but I had this weird gut feeling that I needed to stay awake. I wasn't afraid and I didn't feel like I was being watched or anything like that. It's hard to explain but I just had this sense that I could nap later but I needed to wait up a bit just to be sure it'd be appropriate. I didn't want my boss reviewing the footage and thinking I had gone to sleep it'd be appropriate. I didn't want my boss reviewing the

footage and thinking I had gone to sleep too early, I suppose, but I don't feel like that was quite what I was thinking at the time. So it was with lidded eyes and a nodding head that I heard a click from somewhere within the facility. At first, my mind didn't even register it. I just let it be the background noise and then I realized it wasn't that. It was an abnormal sound. At once I was wide awake and immediately looked at my surroundings. Nothing had fallen and nothing was out of place. I was almost tempted to shrug off as an electrical issue but it just didn't sit right with me. I had been there long enough to know that I knew more or less what the building sounded like,

and that wasn't a noise that I'd heard before. I decided that I'd go do a routine patrol, nothing fancy, and make sure the doors were still locked and that would be enough. As I left the rudimentary security posts, which was really a desk surrounded by filing cabinets, I began to feel a sense of unease creeping into my spine. I couldn't quite place what it was, but the further I got from my vantage point which allowed me to see most of the main floor, the less safe I felt. I felt exposed, vulnerable. Every step I took made me want to retreat back to my desk. I shook it off.

I told myself I was being silly. Heck, I had chased off homeless people before. It wouldn't be any different if that's what it was. The self-reassurance didn't work. This felt different somehow. I went door to door and each of them was locked as it was supposed to be. Seeing this made me feel a little bit better and by the time I had visited the final door, I was mostly able to shove the burgeoning dread out of my mind. I was satisfied with the inspection and figured the sound must have been from the storm

somehow. It didn't make sense, but it was the only thing that I could figure at the time. I shrugged it off and began to walk back to the desk. I had almost made it to my seat when I heard a sound that sent a chill down my spine. It was a distinct rattling sound, as though someone was rattling a doorknob somewhere within the facility. I froze and I listened. The sound continued only for an instant and then there was a gentle but distinct thud. Someone had tried to push their weight against a door and it held. My first instinct was to check my paper and see if the silent alarm had been tripped. To my surprise and confusion it hadn't.

I frowned. I would write it off as a wayward bat thrashing about in the rafters but the sound had seemingly come from against an outside wall and a bat wouldn't be able to rattle a doorknob. I remained still for a moment. I listened for something, anything but all I could hear was the rain against the rooftop, the wind and the din of cheap warehouse lighting. I sighed through my nose. The fear had given way to a feeling of cheap warehouse lighting. I sighed through my nose. The fear had given way to a feeling of annoyance now. I started the long walk across the concrete floor to check the doors once again and then I remembered it. The outside door. The click. Someone was in the maintenance

corridors. My heart rate immediately picked up. That feeling of unease had given way to near terror. My first instinct was to trip the loud alarm, but for some reason, I couldn't bring myself to do it. If the person didn't know that I was in the building, it'd tip them off. It was possible that they were lost and trapped in the corridors, for now, but if they got out... I set off the sound alarm instead. I knew I was going to have to go into the corridors but this was extremely unsettling. I was going to have to hope I came in behind the person and that I was the one stalking them, not the other way around. I quietly walked over to the nearest door, a tiny metal frame with a glass window that allowed one to see inside and peered into the corridor. It was virtually pitch black. I looked to the left and to the right. The right led to a sort of junction before hitting a corner of the building and the left was a long, empty corridor.

I slowly opened the door, letting it gently shut behind me and flicked on my flashlight. This corridor was empty. I went to the right first. I figured that if the intruder came down the left corridor, I would have ample time to react, but I didn't want to be caught by surprise by him rounding the corner. As I reached the turn, however, I hesitated. I was utterly terrified that I would round the corner and be face to face with the intruder.

I could almost feel their eyes on me. I even took a step backwards. I listened. No footsteps. No breathing. Nothing. I bit my bottom lip and rounded the corner and was greeted by an equally empty corridor. This one didn't run as far. I was relieved. I began making slow, deliberate steps down the corridor, careful not to trip over wiring and pipes and would stop every so often to listen. It was still silent, eerily so. I had made it about halfway down the corridor when I heard a doorknob rattle again. It was hard to ascertain how close I was to it now.

As the sound echoed down the hallways, I froze. The rattling continued before it was followed by a heavy bang. They weren't being subtle anymore. They had slammed into the door. I wasn't sure if they were even in the corridor anymore and decided now was the best time to turn back. The police had to be here soon. I would just go back to my desk and wait it out. That's what I should have done from the beginning.

Entering the maze was a mistake. I rounded the corner to get back to the door where I had entered and as my flashlight fell in the corridor, I almost missed it. Almost. The light illuminated a silhouette at the end of the hall. There was a man, or what I assumed to be a man, standing still at the end of my flashlight's beam. He was tall, extremely so. He was every bit of six foot six inches and he wasn't the lanky type, if anything.

He seemed somewhat overweight and was a bit hunched over in the narrow confines of the corridor. He seemed to have his head angled down a bit, and he was wearing all black. We both stood there for a moment, motionless. I was paralyzed with fear. I can't say what it was about him, but he just felt wrong. This didn't seem like a squatter seeking shelter.

I can't explain it but I knew that he had malicious intent. Trying to hide the shakiness in my voice I summoned the scariest tone I could muster and shouted out Security! Freeze! He didn't move for a moment. I began walking toward him fully intending to exit through the door in which I'd entered and locking him in the chamber, and he started barreling towards me.

I mean a full-on sprint. He was faster than I expected, faster than he should have been, and the footsteps echoed in the corridor. I instinctively bolted for the door, but I shouldn't have. It made him rapidly draw closer to me As I ran for the door I could hear his staggered breathing as he drew nearer and nearer He beat me to the door He knew that's where I was headed and he stopped and waited for me I froze once again

I wasn't able to hide that my hands were shaking The flashlight beam thrashed wildly about the corridor. He seemed even larger up close. He stared down at me with inky black eyes. The man was probably in his mid-forties, but it was hard to tell. He had long gray hair and similarly gray stubble, and his face was eaten up with what looked like pock marks. He had water dripping off of his black clothes

and the top of his head was covered with a black beanie. He smiled a wide toothy grin at me and took a step closer. I wanted to run but he knew that the nearest doors were locked and it was pointless. Don't come any closer, I demanded. He took another step, and then another, and he was now uncomfortably close to me. He had that rancid, sticky sweet smell that rotting meat has topped with cigarette smoke. He leaned down a bit to be directly in my face, and I caught a hint of peppermint and alcohol in his breath. He reached a gloved hand towards me and placed it on my shoulder, and he spoke with this childlike voice. It was falsely high-pitched and sounded like a voice that a kindergarten-aged child would use to taunt one of their friends. This came over his naturally

gritty baritone and years of being a heart smoker. Zach, you're it. He kept his hand on my shoulder and just stared at me, grinning for what felt like an hour, and then he slowly turned around and bolted back down the corridor, laughing with this horrible laugh as he sprinted into the dark. I didn't move. I couldn't move. I waited until I heard the footsteps and demonic laugh grow quieter and quieter,

and when I was sure he was far enough away, I ran for the door, nearly fell out of it, forced it shut and locked it behind me. I then sprinted across the concrete floor to the main entrance and sounded the noise alarm and ran outside into the rain. I stood outside, back against the wall of the building, panting for breath. I couldn't even feel the cold. I didn't feel the cold until I heard the sirens. I was numb when the police walked past me. I was able to talk but it felt like my body was on autopilot and I was watching from outside of it. They combed the entire building,

corridors included, but they didn't find anyone. They did however find that the door to the maintenance access from the tunnel was open. They also found a large butcher knife, a half-drank bottle of bottom shelf vodka, and a sheet of notebook paper with a smiley face drawn on it between the door and the guardrail. I've shared a brief and summarized version of this encounter on another sub. For reference, I'm a male in my late 20s and live in the UK and the following happened when I was around 15 or so in a place called Surrey, England. My dad ran a financial sales call center and my mother was a senior executive at her firm so between them, they were very rarely home which left me alone 90% of the time, which was absolutely fine with the 15-year-old me. It gave me plenty of opportunities to game, spend time with friends, watch South Park, and just be a teenager in general.

Close to my 15th birthday, my parents decided to build an extension on the property to make it more in keeping with the other properties on our road, and in turn boost the resale value. The properties were all mock Georgian and built in the early 90s in what used to be farmland. It's also key for me to mention, although we never had any paranormal activity prior to the renovations, there was a feeling of dread and anxiety that would wash over me within the house from time to time, as well as the feeling of being watched. I never mentioned this to anyone but had several friends and other family members mention they felt this way and years later so did my own mother who was pretty anti-paranormal by all accounts. At first small things would happen like unexplained noises when it was just me in the home. For example, there would often be random bangs and dragging noises along the hardwood floor in the TV room

and when I'd go to investigate, there would be nothing. I'd also hear footsteps moving along the ground floor hallway to the kitchen before hearing more banging, like someone was punching the wall as they went along. Things would often go missing only to reappear in a random place later. One of the most notable examples of this was with my dad, who put his car keys on the kitchen island. I was a witness to this, only for them to disappear when we both had our backs to it. We searched everywhere, including the fridge, only to find them in the evening in the fridge where we had already checked. We also had two of the

renovation team refuse to finish the work on the house only to say there's something not right about your house mate to my dad. When checking with the other members of the construction team they informed my dad that the two guys had both independently of each other saw a figure staring at them in the kitchen that was pure black. I only found out about this three years ago. Things only got worse after the renovations finished. I began hearing footsteps pacing the hallway outside my room at all hours of the night when it was just me at home and that's when the breathing started. I'd be lying in bed trying to fall asleep when breathing, progressively getting louder would emanate from

the far left corner of the room. If you can imagine the room being in a square shape, the head of the bed being against the bottom side of the square, my door being on the top right hand side of the square, the breathing would always come from the far left corner and would happen every night until I eventually told my parents about it. They told me to just brush it off and for the next two nights it didn't happen, only to reoccur consistently and close to my bed once again. I can only explain the feeling it gave off as pure hate. The strangest thing though that ever happened in the house was when I heard my mother call my name repeatedly from upstairs. The only problem was that my mother was hundreds of miles away visiting family

and once again I was home alone as my dad was away with work. The voice started off normal but as it repeated itself it grew more and more synthesized almost like someone or something was trying to do a very good impression of my mother's voice but falling further and further away from the mark. In the end it had almost a robotic tone and grew monotonous but with the same intonation as my mother. This freaked me out to such an extent that I left the house then and there and spent the time with a friend a few good hours away

only to return around 11pm or so. I got into bed, still wary, and I'd say within half an hour of lying there, the door opened slowly and a figure walked into the doorway. It was my mom, though she didn't look right. The moonlight through the window illuminated her face and it just all seemed wrong, almost blurry, but her eyes were completely and utterly wrong. They seemed inhuman and I can still feel and remember the terror. I've got goosebumps just writing this. She mouthed something which to this day I can't work out

and then backed out of the doorway and into the hall, in reverse, as if someone had hit rewind. I'd just like to assure everyone that I don't drink or do drugs and certainly didn't as a 15 year old. I have not really discussed any of these things in person for fear of being labeled mental and to be quite honest, for a long time I did put things down to me maybe going through some kind of psychotic episode but mental illness doesn't run in my family and nothing like this has ever happened to me elsewhere. I have also had other family members such as my uncle share his experience with the house. Apparently when he came over to feed our cat when we were on holiday he saw a figure peek around the corner of the kitchen, only to swiftly move out of view before footsteps banged up the corridor.

Thinking it was an intruder, he followed, but no one was there and the house was freezing. It had dropped temperature extremely rapidly. My dad also had terrible sleep paralysis and nightmares after the renovations, something he hasn't had before or since living at that house. He also heard a woman shouting incoherently in one of the new bathrooms and a man's voice say, victim, in the kitchen when no other men were in the house. Luckily for me, we moved out when I was 16 and I've never had anything like that happen since. About five years ago, me and my older sister went to a nature park, a wetland so to speak. Of course we went at night so we could skateboard around cause you aren't allowed to but you know,

a 14 year old trying to look cool in front of her 24 year old sister. Well we went just around as the sun was setting. For a little bit we got lost since the park was so huge and condensed with the thick woods. We were trying to find the bridge, a 20 foot or so bridge so we can hang out just above the rushing water. By the time we got there the sun was hardly visible over the mountains. I looked around after drinking my water and here's where the creepy stuff happened. As I looked on the other side of the bridge I saw a tall skinny figure. I first shrugged it off like it was a person, maybe a ranger of the park

But then it got on all fours and walked away I didn't say anything at first, mainly because I thought it was maybe a bear I looked back at my sister as we chatted about boys along with many other things Then I looked back at the bridge My sister did too and we both saw the figure this time. At this point I was totally freaked out. Mind you, it's still not dark out, the sky was purple and orange so it wasn't like we were seeing things like when your mind pictures figures in the dark. No, it was right there and getting closer. I told my sister to get out of

there, her first going off the bridge and down the hill. I went second, and as I turned to look at the bridge again, it was five feet in front of me on all fours once again. It stood there as me and my sister skated off, and this isn't even the end. I told my sister to head to the main building since there is cameras and lots of light. We skateboarded for what seemed like hours, and every minute seemed to last an eternity. As we finally get to the main building we finally stopped riding our boards. Out of breath and scared we both looked around, by this time it was pitch black outside. We made a mad dash for the car taking a path that we'd never seen before but it was outside the park which made us feel even safer. After we got to my sister's jeep we both got in, hearts racing and scared out of

our minds. When we tried to leave the gate, it was locked, meaning we couldn't leave since there was only one way in and out of the park. We became even more terrified and we tried everything to get out. We even thought about just leaving the car behind and walking the two hours home. But we drove onto the sidewalk and got out of the park. To this day I won't go back to those wetlands ever again, even in daylight. Whatever that thing was, I never want to see it again and I can't stop thinking about it. You can think that this is just a story but it really did happen. Me and my sister don't even talk about it to this day

Something changed between us I could feel it after that day My grandmother, let's call her Amanda for privacy reasons, was a very naughty and mischievous child. She was the naughtiest of all her siblings. She lived in an apartment complex which had a lobby and many passages that connected to other apartments. It's very similar to the layout of most hostels. She had quite a few friends at the time and was familiar and friendly with everybody. But she was quite fond of an Asian couple, Brandon and Lisa, that lived there as they always used to entertain her and give her treats.

There was nothing shady about this couple. Now a few days later, we got this news about the death of Brandon due to a heart attack. His wife was grief stricken and did nothing else but cry. My grandmother as a little child didn't understand why the once optimistic and kind Asian lady turned into a gloomy woman. Well now, like all children, my grandmother poked her nose into the matter. She was pleading her mother to let her go to their house as she wanted to know what happened. A few hours later, she got out of the house saying that she wanted to go play with some of her friends. Instead, she darted to the house of the couple with two or three of those friends.

As she entered the apartment, she could feel the sadness and the grief of the woman. She felt sad about his death and stepped outside the apartment along with her little friends. Suddenly they hear something out of the blue, the growling of dogs. From the way she described it, she says those growls didn't sound like the growling of small dogs, instead of a rather large one, the type you see in a record book. The children got confused and it clicked in her that the landlord didn't allow any kind of pets of any kind. She could hear the growling getting louder and louder. Then there was silence in the passageway for a few seconds. Then silence was followed by

rather large barks. The only thing my grandma could think of was to run. She ran as fast as her legs could take her. She looked back to see if the thing chasing her had gotten any closer and she saw nothing. A minute or so later she felt as if the thing chasing her had caught up to her and was right behind her. Again she turned around and nothing. But this didn't make her stop. It was at that moment that she tripped on a loose tile. She couldn't get up immediately as she hurt her knee and ankle, and she dreaded for the worst.

A few seconds later, she noticed that even though she knew something was chasing them, she couldn't see them and felt a strong gush of air on her face. The barking sounds had now passed her, and the sounds grew fainter and fainter. She had no idea about what was chasing her and hoped to never hear those terrible sounds again. I still am to this day a practicing pagan, but when I was younger I was inexperienced and stupid. I was 14 and suffering from terrible insomnia so I would often stay up late listening to astral projection meditation videos on YouTube to see if I could astral project. For those who don't know, this is the practice of having one's soul leave one's body for a period of time to travel around the world or even possibly visit other realms. It was a Wednesday night and I was up exceptionally late in my bed listening to a meditation video but I couldn't manage to get comfortable or relaxed enough to meditate.

I paused my video after enough trial and error and decided it may be best to attempt to sleep. After putting my phone away I remember looking into the darkness in my room, the lighting from the street lights outside hitting my walls and slightly lighting the dim room. I usually felt quite comfortable in my room but this night felt unusually eerie. My door to my bedroom was almost shut, the light from the bathroom in the hall just shining out from the door enough to catch my eye as I felt my weariness settle in. Suddenly the darkness behind my bedroom door began to grow and move closer and closer towards my bed across from the room. My eyes grew huge but I was frozen, too scared to move. The black form walked closer until he was only a few feet away and I attempted to scream but couldn't open my mouth.

As I tried to force a scream out he smiled, more like a disgusting grin but I saw the light from the door glint against his demented face. His mouth took up his entire face. No eyes, no nose, just a large grinning sharp mouth. He stepped closer, his smile only growing as he grew closer and closer. It was up against my face, maybe only a few inches away. I couldn't move, scream or even blink. He pushed his hands against my arms. I could only feel a cold pressure, but I wanted to scream in agony. What was this thing? All I could do was look directly in his razor-sharp teeth. They didn't look like normal teeth. They were pointed and silver, almost like actual razor blades, and they filled his mouth all the way to the back of his throat.

He smiled wider, his mouth a gaping hole of razors and hot, moist, foul-smelling breath. The odor was similar to rotting flesh and sulfur. I choked on the hot stench and suddenly his mouth burst open with a horrendous ripping sound like I'd never heard, and maggots came pouring out of the gaping, toothy hole where his mouth burst open with a horrendous ripping sound like I'd never heard and maggots came pouring out of the gaping toothy hole where his mouth was. His flesh disintegrated into maggots, bits of black writhing shadow turning into hundreds of white maggots flailing against my body. I screamed, jumped out of bed and ran into the light, turning it on while continuing to scream bloody murder as my sister woke up confused and likely terrified.

I turned around to see nothing but my younger sister, now annoyed that I had woken her up. I told her it was simply a nightmare and to go back to sleep. I turned the lights back off, grabbed my pillows and blankets and stayed up in the living room with the TV on for the rest of the night, worrying if the thing would come back, if I had hallucinated, or if it was really a dream. I had sworn that I hadn't fallen asleep. My phone was paused and where I had placed it before attempting to sleep, but there were no maggots, no black shadows, nothing. The next morning I told my sister what had happened and she told me she had sworn I was asleep when she went to use the restroom earlier in the night but I had remembered being awake just after setting my phone down and watching her while she crept back in the room

and left that door ever so slightly open. This was back in November of 2018 and takes place in North Carolina. I was 14 at the time. My family and I had just moved across states. We had just gotten to the city where we planned on living after a long road trip. We were all hungry so we decided to go grab dinner before we went to pick up the keys to our new house. We went to this local pizza shop. Since we had our dogs with us, because we hadn't moved into our house yet, we decided to eat in the car. I'm a pretty fast eater compared to the rest of my family,

so I finished way before them. After I was done, I decided to bring my puppy out to do her business. We were standing just a little ways up from the car, playing in the leaves on the ground. I grew up in Florida, so I wasn't used to seeing piles of autumn leaves, so was just living my best life not paying attention to my surroundings when a man taps me on my shoulder. My dog notices him and immediately tries to jump on him, as she does with anyone, so I pull her back while I'm backing away from him. He looks to be in his mid-forties to fifties.

He smiles creepily at me like it was forced. He says in a scruffy southern voice, You have my dog, my border collie. Immediately a red flag goes off in my mind, as my dog looks very obviously like a boxer and nothing like a border collie. Now let me tell you, I'm horrible at confrontations so I just say nervously, I think you're mistaken sir, this is my dog. Not even telling him how my dog does not look anything like what he's describing. I look over to my parents car that

was just a couple of feet behind me, unsure of what to do. They hadn't even noticed the man approached me, they were on their phones. The man now asked me, would you be able to come help me look for my dog? I can feel my stomach drop in that moment. I still don't want to make a scene as I'm probably overreacting, but I have read my fair share of kidnapping and human trafficking horror stories, so I have an idea in the back of my mind on what's going down. He then says something along the lines of, I got some money in the back of my truck for you. If I went with him, and my hands are sweating at this point, this is something straight out of a reddit thread. He points over to a very sketchy rundown looking truck. I tell him I'm busy and have to go but best of luck to finding his dog.

Still trying to keep him on my good side. Looking back on it now, I don't know why I didn't tell him my parents were right there. If I would have, I think he would have just backed off right then. I overly worry about what others think so I was just trying to be polite and not make him mad. He then decides to grab my dog's leash and says that he had dog treats at his truck and starts to walk away with my dog. I pull my leash away from him and say sternly, I gotta go now. As I start walking away, he then grabs my wrist and rips the leash out of my hands, throwing it to the ground.

He starts pulling me with him, mumbling something like, Just come see what I have for you. My dog, the sweet good girl she is, follows after us and starts barking. Wally starts to drag me with him, and I'm pretty small, 5'4", and have no upper body strength whatsoever, so I just start screaming to let go of me. My parents, alarmed hearing me scream and our dog chasing after me barking, see this man pulling their daughter against her will. They immediately start sprinting after me. I start screaming, mom and dad. I think he got

alarmed when he heard me yell out, as she starts running towards us. The sudden realization that my parents were right there in their car the whole time, he makes a run for it and we didn't run after him. My parents were just glad that they had me. This is definitely not a good way to start off our new life in North Carolina, not even having lived there a day yet. I don't wish this to ever happen to anyone as it was absolutely terrifying, but my advice for you is, don't be afraid to use your words, even if they offend the person. The End Once we were going to different schools, despite living together, he really upped the red flags.

Things like insisting he would go through my phone, not letting me go to a funeral for a friend's grandfather because he thought it was sketchy, and literally stopping me from ever going out or drinking, other than my 21st birthday. Yeah, he was a psycho. He was also into some questionable things in the bedroom that made me uncomfortable with what his true dark fantasies might be. Unfortunately, I found out that in the bedroom he had some pretty violent fantasies and that was a turn on for him. At that point, I started trying to kick him out. I finally got a chance a few weeks later when I caught him in a lie. He wasn't home so I packed literally everything of his and put it on the porch, locked the door to the porch and locked the security lock on the door so he couldn't come back. I only saw him to get my keys back and let him get his TV. Luckily I had

him taken off of the lease immediately because I got a call that he was claiming he didn't have his key and wanted to be let in. Again, crazy. I had my locks changed and moved on. I soon learned that he cheated on me, which wasn't a surprise and I didn't care at that point. I used it as a reason to make him shut up as he texted and called over and over. He broke his phone over the ordeal, got a new number and began texting me again. I wasn't strong enough to block his number

but I did ignore him and block him on social media. I started dating my next boyfriend and my ex was still being obsessive and possessive. They knew each other so my boyfriend would park in a different part of the apartment complex in case my ex was creeping and tried to do some damage. Well, he was creeping. My particular building faced the fence that lined the shops in front of the complex, so cars would drive by, people would

balk by, etc. Totally normal. However, my ex could sit there, and would, in perfect view of anyone who came to my unit or if I left because I was in a corner unit. To see him there was terrifying because I couldn't do anything about him sitting in a public place. He hadn't threatened me and the assault that he had performed would not have been believed in that college town. My boyfriend had to threaten him multiple times. I actually made him cry which was fine with me. My ex would stop for a week and then just pick back up. He would text me and say he's in the complex and ask if he can come over. God no. He had made acquaintances with this guy in the complex just to have a way in in case he wanted it. I moved to the city about an

hour and a half away around five months after our breakup. Unfortunately I live in a very unsafe place because I was broke. And making practically nothing at my first job. We were talking shootings. Daily carjackings. Being followed to your car. And things like that. I never posted anything about my job or location.

In case he had a burner account. Following one of my accounts. He had a girlfriend. But would text me saying. I'll break up with her. Just to get lunch with you. He made the number for all his text receipts my cell phone number so I always got texts about when he took an Uber or went out to dinner. I went off on him one drunken night about that.

I did believe that there was no way he could find me despite the lack of safety at my new apartment. But one day I saw a very specific car, identical to his friends who had a custom paint job and wheels. I know this because I had to listen to all that nonsense all the time when we were dating. He was one of those guys that would have banged his car if he could. The car just sat there further up the parking deck than I was going to walk. I couldn't tell if anyone was in it. I quickly went back into the hallway and made a bunch of turns in the confusing maze that was my complex. I hope I was just being paranoid but I can't know for sure. To catch up with the present, it's been over three and a half

years since I broke up with him. He knows I'm single and he's relentless. He'll message me different ways on different social media accounts. He found my PayPal account and sent me money to try to get me to talk to him. He sends me messages about what he wants to do with me in unsolicited pictures. He disgusts me. I truly hope life does him as dirty as he has done to me. The only times he's really left me alone is when he had a crazy girlfriend who said she hopes I get COVID and die or die during spine surgery or when he thought that I was engaged. If he thinks I'm single, he'll go after me. He knows I live in the city. I think he saw them on my Instagram when it wasn't

private before. He will send me messages saying he'll be driving through the city and wants to see me, offers to solicit me and thinks that there's something wrong with me the few times I do respond and I tell him to screw off. I've just blocked him again, but I won't underestimate the determination of a stalker. To be continued... in the forest where I wouldn't have expected another human for miles. One night I wake up and hear something, open my tent, and there was a guy sitting by where my fire had been right outside my tent. Nothing particularly noteworthy about the guy, just a fairly regular looking dude just sitting there a couple of feet from my tent. No bag or pack or anything with him, just a guy. He saw me open the tent, his eyes got huge like

he had just seen a ghost and he took off. It shook me up pretty badly but over the next day I managed to put it out of my mind fairly well after writing it off as just some odd occurrence and a guy that was probably high or something and had somehow managed to set up a camp coincidentally not far from mine. Then two days after that and 10 to 15 miles away in the totally random directions that nobody could take the same path as on accident, I was sitting by the fire that night and started hearing noises that I got more and more convinced were a person. I called out to them and out of the darkness someone was like, Do you know how to get to Bell's Canyon? I said no. convince we're a person. I called out to them and out of the darkness someone was like, do you know how to get to Bell's Canyon? I said no, I don't even think that's a real place.

They kept talking from just out of my line of vision. I tried to see them with my flashlight but they yelled, aim that way and kind of spooked and not wanting to anger them a potentially crazy person I did as they said. After like 15 minutes of me being very freaked out and them talking and asking completely random questions from the darkness it sounded like the voice had gotten closer so I shined my light that way again and it was the same dude who had been outside my tent two nights before. He had to have followed me almost 15 miles over two days because there was no way he could have just accidentally wound up in the same spot as vast as that wilderness is. No possible way. As soon as my light hit him he took off again. I started to chase him but didn't want to get lost in the wilderness in the dark so

stopped quickly after probably only 100 to 200 feet. This one couldn't be written off because the only way he could have been in both places is specifically if he was following me. I decided the trip was over the very first thing in the morning and hiked back over the three days constantly doubling back trying to throw anyone who was following off my trail and occasionally hiding and waiting to see if he would come by following me. I really can't describe how terrifying it was to feel like I was being hunted through the woods and to actually have to brainstorm on things I could do to best avoid potentially being murdered. On the first night of hiking out twice I heard what sounded like a person walking circles outside of my tent, but by the time I mustered the courage to look, nobody was there.

On the second night I heard what I thought was an animal making noises at first in the distance, but slowly decided sounded more like a human making animal calls, but could have actually been an animal, but I didn't actually see the guy again. But it really sounded like a person making howling noises. I literally almost cried when I finally got back to my car. The relief was so strong. To this day, probably the most terrifying experience I've ever had. I have no idea who the guy was or what his intentions were and no way of getting an explanation, but I really can't articulate just what a terrifying few days it was. I go for a short run every night, right after sundown, when it's finally cool out. I always take the exact same route, a loop through a quiet and sparsely populated neighborhood, and I now realize how easy of a target that made me.

A short section of the route passes by an unlit park. A couple of weeks ago I'd seen a guy hanging out behind a truck that was parked next to the entrance and it was so unusual to see someone else there that I decided to be extra cautious, turn around and head back home. I didn't get close enough to get a good look at his face. A few days later I saw what looked like the same guy by the park again. I figured I was probably just being paranoid but I decided to turn around again just in case. I hadn't noticed any activity by the park in the last several days so I resumed my normal route and didn't even think about that guy that I'd seen up there. Then last night as I was passing by the park I had this

inexplicable feeling that I was being watched. I couldn't spot anyone nearby but the park extends into pitch black darkness so someone could easily hide there unseen. I decided just to keep running, look confident and try to hurry past the park as quickly as I could. Suddenly I smelled a strong wave of cologne in the air. That immediately put me on edge and I'm pretty grateful that he was wearing it so it tipped me off. After I smelled it, I had no doubt in my mind that there was somebody nearby. But still, I didn't see any movements in front or on either side of me, and I was afraid to turn around. Immediately past the park, there's a bend in the road.

There's a house on the corner as you turn down the road. The house has lots of tall bushes in the front yard. I normally run right past those without even thinking of it but since my gut instinct was blaring like a siren, I quickly moved to the middle of the street as I rounded the corner. I shot a glance behind me to see if anyone had actually been nearby. I saw a man slowly walking through the front yard of the house on the corner, looking toward me. He paused behind the bushes as if trying to remain hidden. I could see his jeans and a pair of black and white sneakers, but little else. His slow footsteps were so creepy that I can't get the image out of my mind, as if he was trying to be as quiet as he could,

like a cat stalking its prey. If I hadn't made the split decision to run into the middle of the street and away from the yard, I would have been within grabbing distance. I don't know how I acted so quickly, thanks to adrenaline. I turned on the flashlight on my phone, aimed it right at the bushes hoping it startled or blinded him long enough for me to get some distance between us and started sprinting full speed down the road. It was probably the fastest sub run of my life. At the end of each block I glanced behind me to check if the man was there. Fortunately I lost sight of him. If he'd decided to sprint after me I'm not sure what I would have done. From what I could make out, this guy was at least a foot taller than me. By the time I got home, the adrenaline had dissipated and I was shaking with fear. I couldn't sleep at all last night.

What scares me the most about the whole thing is that I'm 99% sure this was the same guy I'd seen hanging out in front of the park recently. And now I can't shake the idea that he'd been watching me and calculated in the right time and path to try and sneak up behind me. He knew that I always ran past there around the same time, the thought that he was probably watching me from the darkness in the park last night before quietly moving out of it and starting to follow me makes me sick. Needless to say, I won't be running past that park at night anymore or running alone at night period. The terror I felt when I turned around and saw the guy's shoes slowly moving behind the bushes and his head facing me is like nothing else I'd ever felt before. I live in a small town, the kind where almost everyone knows each other, and it also really creeps me out to

think that this might have been someone I'd seen around town in the past. Part of me wishes I'd gotten a better look at his face for the police report. Another part is glad I didn't, since that image would no doubt haunt me. To be continued... It kind of sucked having to move away from Rochester, New York where all my friends and family were, but the salary this firm was offering was so sweet that I just couldn't turn it down. So I went online and got looking for apartments just outside of Philly, eventually finding an advert for a guy who was looking for a roommate for a super swanky apartment. I mean, this place was really nice and I could get why the guy would be looking for a roommate to split the rent with, especially since he seemed to be a younger dude who was probably in a similar position as I was. However, I didn't have the time to drive down to actually look at the place or meet the guy in person so I pretty much did all the arrangements by phone, which maybe, now that I look back on it, was my first big mistake.

So I move in with this guy, Daryl, who was super chill and pretty much spent all day playing 2K since he worked nights. I figured that he must have had a pretty high paying job and since he had this huge flat screen TV, lots of expensive clothes, a nice car, the works really. We didn't talk all that much since we were on such different schedules but eventually when I asked him exactly what it is that he did for a living he gave some super vague answer about having some kind of accountancy job. And no matter how much I pressed him for details he always gave some wishy-washy answer until he got tired of the questions and changed the subject. Like a lot of you reading this, I started to suspect that Daryl wasn't quite telling the truth about what he did for a living. Like not once did I see him wearing anything like a shirt and tie.

All his clothes were super upmarket sure, but they were all super casual. He also had a lot of visitors in the evenings before we left for work. At first, I figured they were just friends of his, but there were a handful he didn't seem all that close with. And every time they stopped by to see him, at some point they'd just scuffle off into Daryl's bedroom for a while, talking in hushed tones before the visitor eventually left. I knew something was going on, but as embarrassing as it is, back then I was pretty naive. Besides that, I really didn't think it was any of my business. The last thing I wanted to do was upset my new roommate and screw away such a sweet living arrangement. So, this one Saturday, I'm in the local 7-Eleven just like a block away from the apartment

when this dude comes up to me as I'm looking at coffee and asks me if I'm the guy who lives with Daryl. Obviously I'm all like, yeah, good to see you dude. I didn't recognize the guy but I figured that he'd visited the apartment one time and I just couldn't quite remember his face. He's being all friendly and whatnot, making small talk about this and that before he asked if I know whether or not Darrell was at home right then. I told him I didn't know, but that since it was like mid-afternoon that he probably was since it worked nights, whatever that entailed. The guy's all like, Okay, cool, I might stop by and say hi.

And all this stuff then makes some excuses and leaves the store. I pick up a few things and head back to the apartment, half expecting to see the guy from the 7-Eleven when I walk through the door. Only he's not there, and when I tell Daryl about how I saw one of his buddies in the store, he has no idea who I'm talking about. Even when I describe the guy in quite vivid detail, he has absolutely zero clue who I'm referring to. He starts reeling off names asking if it was Deshawn or Robbie or Angelo and it's then that I sort of realize that the guy haven't given me a name at all. Which is weird right? I mean I

thought it was. You'd think the dude would have been like tell him such and such said hi or at least something like that. I didn't really think anything of it at the time, but Daryl seemed just a little too freaked out by the encounter for my liking, and in the moments after I told him, he marches off into his bedroom and stays there for the rest of the evening, talking to someone, I'm guessing on the phone, in those same hushed tones that I was used to hearing. A few days after this I'm walking back up towards the 7-11 to grab some milk for coffee when I see the same dude that hadn't given his name parked up at the side of the road. He calls out to me, greeting me and making chit chat in that

same warm way he had before, before again asking if Daryl was home. This time I straight up lie to him, telling him that yeah, Daryl was home, only this time he was with a bunch of his friends playing 2K. He wasn't. He was actually out visiting family across the city, but there was something about this guy that I really, really didn't like. I quickly make an excuse telling him I had to go and it was only then that this guy's demeanor started to change. He wasn't all smiles and laughs anymore. He just eyeballed me as I walked away and he was still there when I walked back, just watching me as I walked towards our apartment. I should have seen it coming and I feel like such an idiot for not knowing what I was headed for,

but I guess in hindsight it's always 2020. Because a couple of nights later I was just about to catch some sleep when Daryl finally comes home from work. He seems a little shaken and asked me if anyone had called by the apartment that evening. I tell him no, it's been pretty quiet, but the answer doesn't satisfy him. He asked me if I'd seen anyone at all, anyone hanging around the area that I didn't recognize. I'd already told him about the second encounter that I'd had with the 7-Eleven guy, and this time it had creeped him out even more. He asked if I'd seen that same guy at any point that evening, and I told him no, but I hadn't seen him since that weekday evening.

I turned the whole thing around and asked him why he was so nervous about this. If anything had happened at work that evening but he was his usual cagey self. He just retreated to his bedroom where he apparently went straight to sleep which is exactly what I did too. Next thing I know I'm waking up to this loud banging on the front door to our apartment. I had pretty much knew exactly what the deal was. Darrow had gone out to make a call, as he sometimes did at this time of night, and had left his keys in the apartment. This had happened a handful of times before,

and I was honestly getting really sick of being woken up by it. I suggested he actually put his car keys and apartment keys on the same key ring, but nope, apparently that meant if he lost one set, he lost both. Which maybe was quite a smart idea in the long run, but that's beside the point. So I'm all bleary-eyed, shuffling toward the front door in my underwear and a t-shirt when he starts banging again. I'm like, alright, alright, I'm coming, stop with the banging, Jesus. Before I undo the deadbolts and open the door, I start saying something like,

you really should just attach those freaking keys, when I see it's not Daryl at all. In fact, I have no idea who the guy at the door is, because he's wearing a freaking ski mask, and I have absolutely not the time or will to ask him, nor the other two idiots that he's wearing a freaking ski mask and I have absolutely not the time or will to ask him, nor the other two idiots that he's with. Because as soon as I open the door, he points a gun in my face and then frog marches me back inside the apartment before locking the door behind them. The ski mask guy makes me kneel on the floor in the TV room and whispers to me that if I shout or anything he's going to blow my brains out. I was absolutely terrified, I mean more scared than I've ever been in my entire life.

I had these uncontrollable shakes, like I had trouble just holding my head up. It was more comfortable for me to just rest my chin against my chest and pray that it'd all be over soon. This had a dual purpose too because the last thing I saw before I did so and shut my eyes tight was one of the guys placing an empty plastic bottle of the muzzle on his pistol. Naive over something I was, yes, but I knew enough to know that this was some kind of ad hoc way to silence a shot. I didn't want to see what happened next and I'm glad I didn't because they burst into Daryl's room and I heard the pop of that pistol as they shot him. I thought he was dead for a few minutes, like I was convinced that they just straight up executed him right there in his bed.

That was until they dragged him out of the bedroom, bleeding and cursing and threw him down on the TV room floor a few meters away from me. The one guy kept his gun to the back of my head while they pretty much tortured Daryl right there in the TV room. One guy stamped on the bullet wound that he had, leaning on it with a sneaker while the other forced his face into a couch cushion to muffle the screams. I mean it was all obviously horrible what they were doing, and that was disturbing enough, but what really got me was how they seemed to enjoy the whole thing, how they seemed to take an immense amount of personal pleasure in causing us both as much pain and distress as was physically possible.

It was like hearing Darrow's cries of pain was the funniest joke they'd ever heard, how the sight of his blood was the most fascinating, satisfying thing they'd ever seen. And it was then that it all came out. Like I said, you might have guessed what the deal was by now, but I pretty much had no idea back then. I was just so young and dumb. Daryl was a drug dealer and this was a robbery. So they beat the life out of him until he finally spoke up and told them where he kept his money in his stash but I mean for a while there I thought they might have gotten the wrong place. Daryl flat out denied knowing what they were talking about and insisted that they got in the wrong

place and how there was nothing to find there but in the end he broke and told them. They then took to clearing him out and from what he told me after he'd been discharged from the hospital for a fairly superficial gunshot wound to the shoulder, they'd taken him for about $20,000 plus. I had to cover Daryl's rent for a few months until he was well enough to get himself a real job. Turns out he was an actual college graduate with a business degree and was dealing in college to make a little money. When he graduated, the money came too easy that he just didn't bother to get a legit job. He wasn't a gangster, he just didn't have that kind of personality,

which I suppose is what made him the perfect prey for the actual criminals that broke in that night. We got over what happened, but obviously Daryl still has this big old scar on his shoulder, a reminder of one of the worst nights of our lives, one that'll always be with us no matter where we go, or what we do, or who we become. To be continued... New York. We grow a few veggies, keep a few chickens, nothing too spectacular, but it's home and we love it. But a little while ago, back in early 2019, we got woken up by something in the middle of the night that scared the absolute life out of us. We have this big front yard with flower beds and a big lawn and that's where we keep the chickens and the dog too. So me, my mom, and my dad were all sleeping one night when we're woken

up by this huge crash in the front yard. I can hear our dog barking really really loud and violently before there's like this yelping sound from it and he goes quiet. I walk out into the hallway and see my dad storming out of my parents bedroom rushing down the stairs to get his shotgun. Me and my mom were about to follow him outside to get a look at whatever was going on but he yells at us to call the cops, stay inside and not follow him under any circumstances. My dad grabs the phone and I rush back into my bedroom to watch from the window. As soon as I look out I see this car that smashed through the fence of our yard and torn up a section of our lawn. It's

obviously really dark out and the car's headlights are only lighting up a section of our yard so I can't really see much outside of the beams. But I do see something that absolutely breaks my heart. It's our dog, lying on the front lawn not moving at all. He looked really hurt, something had really really messed him up. But given that he was barking after the actual smash of the car, it couldn't have been the impact that hurt him so bad. Something else entirely. What I saw next was only because my dad had this little light attached to the end of his shotgun. He starts shining it around the front yard as I hear my mom calling 911 in the hallway,

telling them that something horrible had happened at our address and for them to come as quickly as they could. Then my dad shines the shotgun light over towards the chicken coop and I saw something that I continue to see in my nightmares for a long time to come. It was a man, completely naked from head to toe, kneeling among torn out feathers and broken bodies, and he was sinking his teeth into the flesh of a still living chicken that he held tight in his grip. Every time he bit into the chicken, it would flap and shake, making the most awful screeching noises as he tore more raw flesh from its body. My dad racked a shell into the chamber and started screaming at the guy to get out of the chicken coop

But the guy barely listens at first Just carries on ripping this big brown chicken apart with his bare hands and teeth And by the time he does actually start listening to my dad God, it was horrible He looked right into the light of the shotgun so that his face was perfectly lit up and he smiled There was blood and feathers so that his face was perfectly lit up and he smiled. There was blood and feathers all over his face and chin. He looked monstrous, totally insane, eyes bulging out of their sockets. I think even to this day it's probably the most terrifying thing I'd ever seen.

I started banging on the window and begging my dad to come back inside. I was so scared the guy was going to attack him or something and if he did that dad would shoot him. And I know it's maybe a little lame of me but I just didn't want to see any of that. I was already distraught from seeing our dog just lying there all lifeless on the lawn and I know I wouldn't be able to handle it if anything had happened to my dad. Luckily the guy didn't bother doing anything to my dad at first. I think he was just so blinded by the light of the shotgun that he just sort of stared into the flashlight, hypnotized by it for a few seconds. But he soon rose up off of his knees, that bloody twitching

chicken still in his grip, and started to make a move towards my dad. As soon as he did, the sound of dad's shotgun rang out as he fired a shot above the guy's head, but the guy hardly flinched. That's when I realized he must have been on some kind of drug or something, maybe meth or PCP or whatever. He didn't seem scared at all by the fact that he'd almost had his head blown off, but it was definitely enough to put him off from straight up attacking my dad. He just carried on smiling though, kneeling back down among the chickens as he carried on ripping them apart. It felt like an hour before I finally saw the red and blue flashing lights of the cop cars coming down the road, but from what I learned later it was only a couple of minutes before they actually arrived since they happened to have a unit in the area already down highway patrol. When they arrested the guy, he got really really crazy and they had

to actually use their tasers which had little effect at first and pepper spray on the guy just to get him on the ground. We later found out that the guy, named John Menny was actually from Florida, that there had been a manhunt for him, and he'd somehow gotten all the way up to New York State using stolen cars and hiding himself away in trucks. We weren't the only place he'd attacked either, since he actually killed another dog on a different farm maybe less than two miles away from us. That was definitely the most terrifying thing I'd ever woken up to in the middle of the night, by a long shot too.

Thankfully, our dog survived. Do you know where the term nightmare comes from? Mare is an old English word meaning demon, or more specifically, incubus, which are said to be male demons who prey on women in the dead of night. The word incubus is derived from the Latin word incuber, which means to lie upon, which leads me to my next point, sleep paralysis. I've suffered from the phenomenon known as sleep paralysis ever since I was a child. For the small number of you who might not know what exactly that is, sleep paralysis is something that can occur while a person is either falling asleep or waking up where they are completely and utterly unable to move or speak. During such episodes, which thank god only tend to last a few minutes, a person might suffer

hallucinations both visual and audio, which are absolutely skin-crawlingly terrifying. Like me for example, I'd say some of the worst moments of my life have been during bouts of sleep paralysis. Sometimes I'll wake up in the middle of the night and hear this really faint, like, hissing or buzzing noise coming from the other side of the bedroom. Sometimes it's just a low-volume static sound, but other times it's like I can hear whispers in the dark. Along with a shadowy black figure that either manifests itself by standing in the corner of the room or when the episodes are at their worst, sitting on my chest staring down at me. It used to traumatize me as a child. I really did think it was some kind of ghost or demonic force that was visiting me during the night. Having such terrible bouts of paralysis

obviously caused me to lose sleep and it got so bad that I'd actually be straight up terrified of falling asleep in general. This just exacerbated my condition as sleep paralysis can become more frequent and potent while sleep deprived. It got to the point where at around 13 years old, I began to become so intensely depressed that I actually contemplated taking my own life. At the time I was suffering, there had been no major drug trials to find something to actually treat sleep paralysis, only secondary treatment plans that focused on antidepressants to treat the residual effects of the condition. My parents weren't willing to just dope me up at such an early age, so the focus for me in particular came in the form of education on what exactly was happening to me. I was taught to

understand and get a handle on what the doctors called the catastrophic cognitions that are brought on by the bouts of paralysis, and once I actually understood what was happening to me and why it was happening to me, the episodes got a little easier to deal. Then, after about six months of going to a sleep therapist, not only did we manage to reduce the frequency and intensity of the episodes, but when they did actually occur, they were much more easier to deal with. And so it went, for years on years until my condition was just something I learned to live with. My friends were aware of it, my boyfriends accepted it, comforting me where and when they could.

Life with sleep paralysis wasn't so bad in the end, that was until last year, when it contributed to one of the most painfully terrifying experiences of my entire life. At first it was a night like any other. Well, aside from the obvious episode. I had just moved into a new apartment, which meant I wasn't getting the best sleep possible. Little side note, when you first sleep somewhere new, half your brain actually stays awake. It's some kind of evolutionary benefit type of deal, supposed to keep you safe from saber-toothed tigers or whatever other dangers our primeval ancestors used to face, but no doubt it's something that comes in handy for our more recent predecessors. I'd spoken to one or two of

the apartment building's occupants on the day I'd moved in, and one guy had been nice enough to actually help me shift a few of the heavier boxes up the many flights of stairs. He was an older guy, slick back, salt and pepper hair with these small dark eyes and he told me if I ever needed anything to call up to his apartment on the top floor. He seemed like a kind, generous soul, exactly what the world needs more of. So on the night in question, I woke from a light slumber, lying on my back and instantly recognizing that old familiar feeling of tingling and numbness. Like a really diluted version of that pins and needles feeling when your foot goes to sleep.

I heard that same hissing noise I had become accustomed to hearing, like the sound of leaking gas that seethed with faint ripples, making it almost, like the sound of leaking gas that seethed with faint ripples, making it almost sound like the whispering of hundreds of voices and visible people crowding around my bed. And just like when I was a kid, I caught sight of that horrifically familiar black shape out of the corner of my eye. It just hovered in the darkness, a murky shadow silhouetted by the faint glow of orange streetlights on the road outside. I did what I'd trained myself to do over the years, tried to control my breathing, letting the mantra, it'll be over soon, it'll be over soon, just roll around my mind.

What I was seeing, what I was hearing, none of it was real. It was all just a waking nightmare, nothing more than that. The child I had been had been terrified out of her mind by the whispers, by the shapes, but the adult I had grown into could handle it, like it was nothing more than a bad horror movie. But then for the first time in my entire life, for the very first time in all the years I'd been suffering from sleep paralysis, I saw that shadowy figure in my entire life. For the very first time in all the years I've been suffering from sleep paralysis, I saw that shadowy figure in my peripheral vision actually move. I felt my heart begin to pound in my chest as I lost control of my breaths, watching as it slowly

began to creep closer and closer to my bed. It was an entirely new and terrifying experience. I had learned to deal with my condition as it was, but this apparent evolution of the symptoms took me right back to that same terror I felt as a child. I was forced just to lie there, trying and failing to control my thoughts and breathing as the figure halted its steps at the edge of my bed. I hadn't been able to bring myself to actually look directly at it, not until it was so close, and besides that, I only had very minimal control over my facial muscles while my body itself is completely paralyzed. But something about the figure's face seemed strangely familiar to me. The structure and profile sparked something in my memory. Then, in a moment of pure, horrifying recognition, I realized who it was.

It was the guy from the top floor, and the one that had helped me move boxes on the day I moved in. In this time, there was no warm or friendly look in his eyes, and his lips had curled into a hungry, wolfish grin. This was no hallucination. He was real, and he was actually standing over me, staring down at my paralyzed body. The moment after he reached down and peeled back the bedsheets to look at me, I clamped my eyes shut. I knew I wouldn't be able to feel what he was about to do, but I also knew I didn't want to have to see it either. The episode would be over in a minute or two tops, and then I would be able to do but I also knew I didn't want to have to see it either. The episode would be over in a minute or two tops and then I would be able to do something about it. What exactly that was I wasn't

sure but that's the thought that got me through one of the most appallingly traumatic few moments of my life. By the time I started to sense the feeling returning my limbs and open my eyes there was no one in my bedroom anymore. I sat there on my bed for a minute, crying and shaking, second guessing myself, wondering if that guy really had been there or if it was just a horrible new evolution in my condition. But my bedroom door was open and the hall light was on. All things that hadn't been the case when I'd gone to bed that night. I had no idea how someone would have gotten into my apartment, but I had to face the facts as they appeared to me. The guy upstairs had been in my bedroom that night and although I wasn't sure

exactly what he'd done to me, he had done something and it was something god awful. The next morning I called into work to let them know that I was taking a mental health day. But instead of just binging terrible TV shows on my couch with a pint of ice cream like I'd done in the past, I called the police. To put it bluntly, there wasn't a whole lot they could do about what happened. There was very little in the way of actual tangible evidence that there had been any intruders that night. They offered to do the whole assault kit thing, but as much as I wasn't entirely sure what they'd done, I was almost certain that they hadn't done that.

I have to make it clear that as much as they couldn't help, the police officer I was put in touch with was extremely nice and suggested a bunch of different things to try and catch the guy, including installing what amounted to a nanny cam in my bedroom. But I opted for another one of her suggestions which involved just getting out of that apartment block. Luckily I had a close friend living nearby that offered to let me stay at their place until I could save up the money for a new flat deposit. They were only living in a small studio and living there with them in such confined quarters did get to us after a while but I'll always be eternally grateful for the help they gave me during such a horrific time in my life. I think the only thing that really haunts

me about the whole thing aside from the actual memories of that night are the fact that the guy who was in my room is, as far as I know, still free to walk among us. It's knowing that he still has the capacity to do something like that again and I pray that no one else has to go through what I did. To be continued... me losing my life. I've read a few of those scary middle of the night type stories and comments that, as much as they've been creepy, have ended with people just rolling over and going back to sleep. A nightmare. A wild animal banging on their window. That sort of thing. No offense intended, I'm sure those things scare the life out of them, but it's obvious that they weren't in fear for their lives. So, anyway, without further ado, this is the story of one of the worst nights of my life.

So on the night in question, I woke up at about 3 in the morning feeling really, really bad. It took me a moment to work out just what was wrong with me, but I quickly realized that I had this intense burning sensation in my abdomen, like just to the right of my belly button. I was sweating so much my sheets were soaked and as I rolled out of bed to turn the lights on, my heart rate went through the freaking roof. The muscle cramps were so bad that I was almost bent doubled over as I headed off into the bathroom to get some Tylenol. I mean they were so bad that at first I thought my appendix might have burst, which as some of you might well know, can be pretty serious. I stagger into the little kitchen of the apartment I was living in at the time to get a glass of

water since I've never been able to dry swallow pills. Then I just sat there at the kitchen table for what seemed like a long time, until it got to the point where I was seriously considering just calling 911 and getting myself into an ambulance. I knew it would be a couple of grand just to get one over to my apartment, but there was no way I'd be able to drive out to the hospital with the pain as bad as it was. I'd crash my car and get myself killed long before whatever mysterious ailment I had banished to finish me off. Screw it. I eventually thought, and stumbled back in my bedroom to grab my phone to dial 911. As I'm online with the dispatcher describing exactly how bad the searing pain in my abdomen was,

I found I just couldn't stand up anymore. So I sat back down on my bed as I'm grimacing in pain. My sheets were bundled up under my butt and I know it sounds kind of dumb but any kind of discomfort was just made utterly unbearable by the pain I was in. So I sit up and pull them out from under me tossing them up near my pillows so I could just level myself out on the mattress. That's when I saw it. Lying on my mattress, all squished up and

gooey from being crushed, was the biggest black widow spider I'd ever seen. My heart was already racing and I was sweating bullets, but seeing that thing sent me into an absolute panic. I pulled my shirt up and saw a bunch of that same spider's goo drying on my stomach, along with two telltale little holes where the spider had bitten me. I genuinely thought I was going to die if the ambulance didn't get there in time. I knew next to nothing about venomous spiders at the time and I blurted out the revelation to the 911 operator, stammering about how something had bitten me and for the ambulance crew to please,

please hurry. They did what they could for me, trying to keep me calm, but I was full on hyperventilating by that point, convinced that my life was in grave danger. Now long story short, as incredibly painful and distressing as it was, one of the paramedics reassured me that fatalities from Black Widow's spider bites are extremely rare and even though they'd been treating me with anti-Vetam along with some serious doses of painkillers and anti-inflammatories I was almost certainly going to be okay. The relief was palpable. I just remember crying my eyes out in the ambulance and all the exhaustion and pain and relief

just pouring out of me as I thanked the paramedics before they wheeled me into the emergency room. It was a few hours for me to get the proper treatment and evaluation but I was discharged soon after so I could catch a taxi back to my apartment. So that's my story and if anyone can learn anything from this about how not to fly into a fit of panic when they're bitten by a black widow spider, then I suppose I might have earned myself a little good karma. Like obviously getting yourself the proper treatment as soon as possible, but don't be fooled by those intimidating red and black appearances and that horror movie name. Black widows are a lot of bark, but a distinctly non-fatal bite. I live here in Detroit with my cat named Bruce. He's honestly my whole world and I love him to pieces. And that's down to much more than him just being a sweetie pie.

So now I'll tell you the story of why my cat means the absolute world to me and when I'm done, you'll see how I'm not just some crazy cat lady and understand exactly how much I owe to my little guy. So one night, a couple of years back, Bruce woke me up by pawing at my face. Now this wasn't something entirely new. Sometimes he'd wake me up during the mad half hour that most cats seem to enjoy in the middle of the night, jumping up on the shelves in the TV room and knocking things over. This is why we can't have nice things, Bruce. This was definitely the first time he'd ever gotten up onto my bed and actually pawed at my face and since I had work early the next morning, I was not pleased. So I give him a gentle shove off of my bed, I know it sounds mean but he can

take it, and tell him what a rude young man he was being waking me up like that before I roll over and drift off back to sleep. But then he does it again, climbs up onto my bed and starts pawing at my face again while doing these high-pitched little scream meows. Now, I always, always feed Bruce before I go to bed, to stop this exact kind of thing from happening. So I politely remind my little guy that he does in fact have food in his bowl and that if he ate it all, I'm not giving him any more. The last thing I wanted was for him to be one of those fat cats with their tummy fur rubbing against the ground whenever he walked anywhere. So again, I pushed him off the bed, tell him to behave, and try to get back to sleep. I suppose you can imagine what happened next, right?

Yep, right as I'm about to drift off, he does it again. I'm pretty furious by this point. I am in no mood whatsoever to have my sleep disturbed over and over again, so I get up, scoop him into my arms and walk him into the other room with the intention of putting his water and food in there and leaving him until morning with a few of his toys. But right as I get into the hallway of my apartment, I smell it. Gas. There was an actual freaking gas leak in my kitchen. Not a huge amount had leaked, but over the course of the night it might as well have filled up my kitchen and the hallway. Not to mention the fact that I'm a smoker. I love a cigarette with my morning coffee so

there's every chance that if that gas didn't actually suffocate me during the night I'd have gotten up the next morning, lit up my morning smoke, then boom, I'd be a goner. I'm pretty sure Bruce saved my life that night. If it wasn't for him pawing at my face over and over again, there's a pretty good chance I might not be here to tell you guys this little story of mine. So I'm guessing you can all see why I love my little hero so much. I mean, I love cats. I've always adored the little furballs way more than dogs too, no offense to them. But Bruce is probably the reason I'm actually still alive right now.

And for that, I will always be grateful. Okay, so we're going back a few years here to when I first moved out of my mom and dad's house and into my first ever apartment. It wasn't the most luxurious place to live, not by a long shot. A lot of stuff needed fixing up and the plumbing was terrible and the bed springs creaked with every little movement I'd make at night. But it was cheap, really cheap and for someone like me with a low paying service job, it gave me a lot of extra disposable income that I could spend and save. So about a month or so into living in that little apartment, the ceiling fan in my bedroom started making these weird clicking noises. I could put up with some sketchy plumbing as long as the shower and the toilet flush still work but this was the middle of the summer in Miami and not beachside either. So if that thing decided to stop working,

trying to get to sleep would be pretty unbearable. I called the landlord, let him know the problem, he said that he'd send a repair guy out as soon as he could. But then the guy turned up and checked the ceiling fan out. He basically said, there's nothing wrong with it, it's just old. And young dumb me just trusted that he was right. So one night, it's extra hot and humid, so I turn the ceiling fan up to the settings just before full blast before climbing into bed. I can hear it making those clicking sounds like extra loud as I'm drifting off but I put on a podcast on my phone to kind of drown it out and drift off. Besides rhythmic sounds like that aren't the worst thing and a lot of people like myself find that

they can actually get to sleep like that. I mean some people even use an actual metronome to kind of hypnotize themselves into getting to sleep, but it might have been a few hours later when I woke up to a whining, whirring sound coming from above me. I couldn't quite work out where it was coming from at first, and in my tired state I rolled over and had to flick on the bedside lamp before I could figure out what exactly was making that noise. It was the ceiling fan. And right when I look up, I see how it's spinning all loose on its moorings, how it's looking increasingly out of control. Then all of a sudden, it cracks out of the actual ceiling and comes hurtling down towards me, right towards my face while spinning ridiculously fast. I thought that was it right there, how that ceiling fan was about to take my head clean off

or at least do so much damage to me that I'd bleed to death right there in my bed. It's so weird when I look back at it, like they say the time slows down in situations like that and in a sense they're right. It obviously didn't happen in slow motion but I remember such bizarre details when I look back at it how I noticed a little puff of plaster as soon as the fan came loose how I noticed how dusty the old thing was as it got closer and bigger plunging towards my face.

Instinctually I lay back down and tried to cover my face, letting out a screech of fear as I did so, then just kind of waiting for the pain to hit. But right as it was about to smash into my face, right as it was about to rip me up beyond all recognition, whatever electrical wire that it was hooked up to suddenly grew taut and held it right there in the air above me, stopping it from crashing into me. All that hit me was a little of the ceiling plaster and some dust, and I remember that weird anticlimactic feeling to this day, like it's burned into my memory. But it wasn't quite over there.

It was still spinning really, really fast, and because it wasn't locked into the ceiling anymore, it was like swaying back and forth in the air above me. Maybe only like a few inches above my body and I wasn't sure how long it was going to hold. I had to really really carefully slide off of my bed still terrified that the spinning blades were going to cut me up. It was painstaking. Moved too quick and I might clip my head or a knee on the fan. Moved too slow and I might just still be under it when the thing fell down on top of me. I made it out from under that thing and rushed towards the wall mounted control unit before turning it off completely. I had knocks on my door from neighbors soon after who thought that

there had been a home invasion or something. Every single one of them gasped when they saw just how close I'd been to being sliced and diced by the freaking ceiling fan. I slept on my couch that night, or rather, tried to sleep. I was still pumped with adrenaline from having the whole thing happen. The next morning, if you can believe it, the landlord actually blamed me for what had happened, flicking back and forth between telling me that I had it spinning too fast to not properly communicating the problem to the lazy repair guy who'd come out to check on it. It was absolutely outrageous, and only when I'd threatened civil litigation did he actually relent and agree to a rent reduction for the next few months to apologize. He ended up having a whole new ceiling fan installed, but you can bet your bottom I rearranged my bedroom so that my bed wasn't underneath that fan anymore.

Sure it was a little less comfortable getting to sleep during the summer, but after what happened that night I just wasn't about to risk it. Let's just say I had a wear complex about ceiling fans ever since and I never ever set them to full blast, no matter how hot it is. I grew up in a place called Hemel Hempstead here in the UK. It's a fairly small but old town just over 20 miles outside of London. Nothing much happens there. It's honestly a pretty boring place. But it currently wasn't boring in December of 2005.

In fact, something happened down there that I don't think anyone who was around for it will ever forget. So picture the scene. It's almost Christmas for 17-year-old me. Decorations are going up all over town. Christmas songs are starting to be getting played on the radio, and with every day that passes, the town center is getting busier and busier with everyone doing all their Christmas shopping. Saturday evening of the 10th of December was one pretty much like any other. I played a lot of football in the park with my mates in the

afternoon then got home just after dark to tuck into the Indian takeaway that my dad brought home pretty much every Saturday, a fond little tradition we had going at the time. Mom and dad stayed up quite late, just watching telly and working their way through a bottle of wine while I stayed up in my room playing PC games until about 2am the next morning. I was absolutely exhausted by the time it came to climb into bed and I drifted off fairly quickly, having planned on sleeping until late Sunday morning. But just a few hours later I found myself jolted awake by something horrifically loud. I rolled over in a fright, and because it was still dark at the time of the morning, it took me a minute to work out that there was broken glass all over my bed and all over my carpet. The windows of my bedroom being completely and utterly smashed in, and there was this deep rumbling sound grumbling all over the neighborhood outside. I had no idea what was going on,

but I remember my first thought being that her house was being like violently burgled or something, so I threw my trainers on to not cut my feet on any of the broken glass before getting up to run into my mom and dad's room, and that's when I caught a glimpse of the open windows. In the distance, this huge bright orange fireball was rising up into the sky. I mean, it was absolutely massive and looked almost identical to the kind you see after a nuclear explosion. I was absolutely horrified, like I legitimately thought someone had dropped a bomb on the UK and a thousand terrified thoughts rushed through my head all at once, picturing the nuclear apocalypse that would inevitably follow.

The entire world was about to be thrown into a horrific atomic dark age and I believed that I was witnessing the first moments of it. Right then my dad came running into my room to check if I was okay and when he saw that fireball and uttered a shell shocked oh my god. He had a fear in his eyes that I'd never seen before or since. We both watched for a moment as fires engulfed a huge spot on the horizon and big patches of the starry night sky were being totally blocked out by smoke. Then we saw and heard more explosions, flashes of orange on the horizon, and these weren't nearly as big as the first one. So at the time, I was obsessed with this game called Fallout 2. It was a bit of a cult hit at

the time. Not all that many people have heard of it, unlike now when all the other games have meant that pretty much every gamer on every platform is familiar with the Fallout universe and all its entails. I absolutely love Fallout 2. I still do, because it completely captured my imagination and filled me with a morbid fascination with all things atomic warfare related. It sounds a bit daft in retrospect and maybe it was just how tired and frightened I was, but I really did think it was the end. But dad was quick to reassure me, in a pretty grim way to be honest. It can't be a nuclear bomb, he said, still sounding pretty shaken. I mean, if it was, we'd all be dead, son. Quick as a flash. Besides, there is an oil storage place out those ways, isn't there? It's gotta be that.

And he was dead right. Because the morning of the 11th of December 2005 was the day the Hertfordshire Oil Storage Terminal blew up in what became known as the Buncefield Explosion. From what I read later, the first explosion, the one that blew our windows out, happened just after 6am and firefighters were on the scene less than 10 minutes later. Later the first explosion, the one that blew our windows out, happened just after 6am and firefighters were on the scene less than 10 minutes later.

It was all because of a fuel leak apparently, quite a slow one that caused a vapor cloud that was eventually ignited by something, causing a gigantic boom that was apparently the biggest explosion in Europe since the end of World War 2. I know the bang had smashed out windows for miles and all that, which actually still boggles my mind to this day, but you really didn't get a sense of the destruction until the sun had risen a little bit and you saw the cloud of smoke rising from the oil terminal. It was gargantuan, and I know I can't get it across in words like, if you get a chance, google it and you'll see what I mean.

It blocked out half the bloody sky, like I've only seen things that big in freaking Godzilla movies and stuff. It was so massive it was like your brain just couldn't even compute the size of it. I really haven't seen anything as big before or since. About two hours after the explosion we got a knock on the front door from the police, telling us and our neighbors that we had to evacuate our houses for safety reasons. Not only was there broken glass everywhere, but apparently local authorities were extremely concerned that the wind might change and that the huge smoke cloud would engulf the area, which as you can imagine, would have been really bad news for us.

We ended up staying in a hotel for a few days and as a weird kind of silver lining we got a few days off of school since a lot of similar damage was done to the buildings there and they had to get structural engineers in to give the place a look over before they announced it was safe. I'm not traumatized by what happened that morning but all in all the Buncefield explosion was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life, and one that I will never, ever forget, as long as I live. To be continued... and maybe even hear your story featured on the next video. And join my Discord to interact with me and other listeners directly. And if you want to support me even more, grab early access to all future narrations for $1 a month on Patreon and maybe even pick up some Let's Read merch on Spreadshirt.

And check out the Let's Read podcast where you can hear all these stories in long compilation form and save huge on data. Located anywhere you listen to podcasts. Links in the bio. Thanks so much, friends. And remember, I love lasagna.