The Lets Read Podcast - 120: Halloween & Creepy Bar Stories | 19 True Scary Horror Stories | EP 108

Episode Date: February 1, 2022

This episode includes narrations of true creepy encounters submitted by normal folks just like yourself. Today you'll experience horrifying stories about Halloween, Bars/Pubs & Hit Lists Plans... Be sure to check out my guest's show! -- "Let's Not Meet: A True Horror Podcast" https://open.spotify.com/show/5mrS2aDwNdAAwlqRkvNVFd HAVE A STORY TO SUBMIT?► www.Reddit.com/r/LetsReadOfficial FOLLOW ME ON - ►YouTube - https://www.youtube.com/c/letsreadofficial ► Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/letsread.official/ ► Twitter - https://twitter.com/LetsReadCreepy ♫ Background Music & Audio Remastering: Simon de Beer https://www.instagram.com/simon_db98/ PATREON for EARLY ACCESS!►http://patreon.com/LetsRead

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Find a Michelin TreadExperts dealer near you at TreadExperts.ca slash locations. From tires to auto repair, we're always there. TreadExperts.ca. Before the podcast begins, I just wanted to say that I had the pleasure to collaborate with Andrew Tate of the Let's Not Meet podcast. It's a true horror podcast just like my own, and you'll get to hear a sample of his content after this first set of spooky stories. He also runs the paranormal podcast Odd Trails, and I'll be appearing on both those podcasts as well. So be sure to check them out on Spotify, Apple, or wherever you get your podcasts. Enjoy. The series of events told in this story occurred during my senior year of college. Until my junior year, my schooling had been completely covered by a scholarship.

Work was not a real priority before then. However, as my third year approached, I finally began taking the search for employment more seriously. I got lucky and was hired on as a bartender at a well-known drinking spot. Despite the pay being good and the tips fantastic, my limited hours made getting by very hard. Nonetheless, I loved the job and looked forward to every shift. My boss was barely older than me and pretty cool. She served as a good role model to me. Her success in business inspired me to begin my own just out of college. Not long after I was hired she began having ladies night twice a week. It became popular and the bar quickly earned a reputation as a safe place for women to let their hair down.

We did have the rare instance of guys getting too forceful but the bouncers never let things get out of hand. I bring this up because of the events that took place my final year of school. The night in question was an average Friday. I'd been working my tail off since I arrived at 7. Finally I got a few minutes to myself at around 10.30 and took a break. I grabbed any full bags of trash I could find and headed out to the side door. Doug, who was one of the line cooks, followed me. He lit a cigarette and stood just outside the door. We began talking about work, I think, and I walked toward the dumpster.

Both bags were really heavy, so I had to throw them in one by one. I could hear some shuffling on the other side of the dumpster. Both bags were really heavy so I had to throw them in one by one. I could hear some shuffling on the other side of the dumpster. Since I figured it was rats I didn't dare take a look. When I threw the first bag in the container moved slightly. The shuffling noise stopped which made sense. The idea of rats running around a mere 10 feet away gave me the willies. I wanted to get away as fast as I could so I quickly grabbed the second bag and heav the willies. I wanted to get away as fast as I could so I quickly grabbed the second bag and heaved it in. I turned to walk away and heard a whining sound behind me. It was quickly followed by a shushing. This obviously wasn't rats. I had no reason to be afraid, I was more curious than anything. When I walked around to the other side, I saw

someone I assumed to be a man, getting up and doing up his trousers. I looked at him and said, what are you doing over here? I was genuinely confused for a moment. He glanced down real fast and then back at me. He had a terrified expression. I hadn't seen anything on the ground when he got up, but when I glanced back down, I saw a small humanoid shape laying still on a big piece of cardboard. I started to panic. I thought he'd killed someone. The thing with his pants didn't quite compute yet.

He knew I'd seen it and gave me this menacing stare. Out of nowhere, Doug starts asking me what I'm doing. The guy looks over towards Doug, then back at me. I could tell he was weighing his options. Lucky for me, he decided to run off down the alley. He reached the street and slipped off into the darkness. I let out a sigh and remembered the body on the ground. I crouched down to check the person's pulse.

When I got close, I could see it was a woman. Her face was all kinds of busted up and bloody. I touched her neck and she moaned. I was shocked at first, but quickly relieved. She was slowly coming to. The pain must have been hitting her. She began moaning much louder. I started talking to her softly. When her eyes opened, she began yelling and crying. I heard Doug walk up behind me.

What is going on? Is she okay? Without even looking, I told him to call 911. I could hear him dialing behind me. I tried to calm her down. I reassured her that I was there to help. The yelling stopped, but she continued weeping, and out of nowhere, she quietly whispered, Did he violate me? I hadn't thought about this until she mentioned it. The doing up of the pants finally clicked. I looked down and saw that her skirt had been lifted up and her underwear had been torn off. I hesitated, unsure of what to say. I must have said ugh too many times, confused, and her quiet weeping broke out into a loud wailing. I felt so sad for her. I almost broke out into sobs myself, but I stayed my emotions.

The last thing she needed in her present state was another bawling woman. I fought the urge to push her skirt down. I knew if I was in her position, I wouldn't want a bunch of strangers ogling at my crotch, and instead, I took off my apron and placed it over her. I hoped it wouldn't corrupt any evidence and I heard Doug talking behind me and became afraid his presence may cause her to freak out. I stood up real fast and asked him to step back. They didn't argue.

As we waited for the ambulance I helped her hand and tried to reassure her. When they arrived I took one paramedic aside and gave her a quick synopsis of the situation. She thanked me and joined her colleague in placing the poor girl on the stretcher. The police arrived soon after. I was speaking to them when the ambulance took her away. The news must have gotten back to the rest of the staff. My boss joined me in the kitchen where I was giving an officer my statement. I thought she may have been irked because I'd been gone for so long, but she wasn't. She was very supportive, in fact. When the police were done with me, she offered to let me off for

the rest of the night, but I declined. I appreciated the thought, however, I figured work would be the best thing to do to get my mind off of what I'd just seen. After that shift, and for many after, I had Doug or another guy walk me to my car. I hadn't thought of the possible danger to myself until my boss mentioned it. I did think about visiting her that night, but after a lot of consideration I chose not to. I don't know if I'd want a complete stranger visiting me after I'd been assaulted in that way. I'd done my part in getting her help so I'd step back and let the doctors and nurses do theirs. The days following would be consumed by work and school.

Several weeks passed and I almost put that horrible scene on my mind, albeit I'd truly never forget. Life was nearly back to normal and I was looking forward to the school year ending. Then on a Wednesday evening, one of our ladies' nights, a barback came into the kitchen where I was cutting limes. He told me that a group of women were asking about me. I thought that it may have been some girls from school, but when I walked out, I didn't recognize anyone. I stepped farther out into the seating area and heard my boss's voice say, There she is. That's her. I turned in the direction of her voice and saw three women standing with her.

I didn't recognize any of them, but I didn't want to be rude, so I approached them. As I got closer, one of the women seemed strangely familiar, but I wasn't sure why. Can I do something for you ladies? I didn't think you'd recognize me. It was really dark that night, and I wasn't looking my best. I was certain I knew her, but her face just wasn't clicking. She must have recognized this and introduced herself. I'm Catherine, and these are my friends. I wanted them to meet the girl who saved my life.

I also wanted to come see you in person and tell you how grateful I am for you to help me that night. I was helpless, and if you how grateful I am for you to help me that night. I was helpless and if you hadn't shown up, he may have killed me. It all fell into place. The scar on her lip and above her eyes should have tipped me off. Oh my god, I'm sorry. I feel so bad I didn't recognize you. How are you doing? I lunged forward and held her like a vice. She hugged me back but I realized I was being a little rough and let her go. I met her two friends and they thanked me individually for helping her. We discussed her stay in the hospital. She said that they held her for three days but

it took at least two more weeks for the soreness to go away. I was doing my best not to mention the wrong thing or sound nosy, but I figured I'd be safe asking if the police had a suspect. I could have never guessed at her answer. I know exactly who he is, I mean, I don't know his name, but he'd approached me earlier that night and asked if he could buy me a drink. I probably could have been nicer to him. I blurted out that he was a loser and no way was I dealing with him, and started even laughing in his face. I only had one drink that entire night, so there really was no excuse for my behavior. Like I said, I could have been nicer. I had two friends standing behind him and

they laughed too. I didn't notice but my friend said he turned bright red and gritted his teeth. He turned around and stormed off and after that, I didn't think about him for the rest of the night. Finally, at around 10, I got bored and decided to leave. My car wasn't parked that far away, so I wasn't worried. I was walking toward it and that same guy stepped out from the alley. He didn't say a word. He just stood there and glared at me. I said, what? He punched me in the face. It knocked me out completely. I woke up on the ground and he was still hitting me. I remember being dragged for

a few seconds. Then I woke up again when he was on top of me. He punched me again and I passed out. Then the next thing I remember was waking up and seeing you. There's just little bits and pieces after that, but I wish I could forget the whole thing. I wasn't sure what to say after that. It was such a terrible story and I respected her for being able to talk about it. I thought for a moment and remembered the part Doug played that night. He was working so I asked someone to go get him. He emerged a minute later. I waved him over to us and introduced him to Catherine and her two friends.

The five of us sat and spoke for around ten minutes. Catherine and I traded numbers and we both promised to keep in touch. As I watched her walk out that evening, I prayed for the power to be as strong as a woman as her, while in the midst of such a tragic episode. Catherine and I did stay in touch for a while as my time in town drew to a close. I discovered that her attacker had been arrested. I called to make sure she knew, but the number no longer worked. I was disappointed and hoped that she'd contact me, but she never did. I also called the detective assigned to the case. I needed to know when I'd have to return to testify. I was happy to hear her attacker had taken a plea.

He'd be off the streets for 15 years at least. I inquired about Catherine while I had him on the line. He read a message she'd sent not long after the sentencing saying, thank you all for everything you've done for me. It's time to start over. It was all I needed to hear. I couldn't have been happier for her. I hope she's doing well, wherever she is. I wanted to know I still think of her every day. Her strength has never ceased to be an inspiration for me. I hope the new beginnings she sought has become a reality and the scars she once bore have long since faded. About five years ago I moved to a new town for work and have been here ever since.

In my hometown, I'd been a bit of a barfly so I found myself looking for a new place to drink within a week of moving in. Not even a mile away I discovered this quiet little Irish style pub. On a cold Saturday afternoon I went to check things out. I pulled up to the bar and ordered a beer. My bartender spoke in a fine Irish accent and recommended that I try a real Irish pint. I took his advice and found the beer to be the best I'd ever had. Six pints later, I staggered back to my apartment confident I'd found my new home away from home. Before long, I was spending every weekend night my new home away from home. Before long I was spending every week

and night there, drinking away my troubles. The bartenders soon all knew my favorite drinks and had them poured for me as I took my seat. The lack of a jukebox or any music system was definitely my favorite part of the joint. It could get a little loud on the days they showed the soccer games but even then it barely grew rowdy. It was overall a nice calm place where you could relax and shoot the breeze with a few fellow drunks. I truly loved it. As I got to know folks at work I made a few friends. One guy who everyone called Bert turned out to be a really cool dude. I told him about the pub and he wanted to join me that Friday after we got off of work. At the end of the week, he followed me there and we had an awesome night. Soon enough, Bert was patronizing the place almost as much as myself.

He was the type of guy everyone loved and most of the regulars took to him instantly. Everyone but Spencer, that is. Spencer had been coming to the pub almost as long as it had been open. Since he was so well known, he had a bad case of gatekeeping. Anyone who hadn't been around as long as him was never good enough. When he'd get loaded, he was even worse. Most of the time, people would back down and he'd walk away all puffed up. He must have thought that he was tough and no one would dare stand up to him. He hadn't met Bert yet. You see, Bert was the nicest guy you could ever meet.

He'd give you the shirt off his back if you needed it. However, if anyone dared take advantage of his kindness, they were in for a blistering butt-chewing. I'd only seen him do it once, and when he was done, his target was in tears. I'd been watching Spencer for a while and knew it was only a matter of time before he tried this on Bert. Deep down, I think Spencer was jealous because everyone liked Bert. Spencer, on the other hand, had very few friends. When that night finally arrived, it took a turn I could have never imagined. It was a Saturday, just after 10pm. Bert had attended a wedding and didn't arrive until then. When he walked in,

the whole place yelled Bert, like they always did to Norm on Cheers. He gave his usual collective wave to everyone and sat on the stool next to me. His beer was waiting when he sat down. He said hi to me and thanked the bartender for his drink. Basically the same routine he'd been going through for the past four months. The two of us soon became involved in a discussion about football with a few of the other regulars. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Spencer prancing his way over to us. The sneer on his face said it all.

Bert was speaking to the bartender at the time and Spencer interrupted them by jamming his glass in the bartender's face and demanding another beer. The bartender was obviously used to this by now. He grabbed a fresh glass, filled it, and handed it to Spencer. Once this was done, he went back to their discussion. Spencer didn't like this for some reason. He walked over to Bert and claimed he was being rude. Bert said he was sorry and returned to his conversation. Spencer should have stopped there, but he didn't. He interjected himself again and called Bert a smug a-hole. I could tell this hurt Bert's feelings. A frown appeared on his face and his eyes were filled with dejection. Then, in a flash, they narrowed

and a snarl grew in his lips. I knew what was about to happen. I put my head down and braced for impact. You no good. And for the next minute, Bert commenced the most verbal assault I'd ever witnessed. By the time he'd finished, his usual happy expression had returned. I don't think Spencer knew what hit him. His mouth sat agape for a few seconds but the vindictive sneer he normally had soon returned. I don't know who you think you are but no one talks to me like that and gets away with it. Spit flew from his mouth as he said it and it was clear Bert's thrashing it hit home. We waited for him to try something but but instead, he turned around and stomped away back to his table. We couldn't help but laugh.

Standing at 5'5", slightly overweight and balding, he was far from intimidating. The storm quickly blew over and we all returned to our conversation. Around 30 minutes passed and Bert got up to take a leak. At the time, I think I was watching G.I. Joe on a nearby TV. A few minutes later, Bert returned but said nothing. He tried to sit in his stool but couldn't make it. I made some wisecrack about being a lightweight and chuckled. He attempted sitting again but still couldn't. I also noticed he wasn't speaking. What's up with you? Did you get stoned or something?

The reply I expected never came. I began looking at him closer. I noticed blood on his head in the stool. I grabbed and turned him sideways. He winced and I began looking for a wound. His dark shirt made it hard to see but I soon found it with my hands. Blood was coming from his stomach somewhere. When I raised his shirt I could finally see the injury clearly.

It appeared that he had been stabbed. Despite not being large I could only assume there was a lot of internal damage. I yelled out for someone to call the ambulance. No one reacted at first, but once I had laid Bert onto the floor, a couple of guys nearby whipped out their phones and dialed. I kept asking him who had done it, but he couldn't do any more than make noises. The ambulance arrived in a rapid manner and rushed Bert to the hospital. Now with him gone, the police had one very important question.

Who stabbed him? Since Bert wasn't talking, we couldn't say. He asked if Bert had any enemies. We couldn't help but laugh. Everyone who knew him loved him. Except Spencer, of course. The possibility didn't seem, well, possible. They wanted to speak to him regardless. We led him to the back, but he was nowhere around.

I checked the bathroom, but Spencer wasn't there. I did discover a small pool of what looked like blood next to one of the urinals and a bit more in the sink. When we finally did find one of Spencer's friends, he said that he had slipped out the back door about 30 minutes earlier. There was little doubt left in anyone's mind now. That little weasel tried to kill my friend. I was livid, but the fear I felt for Bert's life overruled everything. I wanted to drive to the hospital that second, but I'd been drinking, so I had to wait for a cab. Bert was in surgery when I arrived. Every second I had to wait was like an eternity. When the door finally emerged, I had no idea what to expect. Your friend didn't make it through surgery.

I'm sorry. That's all she said before walking away. I was confused at first. Did they mean his recovery would be long? What did she mean? Gradually the words began to make sense and a sick feeling welled up in my stomach. A few of the other regulars arrived soon after and we were all in a state of shock. At least an hour passed until I remembered Spencer was responsible and my anger returned. With no hope of survival left, all I had was fury. I wanted to track him down and kill him with my own hands. If the others weren't with me, I may have done just that. They did a great job of reminding me nothing I did would bring Bert back to life. I would only manage to ruin my own if I went through with my plan.

Around dawn, we all went our separate ways. This is when the grieving would truly begin. The environment around work was very somber. As you can imagine, Bert was well liked. Him not being there left a big hole. It got so bad our boss shut down for a week. I'm glad he did though. I was free to celebrate Spencer's death without being judged. I'd never found any joy in someone losing their life until that day,

and it couldn't have happened to a better person. That morning's paper said that the cops had tracked him to a hotel, but he shut himself before they could arrest him. Bert's funeral was two days later, and I'm happy to say it was packed to the rafters. You would have thought he was one of those old time mob guys. By the time we loaded him onto the hearse, that place was standing room only. The crowd waiting for us at the cemetery was even bigger. I shed a tear or two when I saw it. I'm proud to have known a man who touched that many people and I can only hope to have 10% of that many at my funeral. As the ceremony wrapped up, several of the group invited me to join them at the pub. I hadn't been there since the night Bert died, but I declined.

I've always been a social drinker. The idea of bellying up to the bar without Bert sitting on the stool next to me just didn't seem right. I haven't set foot in there since. It's been a few years and I don't drink much anymore. Maybe a beer with my meal on occasion, but that's about it. You'd never guess the money I've saved, not to mention I've lost at least 30 pounds and feel worlds better than I used to. If I'm being honest though, the hole left from Bert's death had never been filled. No matter how much I work out and how much money I save,

I feel like something's missing. Between you and me, I'd give it all away in a second if I could have my best friend back. Rest in peace, man. Keep the stool next to you in heaven open. We got a lot to catch up on. This was late 1995. I'd just turned 22 and was working at a bar, this sort of biker dive bar. While it wasn't known as an especially rough place, it was by no means a place for weekend warriors.

Anytime one of those guys came in, the regulars would laugh in his face. I'm certainly no tough guy. I've never even owned a motorcycle. I hadn't known what I was getting myself into when I got the job. My first night, I was terrified. Almost every guy that walked in looked mean. I was afraid I was going to be beat up, but they turned out to be really nice people, at least most of them. While not all of our customers would have been considered one percenters, most were. I figured I could benefit from learning all I could about the lifestyle. I'd stand behind the bar and watch members of differing clubs, some who had been at war in the past, talking and joking amongst each other.

I was expecting a battle to break out at any second, but it didn't. It's true the occasional fight would happen, but the other guys always insisted the angry parties take their problems outside. I asked the owner how the bar managed to be so peaceful. He told me a story about how he'd opened the bar in between two rival clubs' turfs. He'd come from another area and wasn't aware of the problem that may occur by putting it there. Soon, guys from both clubs began coming in. There was a fight almost every night. He was afraid that he was going to have to shut the bar down, and this must have gotten back to both clubs. These guys liked

the place so much they got together and decided it would become neutral ground. Over time other clubs started coming in and they agreed to the terms too. The owner said he didn't find out about the agreement until much later but he was happy it had happened. Anyone with any sense knows violence is bad for business. There had been no war since the agreement was made and he believed it was because of the bar. I had no idea if it was true but I was relieved to hear that no one would be murdering me during one of my shifts. I had been tending bar there almost two years. Money was good and I had no plans on leaving anytime soon.

I'd even managed to make a few friends. One night, I'm not sure of the day, some regulars from one of the bigger clubs were drinking and playing pool like usual. Three guys from another club were playing on the next table over. One guy bumped into another while he was taking a shot. I'm sure all these guys were tight by then and emotions were a little heightened. Some words were exchanged, but clearer heads prevailed and the guy's friends talked him down. Just to be sure, I watched both groups. I could tell the guy who had been bumped was still mad. He was sitting on a stool giving the other guy the death stare. When they finished their game, the group with the bumped guy left.

I was finally able to relax and get back to work. It couldn't have been more than 10 minutes. I had my back turned, pouring a beer for a customer. I heard the door open and looked over my shoulder. The bumped guy had returned, and something about his body language wasn't right. I gave the customer his beer and thanked him. I continued to watch the guy. He took a few steps and yelled some cuss words at the guy who'd ran into him. I don't even think the dude realized the guy was talking to him. He kept playing pool, unaware of what was about to happen. Even before the words left his mouth, the bumped guy pulled a pistol from under his jacket.

He began firing at his adversary, striking him with his second and third shot. After eliminating his primary target, he began shooting at the man's friends. Two other members of the club were struck down in a matter of seconds. I finally wised up and crouched behind the bar. Four guys remained. They had taken shelter behind a dividing wall and one of the men began returning fire. What had begun as a nightmare had now morphed into a full-blown hellscape. Bullets were flying everywhere and customers were running for their lives. All of a sudden, in the midst of this cacophony, I heard a loud boom, then another.

I peeped just above the bar and saw the owner holding a shotgun. He fired a third shot at the assailant, hitting him across the left shoulder. The man's arm was left dangling, barely connected to his body. This didn't stop him though. He turned in the owner's direction and raised his pistol. Before he could get a shot off, my boss fired again This time he struck him square in the chest, killing him instantly I sheepishly stood up and surveyed the damage

The racking of a slide grabbed my attention I looked over and saw my boss holding a spent shell, smoke still pouring out of the barrel He calmly looked at me and told me to call 911. I did so and stayed on with the operator until the police and paramedics arrived. While we waited, the victims were assessed and my boss announced that the cops were on their way. Several of the customers, including the guy who had been shooting back at the assailant, left out the side door I could only assume they were felons and had stuff on them they shouldn't have The original target was dead and his two friends were badly injured

My boss walked behind the bar and put the shotgun on a shelf I was amazed at how calm he had been I looked at his hands They were still as a surgeon's. Meanwhile, I was shaking so badly I could barely hold on to the phone. He returned to the two injured men and helped a female customer try to stop the bleeding. The paramedics showed up a couple of minutes later and took over. Soon after, the victims were loaded into two ambulances and taken away.

The cops were now crawling all over the place, questioning everyone they could. When it came my turn, I opted for, I didn't see nothing. All I admitted to witnessing was the killing of the original target. I claimed to be hiding behind the bar after that, which wasn't a complete lie. I had been around these guys long enough to know not to incriminate anyone. At least you'd be labeled a snitch. At worst, you'd end up disappearing forever. As for my boss, he told the cops his part in the shootout and nothing else.

They got angry because he wouldn't name the other guy but he told the truth, at least mostly. He had been in his office when the shooting began. As far as he knew, there was only one shooter and he was lying dead a few feet behind them. The police were finally forced to give up. Everyone present knew the rules. All the evidence supported self-defense so no charges were filed against my boss. He was kind of livid as shotgun became evidence but I'm sure he had more where that came from. I wish I could say things cooled down and life went back to normal.

But things only got worse. The shooting sparked off another gang war that lasted over 10 years in my area. Although the two men injured that night did go on to make a complete recovery, they would end up dead, just two lives among an additional seven lost in the course of a senseless war. The conflict caused business to suffer greatly. We fought on another six months, but it was no use. My boss gave me an envelope with $5,000 and wished me luck. Such a large amount of severance made me think that I wasn't hearing the whole story. One talk in particular came to mind. One late night after close, we were having a beer and sharing stories. The discussion came around to his life before the bar.

He was living in a big city out west at the time. Most of his friends were outlaw bikers, but he himself lived a square, straight-laced life. He drove with guys from several different clubs and no one cared. Then a war broke out and three of his friends got killed. He began to feel pressure to pick sides so he picked up and moved here. While I don't think he was friends with anyone involved in the current conflict, I think it stirred up some feelings he wanted to stay buried. The drop in business was likely just a convenient excuse. I don't blame him though. If I had lost

friends in a gang war, moved away to start a new life, only to be flung back into the middle of another, I'd probably want to escape it all myself. And that's just what he did. Once the five grand was gone, I had to begin the job search all over. I rang him up one morning just to make sure I could use him as a reference. It had only been about a month since we last talked. Unfortunately, his phone had been disconnected. I took a quick trip by his house, but a rent sign was in the yard and all of his stuff was gone. I was a little disappointed he didn't say goodbye, but I understood. His life had been turned upside down on multiple occasions, not to mention he had killed someone. You see, that's the best thing about being an American.

When your life falls apart, no one can stop you from starting over somewhere else. Wherever he may be today, I wish him luck and I hope he's finally found refuge from all the chaos of the world. Until I graduated I worked mainly temp jobs. I didn't get my first real one until the week after. An advertisement in the wanted ad said that a restaurant and bar was looking for staff. When I inquired, I discovered I couldn't wait tables until I was 21. I thanked them and was about to leave when the manager mentioned that they were also looking for a hostess. You weren't required to be 21 to do that job, and my hopes were rekindled. The manager led me to a table and we discussed the job.

After an hour of asking questions, she hired me on the spot. My first shift was the next evening. For the first four years, I worked all the hours I could get, sometimes even taking morning dishwasher shifts. As my 21st birthday approached, the anticipation increased. The week leading up to it, I began training to wait tables and tend the bar. When the day came, I was ready. I worked the lunch shift 10 days straight before I worked my first shift tending bar. The following two years saw me doing much the same. Then one morning, my manager asked to speak to me. I was terrified I was being fired.

Instead she told me that the night manager was leaving. If I wanted her job, it was mine. It would mean more money for me and my daughter but it would also come with a lot more responsibility. I had to think about it. After a restless night's sleep, I took the job and was named the new night shift manager. I had a lot to learn and the next two weeks were a big blur. Although I'd worked at night before, I still felt somewhat out of place. I was fortunate to have an amazing staff to help me through any little hiccup I had. Bethany quickly became my favorite of them. She had the most bubbly personality of anyone I'd ever met. She got on some people's nerves sometimes, but I loved her. And the customers did too.

She made out well on nights she waited tables, but anytime she tended bar, the place was packed. I had her in mind to replace me if I was to ever move up, but circumstances wouldn't allow that to happen. The spring of 2007 was the wettest I'd ever seen. April through May was probably the worst. The day of the 17th, I'd been behind all day it seemed. Under normal circumstances, I would have made it to work early. Unfortunately, the rain had caused several accidents on the highway and I was running super late. Around 5.20pm, I had made it within a mile of the bar. The street came to a standstill. I stepped out to take a look. Very close to where the bar should have been, I saw multiple sets of flashing lights. I figured it was just another

wreck and prepared for a long wait. Fortunately, the police soon began directing traffic and we started moving. When I reached the next intersection, I took a right and then a left onto the next street. About 5.35, I finally parked and entered through the back entrance. I was surprised not to see anyone in the kitchen. Normally, the restaurant would be beginning the evening rush. Stepping out into the dining area I was struck by an uncomfortable quiet. The place should have been noisy and active. As I turned the corner I saw something I'll never forget. In the middle of our dining area sat a grey mid-sized SUV.

A handful of firemen and paramedics were digging through the rubble. No one even noticed me at first. For several minutes I stood frozen, taking in the utter destruction around me. At the front of the building where a big picture window once stood was a truck sized hole. I could see several employees standing outside, a few crying and holding one another. I'm not sure how long it took before I was noticed by one of the service personnel. He asked who I was and I one another. I'm not sure how long it took before I was noticed by one of the service personnel. He asked who I was and I told him. Then I asked what had happened. He identified

himself as the supervisor and asked me to join him in the kitchen. He did his best to give me a brief but thorough assessment of what had occurred and informed me that the store owner and manager were on their way to the bar. His description of the events made me shudder. From eyewitness descriptions, just before 5.10pm, a car came flying through the front of the building, finally coming to rest in the middle of the dining room. The driver, who had only minor injuries,

stated that her SUV hydroplaned through the red light directly in front of the bar and crashed into the building. As it stood, several patrons had been injured but none seriously. Unfortunately, two other patrons and one employee were still missing. When he told me the employee's name, my stomach dropped to the floor. While the search was underway, I did my best to calm everyone out front. Once the bosses arrived, I let them talk to the emergency services. My place was with the staff, but my heart was buried somewhere inside. Most of us were eventually allowed to leave, but myself and a couple of others stayed behind to await news on those still missing. As dark approached, the bodies were carried out one after another until just one remained.

Just before seven, the last emerged and all hope that our sweet Bethany had survived was snuffed out. The following months were the darkest of my life. Not only had the world been robbed of the most special human I knew, the future of the bar was unknown. Fortunately, the owners decided to rebuild and about four months later, we were having our grand reopening. That evening, just before the doors were opened, a short ceremony was held to remember the victims of the crash. I was lucky enough to be the one chosen to hold Bethany's photo. Later that night, the photo was hung in a place of honor on the back wall of the bar. I love the idea of her always being there with us and I'm sure she would have been overjoyed to be remembered in such a loving way.

After ten years and multiple deployments throughout the world, I finally decided my time as a soldier was over. I'd been injured more than enough. I was done with all the excitement and just wanted a quiet place to live out my days. For the time being, I was single. I didn't have some female nagging me about her dream house or the best place to raise kids. My options were wide open, or so I thought. I had no idea how hard it would be to find a small place in a quiet little neighborhood. Over six months and countless numbers of calls and hours of driving around, I thought I'd finally found it. I spoke to the owner and she agreed to show me around the apartment. It was a thousand square foot, single floor apartment tucked away near a wooded area.

We met up and after talking numbers and filling out papers, we were nearly done. Then out of the blue, it all went south. While looking over the paperwork, she noticed I'd been in the army. She brought it up and I answered truthfully, never expecting there to be a problem. We never should have been over there in the first place. I bet you killed civilians and don't even feel bad about it. I won't rent my place to any baby killers. You can forget it. I didn't know what to say. For a second I thought I'd gone back in time to the

60s. She sounded like a hippie ranting about Vietnam. My dad had told me a few stories about how they were treated when they came back, but I had no idea there were still folks like that though. There was little I could say about it. Arguing with a kook was like a waste of time. I thanked her and resumed my search. Another month passed and I was starting to regret my decision. It didn't matter where I lived at that point, I just wanted a roof over my head that was in my name and I wanted it now. I took the place and moved in right away. It actually wasn't bad. The neighbors seemed nice and I didn't hear any gunshots at night.

The only negative was a big one. The back of my house shared an alley with a bar. Perhaps if there had been a tall privacy fence between us, I wouldn't have been concerned, but there wasn't. I could see the back of the building and the patrons could walk right onto my property. Luckily, I only had this problem twice. The first time I noticed movement in my backyard. When I went to check it out, I found some drunk guy peeing in my bushes. I asked him to leave and he apologized.

That ended with no problems. The second time would be far different. Despite being a fairly popular place, the bar wasn't very noisy. Besides the occasional screeching tires, I had no complaints. One cool spring evening, I had the windows open enjoying the nice crisp breeze. I was kicked back in my recliner watching a movie when I began hearing a woman scream. It got louder and louder until I began hearing banging on the back door. I peeked out and saw a woman yelling her head off and pounding on my door. I wasn't sure what to do. I knew that this was sometimes a ploy to get you to open the door so you can be robbed. Something told me this

lady wasn't acting. Just in case, I grabbed my gun belt and put it on. I slowly opened the door and scanned the yard for any hidden attackers. Once I was satisfied, I stepped out from the house and tried to calm her down. She begged me to help her. At first, I couldn't figure out from who, but soon enough I got my answer. A tall skinny guy in an oversized t-shirt and saggy pants came jogging up to us. He didn't say anything but, I'm sorry and reach for the girl. I instinctively rested my hand on my gun and told him to stop. Ma'am, do you want to go with this gentleman or do you want me to call the police? She didn't say anything, but I could tell by her eyes she was terrified.

This guy tried to convince me that she was drunk. He grabbed her again and tried to escape. He only got a couple of steps before I caught up. I yanked his arm and he lost his grip. The lady broke free and fled back toward my house. I told her to wait inside while I spoke to the boyfriend. He didn't seem very interested in talking though. He began walking back toward the house but I stepped in front of him and told him to calm down and go home. I couldn't see any marks on his face so I assumed that they just got into a heated argument and she panicked. I was doing all I could to defuse the situation but he just wouldn't listen.

Things got worse when he told me to mind my own business and swung at me. I dodged the punch and grabbed his arm. I spun him around and tried to pin it behind his back. He must have had some training because he knew how to avoid it. He got loose and lunged for me. Before he got too close, I cracked him on the chin. He stumbled and fell. I thought he was done, but instead, he sprang at me. I avoided him just barely. As he landed, I saw the glint of something in his hand. I wasn't positive it was a knife until later, but I wasn't taking any chances. The fight had taken on a whole new level of seriousness, and I wanted it to end immediately.

Before he could regain his footing, I punched him again and again. He was a tough fellow and didn't go down until the fourth or fifth hit. He was on his back panting, but he still wasn't done. He'd raised his right hand, so I'd smack him again. As long as he had that knife, I knew I was in danger. I started to get mad and lost control, punching him over and over. I don't even know if he was moving anymore. I continued hitting him until the woman ran up and begged me to stop. She was crying and I snapped back into reality and stopped. My hands were bloody and hurt like a mother. Even after that, he still had that blade in his hand.

For all our safety, I pried it out and threw it into the bushes. He did look pretty beat up though. I figured I better call 911 before he did die on me. Seeing the very same woman I just tried to help ride away with the man she'd been running from will stick with me forever. I'll never understand why women act the way they do. The cops were surprisingly understanding considering the situation. The guy already had a history of knocking women around so they didn't think I'd face any charges. Nonetheless, I was on pins and needles for nearly six months waiting to see what would happen. I finally got the call that I was okay.

To say I was relieved would be an understatement. A sadly humorous little postscript to this story popped up that summer. I was flipping through the paper one morning and a picture on the weddings page caught my eye. The couple looked familiar. After a little reading, I knew why. The happy couple turned out to be none other than the two that I had the run-in with the year before. I wish I could say I was surprised, but seeing the way she acted that night, nothing would shock me. Oh well, I wish them good luck.

Hopefully they won't be able to find me in my new place. I moved out into the middle of nowhere to get away from people like them. Whenever they do get drunk and fight again, I can only hope that they find another idiot to bother. This guy has had enough. To be continued... going on, we decided to get away. Our new place is deep in the rural south, far away from any large cities where violence could break out. I included this bit of information because it makes a great segue to what I'll be talking about. I'll not beat around the bush any longer and get to my story. At the time, my husband and I had only been together a few years. We made the choice to get settled before beginning a family. We were living in a big northern city, one no different than any other in the early 2000s.

Crime was on the decline, especially the violent type, but we still had areas known to be a little rough. The two of us had been on the lookout for a small neighborhood bar to buy. Nothing we found had appealed to us until we came across this little dive in one of those rough neighborhoods that I had mentioned. It had all we wanted except for a high crime rate. We hadn't noticed the police station across the street before the owner pointed it out, and we were sold after that. I mean, no one's going to cause trouble with cops just across the street, never mind that a large amount of the clientele were cops. What could go wrong, right? The sale went through with no problems. We soon became the proud owners of a prospering business. Despite never having owned a bar before, we were handling it pretty well. My husband had the idea to turn the

storage room into a little kitchen for small things like burgers and sandwiches. Within two weeks, our income had almost doubled. We were even able to hire a part-time cook. Things were only getting better. Then the shooting started. At around 1am one night, a regular of ours, a police detective, was leaving the barn headed for his car parked across the street. As he crossed, an unknown car sped past him and opened fire. He was unfortunately killed instantly. There were no witnesses to the murder. As you can imagine, his fellow officers were furious They were going over his case with a fine-tooth comb, looking for any reason to explain the attack A few months passed and no real leads had been found Everyone hoped that it would be an isolated incident, most of all, us

We didn't want the bar to get a reputation for being dangerous Just when it was starting to look like it may never be solved, two more officers were attacked. Another pair of detectives just yards away from our door were cut down in a drive-by. It was a miracle no one else was hit. Thankfully, neither officer was severely injured. They were both able to make quick recoveries and give their counterparts enough information to find the shooters. I say shooters because it turned out to be a pair of brothers. They had targeted these officers specifically. All three had been part of the case that put their father in prison. He had been convicted on first degree murder after the death

of a co-worker and given life without parole. Despite stacks of evidence against him, he maintained that he was innocent. His sons stood by him all through the trial. They had hoped the judge would consider his lack of priors to be lenient on him. Instead, she threw the book at him. The brothers tried to stay positive but, as the years passed, they became bitter and desired revenge. They would wisely do what their father refused to do and accepted a plea deal. Not only would they avoid the death penalty, but both would have the chance of parole after 30 years. Such a decision was not popular among the city's law enforcement, but the public outrage would eventually die down and

life would return to normal. Although we were almost sure our business had been destroyed, once the facts of the case came out in the press, we were able to recoup most of our lost income. There was a period there where we began discussing our options. Being so close to those incidents made us fear our neighbors and question if we wanted our kids to be exposed to such violence. After things bounced back, the discussion got put on the back burner but never truly went away. We managed to survive the crisis of 08 and 09 and make a good living for ourselves. In 2016, we had our first child and we were looking forward to a bright future. All of this went sideways when the pandemic began and unrest broke out everywhere.

Then, a neighborhood less than a mile from the bar was burned down last month. The discussions of 2005 were revived and, in short order, we chose to sell the bar and just get out of dodge. Here in our new home, life is much slower, people are far kinder, and all this confusion seems to be a world away. I pray for the sake of my son and the child that I'm currently carrying that things stay that way. Unlike most of my friends, I grew up in the business area of my city. My parents owned a little grocery store in the heart of what was once a predominantly Irish neighborhood. Our actual home was directly above the store.

I would spend many a summer night sitting on the roof watching the stars with my dad. One of those evenings was the first time we smelled the odor. It wasn't out of the ordinary to catch the scent of something rank in a city, especially in our neighborhood with all the empty businesses and houses scattered throughout the area. A cat or a dog would occasionally slip off into one of them to die and normally we just toughed it out until the smell dissipated. The summer was abnormally hot and made any little odor worse than usual. Not a soul knew the source. Judging by the direction it was coming from, I assumed it was probably O'Malley's. O'Mow's, as everyone called it, was an old bar that had shut down years before I was born. When I was much younger, me and a few of the other boys in the neighborhood used to slip

in through the back and look around. Nothing much was left and soon I lost interest in the place. I brought this up with my dad and he agreed with my theory. A few days later, he called the city to report the smell. They said that they would check it out as soon as possible. Weeks passed and the hotter it got, the worse the stink grew. everybody was complaining about it now but the city continued to do nothing things got so bad people stopped going outside this naturally affected business and my dad getting concerned the whole mess came to a head one night when a fire mysteriously broke out at omouseall's. The building wasn't much more than matchsticks and was almost consumed by the time the fire department showed up.

Several of the firemen came running out to vomit from the stench. The flames only made the smell more terrible. Once the fire was put out, the reason for the stink became clear. In the back storeroom, the firefighters discovered the bodies of five people. The fire hadn't managed to burn the bodies very badly, but because of the extent of decomposition, no one was able to determine the gender of the victims. Shock soon gave way to a violent indignation. The neighbors wanted answers, but the city had none to give. Ultimately, another six months would pass before anyone got what they wanted. A story would appear on the local news that would blow the roof off City Hall. The problems our neighborhood had been experiencing had come to light and several people responsible for handling

citizen complaints were found to have been ignoring them all for more than 10 years. If this wasn't bad enough, law enforcement had information that a local gang had been taking their enemies into O'Mallison, executing them for quite some time, and chose not to act upon it. I'm sure you can guess what came next. The citizens wanted blood, and not just the people in our neighborhood. After an immense amount of pressure, most of those named in the story lost their jobs. A few of those higher up in the bureaucracy were suspended for a time, but once all of that anger died down, they were allowed to return to their posts unscathed. Once the populace had their pound of flesh and the awful stench no longer menaced their senses, life returned to normal.

What was left of O'Mow's was knocked down and hauled away. As part of our new citywide improvement initiative, Code for Appeasement of the Mob, it and several other abandoned or disused buildings were destroyed and made into things such as community gardens and playgrounds. O'Mouse was replaced with a set of basketball courts and all was well in the world again. Unfortunately, none of this did anything to stop the crime infesting our neighborhood. The year I moved away, two kids were shot on those very same basketball courts. No matter what they put in its place, I fear the ground where a mouse once stood has become a gruesome beacon to those seasoned in the shedding of innocent blood. Back when I was a little girl, my mom and I had this tradition, and we would go see every Harry Potter movie in the movie theater on the day that it came out. I kind of grew up with them, like all the

characters were roughly the same age as me, so when I say I grew up with them, I mean that quite literally. But anyway, this was the third film of the series, so I must have been 12 going on 13. About halfway into the movie, I needed to go to the bathroom. Mom asked if I wanted her to come with me, but I figured I was old enough to go on my own. On my way back from the bathroom, just outside the door to the theater, there stands this quite plain looking guy. But I remember he was definitely wearing a blue ball cap. Suddenly, as I got near him, his hand is extended towards me as if I'm supposed to grab it. He asked me,

Do you want to come with me, little girl? In a way that was so natural. But at the same time, I knew that it wasn't right. I felt this knot of fear in my stomach. Thankfully, my mom had been very diligent in teaching me some stranger danger street smarts, so I knew enough to know that whatever was happening was bad. I just ran as fast as I could back into the theater and planted my ass back in the seat beside my mom. She could tell something had shaken me bad. She kept asking what was wrong, but at first,

I couldn't tell her. It was so scary to actually face that stranger danger that she had talked about sometimes. All I could do was hyperventilate and tear up until I calmed down enough for the words to come out. As soon as they did, she took me to the theater staff, where a really nice girl listened to my story before calling the cops. The police did not find him on site. I guess I waited too long to tell anyone. I have a lot of guilt and regret towards my not saying something about it as soon as it happened. I worry that some other little girl went with him that day as a result of my inaction. Or at some point in the future.

Neither me or my mom heard anything back from the cops. So hopefully, it's a case of no news is good news. But that memory has stuck with me for almost 20 years now. And it might sound dumb, but seeing blue ball caps has this way of making those memories come flooding back. My name is Emma. I'm from the UK, and I have a story I think you might be interested in. I've loved horses and ponies all my life, and whenever I can, I get out into the countryside to go pony trekking. This usually involves walking and trotting around a variety of forests here in England and Wales.

Nothing too strenuous, and I usually find it to be very relaxing. A centering experience. But the last time I went, something happened that was actually one of the creepiest things I'd ever experienced. We were up in a place called Kielder Forest Park in Northumberland, and although we had some experienced guides with us, it was my first trip up there. Kielder also has one of the longest pony tracks in the whole of the UK, which means you can literally ride around for hours without having to loop back on yourself. I don't really mind having to repeat a trail. It's all time on horseback. But it definitely does take a bit of the excitement away knowing that you're just going in circles.

So with that in mind, you can understand why I was quite excited to get up there. Only about two-thirds into the ride, our ponies started to get a bit skittish. Now, I know ponies can be some of the most temperamental creatures on earth. But whether they don't like you, or they're not in the mood to be ridden, they'll let you know as soon as you try to saddle them up. It's not like they get halfway into a ride and decide, I'm done. They also tend not to be scared of much, as they know a bite or a swift kick is the likely solution to any of their problems. And honestly, they'd be mostly right about that. So as you can imagine, we were really confused when our ponies started freaking out on this section of the track that was lined with

trees. They seemed absolutely terrified, and for no discernible reason, it was so bad at one point that my pony Shamrock actually tried to throw me off. I did everything I could, but nothing could calm her down. She was whinnying and doing 360s, trying to spot whatever was scaring the ponies. I was doing the same, but I saw absolutely nothing among the trees. You'd think that the ponies would want to get out of the area if they were so scared, but they all just huddled together on the trail and refused to budge. In the end, we had to dismount and literally drag the ponies along the rest of the track, and one of the girls ended up getting a nasty kick from one particularly frightened pony,

so naturally she was very upset. We were all quite shaken by the time we emerged from the trail, and one of the first things we asked the guides was what could have caused the ponies to freak out in such a way. Personally, I thought it might have been someone's dog running around the forest. Then, it could have been a domino effect with one pony after another getting spooked. But according to the guides, a border collie lived on the same farm the ponies were stabled at, so it's not like they weren't familiar with them. The guides rejected the idea that it was a fox or a badger scaring the ponies.

I mean, they really had no idea what it was, hence why they were just as freaked out as us. I'm not saying there was some bloody monster in the woods or something. I'm not one for ghost stories either, but I sometimes find myself wondering what exactly scared those ponies so much. We don't have bears or wolves or coyotes or mountain lions here, and you're more at risk of seagull attacks than anything else in England. So what could have been out there, hiding among the trees,

that could scare the Jesus out of the ponies like that? I had always thought that our woods and forests were pretty safe places to be. But maybe I was wrong. All I know is that I'm going to be much more careful in the future. To be continued... place to stay so I lived in my car for a couple of months. I met some heavy metal dudes at work one day. I'd seen them around town and all my other friends knew who they were. Everyone loved them. We became friends over a couple of months and they offered for me to move in with them. I agreed. Looking back now, I wish I had just stayed in my car. My two main roommates were

brothers named Andrew and Seth. They were in a band. They also believed in the occult and anything of that sort. I never really believed in that stuff, but I'm not one to tell someone what they should believe. They had let me live with them rent-free for several months, so who was I to complain? Being the only female in a house full of young men, I was always looking over my shoulder. You never know who you can trust. And turns out, I was right to worry. Over time, their friends started to stay with us for longer periods of time, sometimes weeks.

Their friends were another group of brothers that they had gone to school with. There were five brothers in total, but only two stayed with us consistently. The younger brother, Mark, was very polite. He cleaned up after himself and always helped with household chores. The other brother, Adam, had a laundry list of mental problems. He'd apparently done some bad drugs back in the day and it had developed into what seemed like psychosis of the religious sort. He had done time in prison for assaulting a woman with a bible. He would often look you in the eyes and tell you he could see how you would die. Once he told me that I was possessed by a demon and I needed my soul cleansed. Everyone in the house knew he had these problems but he was their friend. They helped him

through the hard times and gave him a place to stay. Otherwise, he would be on the streets. I was always on guard around him after the things he told me. No one else seemed to be as concerned as I was. They should have been. One day, I was sleeping and my phone rang. It was my boss. He asked if I could come into work an hour early. It was only 12pm. I was broke and had nothing better to do, so I said yes. I got up and began getting ready to leave. I walked out into the living room to see Mark and Andrew sitting on the couch

while Adam sat on the floor by the TV. He was watching scripture videos on YouTube. Some real end of day stuff. That was fairly common, so I went about my business. I said goodbye and left for work. My shift at work was almost complete when the phone rang. My boss answered, handed the phone to me and said, It's for you.

I was just a cashier, so I assumed it was a friend that couldn't reach me on my phone. I answered the phone and heard a man's voice that I didn't recognize. Hi, this is Detective Williams. Something happened at your apartment today and we need you to come into the station to talk to you about it. I left work immediately. I had assumed one of the brothers had been arrested for drug dealing or something. I was very wrong. I got to the station

and was buzzed in. An officer escorted me to a small cold room with a camera. He gave me a bottle of water and left me by myself for about 30 minutes. My mind was racing, thinking about what could have happened. He came back in and informed me that Adam had stabbed and killed Andrew at around 1pm. I was shocked. I had just left the house an hour before it happened and everything seemed fine. I asked if there had been a fight. The detective informed me that there hadn't been a fight and it seemed to have happened out of nowhere. I gave my statement to the police and left with nowhere to go, still in shock and

confused out of my mind. Our apartment was a crime scene, so I went to another friend's house to watch the news report since the police wouldn't give me any information on the case. Over the next couple of days, the information began to be released. Adam hadn't just stabbed Andrew once, not twice, but he had stabbed him over and over and nearly decapitated him. After the murder, he ran down the road still holding the murder weapon. He called 911 and informed them what he had done. I watched the news report in horror. We had known he was unstable, but this? He had fully confessed to the brutal murder and provided police with his notebooks. He had apparently been planning to murder all of his brothers, my roommates, and me. He thought we were possessed by demons and

this was the only way to free us. Luckily, none of his other intended victims were there that day. Mark unfortunately witnessed the murder, but he luckily escaped. If I hadn't gotten that call from my boss, I wouldn't be alive today. This happened 24 years ago in July of 1996. I had finished my term of service for the army. I was stationed at Fort Hood, Texas and decided at midnight I would out-process and travel back to Wisconsin. All day I was so anxious to go that I had trouble sleeping. Finally, at 2345, I got out of bed and went to sign out with the desk sergeant. Of course, knowing people wanted to sign out at midnight, he decided to do his rounds.

You can't leave until you get your final sign off with the sergeant and turn in your room key. So I waited and waited and finally at 0245 he returned. I turned my key in, got the sign off and at 0330 I was on my way. At first I was so full of adrenaline that I felt that I could drive for days. Unfortunately that adrenaline didn't last long and by the time I was getting through Dallas I was nodding off. I decided just past Denton that I would pull over at the next rest stop and take a quick nap until the sun came up. I could barely keep my eyes open when I came up to a stop. I pulled over and got out of my car to get some air and throw something away and to get a look at my surroundings. There were only about three other cars and two semi

trucks there. It was a picnic stop and not a rest stop so no restrooms. I threw my trash away and glanced at a poster of a few missing persons but I really didn't pay any attention to it. I went back to my car which was a basic Geo Metro. No radio, no power windows, no power locks. I cracked the windows and turned on the boom box I had for some tunes and laid down to get some sleep. I was only asleep maybe 5 or 10 minutes when I felt my car shake just slightly. I cracked an eye open and looked and didn't see anything so I blew it off and went back to sleep. I then heard what sounded like my door handle being pulled and scratched on the door key. I then sat up quickly but I didn't see anyone there. I looked at all the windows and didn't see anyone so again I shrugged it off as me being tired and laid back down and

turned up the radio. Being a Texas night in July it was hot but I was so tired I just laid back down. A few more minutes later I heard the door handle again and car really shook. I sat up quickly and saw a man standing at the passenger's side looking in. Even though it was hot and humid, he was wearing a red sweatshirt with the hood up and I couldn't see his face. Being young and dumb and just out of the military, I yelled at him asking what the F do you want. He just stared at me like an idiot and I got out of the car. Mind you, I'm only 5'6", but I was livid. He just walked off towards the picnic tables like nothing happened. All the while, I'm yelling at him that if he came back,

I'd take him out. I decided I would just drive on from there. I got back in and went on my way. Even though I was so upset, only about 10 miles down the road I was super tired again. Luckily about another 10 miles down I-35 there was another picnic stop. Not sure why North Texas doesn't have rest areas but they don't. I pulled into the second picnic stop and backed into a spot just in case I needed to leave quickly. Not sure why but there was only one other car there and no semi trucks. I again locked the doors, cracked the windows and turned on my boom box. I fell asleep right away and about 30 minutes later I hear a loud thud on my driver's side window. I jumped up and looked around and no one was there. I got out of the car which was very stupid but I had my macho military attitude going.

But no one was around. I assumed it was my nerves from the other stop. I got back into my car, locked the doors again and closed my eyes. This time I was too amped up to fall asleep so I laid there with my eyes closed. I felt that someone was looking at me and I opened my eyes and saw the guy standing there again with the red sweatshirt, hood up. I couldn't see his eyes but I could see he was smiling at me. I popped up quick and tried to quickly open the door and bump him, being a cheap geo since the doors were locked it didn't open. He walked backwards still staring at me. By the time I got out he was about 30 feet away facing me. It was fairly dark but as I looked him over he, he looked really skinny, but was about 6'2", maybe 6'3".

But I still felt like I could take him with my military experience. He was wearing the red hooded sweatshirt, blue jeans, and green tennis shoes. For some reason, I thought the shoes looked odd. I could see something shine every now and then as he stood there staring at me and I honestly believe it was a machete. I quickly reached into my back seat and grabbed my baseball bat and started yelling at him to come get some. I'm not really sure why I said that. He started walking towards me and I took a few steps towards him, not really thinking. As I got about 5 feet away from my car and he was now about

15 feet from me, a yellow van pulled up quick and parked just off to the side of the road. I finally realized what was happening and I saw two guys also wearing hooded sweatshirts in the van. Before they could get out, I ran back to my car. I had left the keys in the ignition. Since I had backed in, I was able to cut it hard right and peeled my car out of there. I was so lucky, being a manual car, I didn't stall the car because the other two guys were out of the van and the first guy was just about at my car. I jumped back on the interstate and didn't stop until I was about 20 miles into Oklahoma. I stopped for gas and to use the restroom.

In the restroom I noticed that same flyer I barely glanced at at the first picnic stop. It was basically a flyer with several missing persons on it and warning people not to stop for long periods of time at the rest areas. It described a possible suspect as possibly six foot wearing blue jeans, green shoes, and a red hooded sweatshirt. I completely went white. Needless to say, since it was daylight, I drove the rest of the way to Wisconsin wide awake. Not sure why, but I never reported it to the number on the flyer or told anyone about it. But now I live in North Texas and pass those two picnic stops every day on my way to work

and I think about it quite often. Let's call her Sam. All throughout high school and even a bit afterwards, we were best friends. Even though we were best friends, I felt like I didn't really know her, if that makes sense. We were pretty wild teenagers, drinking, smoking, hanging out with older guys. Ew, I know. Sam always dated super sketchy guys. When we were 16, Sam started dating a 27 year old named John. I had my fair share of dating guys way too old for me as well though, so I didn't see anything wrong with it. Also, predators have a special way of making you feel like there's

nothing wrong with what they're doing. I have a fair share of trauma due to older men from that time in my life, but that's a story for another time. She didn't have a fair share of trauma due to older men from that time in my life but that's a story for another time. She didn't have a car at the time so she would regularly ask me to drop her off at his place to hang out and cover for her if her mom contacted me because this relationship was obviously hidden from her mom. Being an idiot teenager I was like yeah sure whatever she's my homegirl and I know she'd do the same for me. Plus, I'd met John several times before and he seemed decent enough at the time. Please keep in mind that I was also a teenager at the time and obviously I realize that he's a predator now.

He would give us alcohol and stuff and would invite us over to the party with his equally disgusting friends. Their relationship seemed fine at first, but it turned toxic within a few months. I mean, duh, he was a grown man manipulating a little girl. He would constantly demand to track her phone location and control what she wore. He also cheated on her multiple times, but she always stayed. During the time this happened, I stopped driving her to see him. One time, she called me begging me to drive her to see him. I said no. She went on to explain that he was drunk and if I wouldn't, then he would pick her up and if they got into a crash due to drunk

driving, it would be my fault. So, I drove her to his house. I was furious with John at this point for hurting my best friend and had a rebellious teenage give no f's attitude so as soon as I walked into his house to drop Sam off, I started screaming at him for being manipulative. His response, in the dark, twisted yet emotionless look in his eyes still gives me chills to this day. I could break your neck so easily. Thankfully, I was standing right by the front door so I ran out to my car and immediately sped off. The next couple of years are kind of fuzzy. Also, I asked Sam to stop talking to me about John because I was sick of hearing about

him but basically they were constantly breaking up and getting back together. Sam dated a string of other guys but would always cheat on them with John. When we were 18, this is when things started getting progressively weirder and I started to distance myself from Sam because of it. Long story short, Sam had a new boyfriend who she seemed crazy about and I was so relieved because she finally seemed over John. Then, she heard through the grapevine that John got engaged and she became irate. We were hanging out when she heard the news and she was like, I just have to go home and process this. So she immediately left and I was like, whatever, I'll give her her space. She calls me a few hours later and was talking super fast and laughing a lot.

I was like, you good? And she responds, yeah, I just broke into John's apartment and smashed all of his stuff. I know that I have this new guy I'm dating, but I've been hooking up with John still. Don't hate me and I'm sorry I didn't tell you. But anyway, I feel so great. I broke his TV and cut up all of his sheets. Too bad John and his fiance weren't home. I'd never seen her act like this before and was so alarmed. What would she have done if they were home?

The break-ins was never reported to the police because she told John it was her, and if he went to the police, John's fiance would likely have found out that he was cheating on her with Sam. Now, at this point, a smart person would completely cut her off, but I didn't. I stopped hanging out with her as much and we naturally grew a bit distant because I had moved across the country for college, but we would text and FaceTime every couple of weeks. In 2018, John's fiancé was found dead. The police immediately ruled it that she ended her own life because there was a note and the gun was found in her hand,

but all of her friends and family insisted that she would never do that. I knew this because I had a few mutual friends with his fiance and it was understandably all that anyone could talk about. She was known to everyone as being extremely positive and cheerful. They pressured the cops to investigate more and lo and behold, one year later, John was found guilty of murdering her. He's currently in prison and it chills me to the bone knowing that I was in his house on multiple occasions and used to frequently hang out with him. So now moving on to why I think my friend may have had something to do with it. Last year she was visiting my city and asked to meet up for dinner. I was like sure, why not? We're going to be in public and I do miss her and it'd be nice to catch up. While we were at dinner,

she had her phone on the table and I saw a call from the name Jail ringing in her phone. She quickly excused herself to take the call and was gone for a couple of minutes. When she got back, I was like, what was that about? She explained that she visits John in prison regularly and they talk on the phone every day. I was like, why? He was found guilty of murder, why would you want anything to do with that guy? And she looked me dead in the eyes, looked pure evil and malice and said, I'm the only one who knows what actually happened. Nobody else knows the truth. I quickly changed the subject and finished my dinner really quickly and made an excuse to leave. I was terrified at this point and had no idea what she was capable of.

I hightailed it back to my apartment and blocked her on everything, and I haven't spoken to her since. I know this isn't solid proof that she was involved, but her past behavior, the break-in, coupled with that chilling comment and the fact that she regularly visited a convicted murderer in prison, leads me to believe she had something to do with it. At the very least, she knows no more than a few stoplights and a few thousand residents in the Great Basin Desert of the western U.S. For those that have never been, you cannot begin to understand just how vast and isolated you can become in my home state. It's a breeding ground for strange people

to hide out from the law, keep to themselves, and do whatever it is they want to remain secret. As someone who frequently spends days exploring isolated vast stretches of desert, hours away from cell service in some cases, I unfortunately have a few stories where I was held at gunpoint or thought I was going to be taken, but those for another time. This is my earliest encounter with someone I wish I never met. The valley where this story takes place is where they found a family murdered just a few months prior to my encounter. I didn't know this at the time and while probably not connected, it gives you a feel for what happens in the desert.

I was roughly 12 at the time, 22 male now and was with my mom and three younger brothers. My dad and uncle were prospecting for gold and we got bored and so we thought we'd go hike into the valley to an abandoned miners shack probably two miles away. No biggie, we've done this many times to pass the time and it's cool to see the old ruins. Note my dad and uncle had the pistols but we didn't. We get down there with no issues and the shack looks clearly abandoned and in disrepair. It looks to be from the 1930s and is kind of resting on a small hill with a dirt road leading to it. We go inside to explore and all is good, till I see on one of the old shelves brand new canned goods, fresh paper wrappers and all.

I thought to myself that this was odd but figured some backpackers must have left them for the next guy. Boy was I wrong. We keep exploring this house until I come into a room and see something that I will forever remember. That feeling you get when you instantly know something is horribly wrong. That struck me hard. That room had a fresh house cat hung from the rafters of the ceiling with its abdomen split open, intestines hanging out. It had to have only been a few days old. I never let my mom or brothers see it, I just ran to the room that they were in and said we had to go now.

I just said I had a bad feeling because of those cans. We get out of the house and we're about 50 feet away when my brother insists he needs to go to the bathroom. I didn't tell them what I saw because I knew it freaked them out and he just had to go so here we are. A baseball throws away from this house and my brother is going to the bathroom. Just as he finishes, from the backside of the hill the shack is on comes an old white beat up van and I remember thinking this is it. I'll never see my dad again. They'll never know what happened to us. But out of the van I remember vividly seeing four men step out and look in our general direction. I picked up my youngest brother and my mom and the other two brothers and we all took off running.

I've never felt more scared in my life. I didn't dare look back to see if they were trailing after us. I couldn't make myself. After what feels like forever, we finally get out of the valley and meet up with my dad and uncle. We tell them our story and we get out of there. To this day, I still can't help but wonder if I'd be alive today had I not seen the dead cat before those guys got to the shack. I started my first job at Tim Hortons when I was 16 and worked there for many years throughout high school and university. I could possibly add about 10 stories here about inappropriate regulars, but this is one that still really haunts me. I was about 17, 18 at the time and worked at a location that was

10 minutes down the street from my parents' home. A neighbor, Alex, lived roughly 8 houses down, started coming in regularly for coffee and small talk with me. Alex was at least 45 to 50 and it turns out he used to work with my dad and has lived in my neighborhood for years. Nothing about our conversation seemed weird or alarming to me. After a few months of completely normal interactions he found me on Facebook. I accepted because I was young and had no social media boundaries at the time. This is when things started to get weird. He would DM me about things I was posting instead of commenting publicly. He would offer me rides to work or class and would make comments about my hair, makeup, and curves.

I found out that he was married and has a son a few years younger than me. I started ignoring his messages and eventually removed him as a friend. When he came in for his coffee after this, he would ask for my number, wouldn't take no for an answer answer and just generally made me uncomfortable. I started asking co-workers to serve him. My manager at the time refused to ban him from the store. I also learned that he used to send a past employee flowers and to do the same things to her. Fast forward a few months, Alex seemed to have gotten the hint and stopped asking for me when he came into my place. One evening, I was walking my dog around my

subdivision and smoking some Mary J as I did most nights before bed. I walked the same route each night which unfortunately meant I had to pass by his home. On my way back this night, I saw him out of the corner of my eye, coming out of his house with a baseball bat. He stood in his front yard for a few minutes and then I could hear him starting to walk behind me and I panicked. I was also high and unsure if I should be alarmed. Was this a time to panic? Some kids in the duplex across the street started banging on the window and making a bunch of noise. I was too scared to even look up at them. My dog started getting agitated and I decided to start running since I was only two minutes from home. I figured I could make it

inside and lock the door. Alex must have gotten spooked by the noise and stopped following me. I'm very thankful for those kids who knew that situation didn't look right and tried to warn me. It worries me to think about what would have happened if they This happened a few years ago when I was bartending at college. I was coming home down a stretch of divided highway at around 3am when I noticed a car heading towards me in the wrong lane. I doubted myself at first and thought the car was on the other side of the highway. Sure enough, the white Ford sedan passed me at a really high speed, at least 90 miles per hour. It's worth noting for later that I also drive a white Ford sedan. I was used to drunk idiot drivers in the middle of the night so I pulled to the side of

the road and let him pass me. I had a moment of clarity and thought to call the police, thinking this person could hurt themselves or somebody else. The dispatcher answered and after telling them which road and exit and mile marker I was at, told me they would send a car. The state police station was only a few exits away so I figured that they would send somebody and I would just drive home. As I headed back onto the highway, I noticed some lights a few miles behind me. I live in a more rural part of southeastern PA and traffic at 3am tends to be truckers and cops. The car gained on me as I was getting up to speed so I stayed in the right lane and waited to be passed. Instead, they flipped on their high beams making it uncomfortable to drive

and rode my tailgate. At this point, I thought I was going to be pulled over by the police. I drove a white Ford sedan and had just called about a different white Ford sedan so I grabbed my registration from my glove box. Suddenly, the car behind me audibly slammed on the brakes and stopped in the middle of the highway. They must have shut off their car because the lights went out and I saw what looked like the same Ford sedan from earlier. Still, I thought this may have been a police car. They had a roof rack and it could have looked like I had reached for a gun in my glove box or something. I panicked and called 911 for the second time and asked the dispatcher if they had sent a cruiser to investigate. The dispatcher was a little curt with me and assured me that they sent somebody out. We sent a trooper out to find the car, sir. Listen, I only ask because somebody's following

me and acting weird. It could be a cop and I think I freaked them out by getting my registration. Are you pulled over? No, they didn't turn on their lights. Let me try to get the trooper we sent out. As she was talking, the car again sped towards me and stopped inches from the bumper. Again, their high beams were on and again they slammed the brakes. I told the dispatcher, I'm pretty sure this is not the police behind me. The car sped to my bumper again and turned their high beams on, this time laying on the horn. Hearing this, the dispatcher asked me what was happening. What's happening? Did you honk?

That's the car behind me. I don't think it's a cop. I'll try to get the trooper again, but I don't think that's him behind you, sir. For some reason, this is what shook me. Before that, I was thinking I would get pulled over and maybe get a ticket. Up until then, I was going the speed limit and trying to avoid getting pulled over. I told the dispatcher, I don't care if I get pulled over. I'm speeding, and if they put their lights on, then I'll pull over. I started to accelerate then the person behind me just kept up with me.

The speed limit was 55 and they kept on my bumper the entire time but this time they were swerving. I tried to signal for an exit then bail on it but they followed. At the next exit I took the off ramp and continued on to the on ramp and the car behind me followed the whole time. I thought about trying to go to a Wawa which is a convenience store gas station that's pretty much the only populated place in southeastern PA at 3am but the dispatcher and I thought that would be unsafe. She was calm and talking to another person trying to send police to me. The other person, maybe a supervisor, asked if I could drive to the state police station.

Realizing that I was only one exit away, I told her I was coming there and she said that she would have troopers meet me outside. As I pulled off to the exit, the car followed me. I blew a few red lights trying to get to the police station and the car tried to pull into the other lane to pass me or pull up alongside me. Once the police station was in view, I put on my turn signal and the car slammed on its brakes again, turned off their lights and turned into a parking lot. The story ends kind of anticlimactically as I pulled into the police station and met the troopers Two of them went to find the car and I stayed with the third trooper I thanked the dispatcher and his supervisor and the state trooper escorted me home after taking a statement from me I was never called to follow up or testify so I can only assume the person hasn't been caught. I was living in Tbilisi a few years ago, the capital of the Republic of Georgia, running a kind of legally ambiguous consumer credit operation, when I figured it was time I took a much needed weekend getaway in a nearby small town.

The town I settled on is an extremely popular tourist location given its beautiful location along a river nestled in a deep valley and rife with the ancient churches. With many options for potential guest houses, hotels, and rentals, I decided to not book in advance and to just traipse around until I found something appropriate. I found a very adequate guest house perched on a hill with about a one acre plot. Upon entering the guest house, I was greeted in typical Georgian fashion by an incredibly hospitable woman in her 60s to 90s. Hyperbole, but former Soviet Unionist like that aging wise. And her son, who was in his early 30s, who resumed his yard work of filling a large hole he said was a septic tank with a foul lingering smell after a brief introduction. Again, in typical Georgian fashion, the hostess offered me tea, homemade wine, bread, and cheese,

all of which were much needed and fantastic. I'm an American, but my family came from Eastern Europe, so I speak Russian as most Georgians do, so we were able to chat a lot. Our conversation progressed from basic get-to-know-you bits to more personal information like whether I am seeing anyone and who I am dating, which does come up in surprising frequency when you meet sweet grandmothers who want you to meet their granddaughters. At the time, I was dating a fellow expat from a Western European country. When I told the hostess that I was seeing someone, she seemed thrilled and asked me to show her a photo. She reacted with an awe and nodded in approval, commenting on her physique in a way that would probably be inappropriate if it wasn't a cute old grandma.

I was then pressed by the hostess as to why I didn't invite her and how this isn't what a good boyfriend would do. Put on the spot like this, I lied and said she was very busy with a work project. She wasn't, but would be arriving later in the evening. Didn't ask. The hostess was elated by this news and called over her son and asked me to show the photo of the girl I was seeing. Early in our conversation, it was established that I don't speak in Georgian. The son saw the photo and affirmatively nodded and spoke in Georgian to the hostess briefly and then turned to me with a beaming smile and thumbs up and said in English, Very pretty you lucky brother. He then in Russian asked if I texted her to invite her.

I lied and said I did text her and reiterated that she was arriving in a few hours. It was around 4pm at the time and a beautiful golden hour glow that lit up the surrounding mountains and valley. The son said he will join us and asked if I like cha-cha. Cha-cha is the very strong national liquor of Georgia ranging from 30-75% alcohol content and made from distilled grapes. I had become quite the savant of Cha-Cha and despite some strange feelings about their fixation on the female visitor, I obliged. Cha-Cha is not for the weak hearted but I was very used to consuming it at the time. I should have paid more notice to the very intentional placement of the shots he filled for us but I pushed those misgivings aside and had the shot after a very traditional toast.

Around 20 minutes later, I felt exhausted and ill and excused myself from my room, saying I needed a quick nap. Walking to my room, I knew something was amiss. As mentioned in the beginning, I was fronting a questionable business and did have a firearm in my bag and made a mental note to take it and put it under my pillow but, as one can imagine, it isn't easy to remember things even on short term when apparently drugged. Despite failing to collect my weapon, I did close my blinds as the afternoon sun was blaring into the room and I wanted darkness. Passing out at around 4.30pm, I awoke to darkness at 4.45am with a raging headache. My window shades were partially open despite me closing them before passing out. They were open with about 2 feet of space visible to the outside. My bags were not in the position I left them, and the television was on and on high volume despite me never using it and the door was only partially closed.

I peered out the window and didn't see anything so I quickly went to my bag, retrieved my firearm and went to the bathroom with the intention of calling my co-workers or a driver to pick me up. I had no self-service and no wifi despite having perfectly fine reception the day prior. I went back to bed with a weapon under the pillow with zero desire or inclination to fall back asleep. After an hour or so of pretending to be asleep, I saw the sun peer through the window to get a look inside. At this point, I was certain it was not my imagination playing tricks on me and that I was in trouble. I came out at around sunrise to find both the hostess and her son sipping tea on the deck and told the hostess that my girlfriend was arriving soon on a bus and that I'd bring her when it arrived. I grabbed my

backpack and left my other bag to give the impression I wasn't fleeing. Got service immediately after leaving the property and called a partner to pick me up old school businessman who was floating the money i'd run the lending operation with told him the story and he said he would handle it he did handle it i still think about the foul smelling hole the son was digging last guess weeks later i decided that wasn't the place or business for me and applied was back when I was living in Liverpool for university. Halloween is always a big night for students, as is any yearly event that involves dressing up and getting absolutely wasted. But since Halloween is a really good excuse to wear considerably less clothes than usual, party-oriented students tend to get particularly excited about it.

So I'm in second year at this point, living with a bunch of my student mates just off Smithton Road, which is where loads of students can get shared houses for really cheap rent. We heard that this big house party was happening just down the road from us, one of those that had its own little Facebook events page set up to keep track of invites and give people directions to the house. I remember my mates sitting around the kitchen table, all staring at the screen as they went through all the profiles of girls they said that were attending. I mean, some of them were absolutely gorgeous, so we were all

definitely hyped about it. Only just a few days before Halloween, I started to feel really, really grim. I had the shakes, I was running to and from the toilet every half an hour to erupt from both ends, and I could barely keep any food down. This persisted for like 48 hours straight, and thankfully it had abated by Halloween itself, but I still felt way too rough to do any serious partying. The last thing I wanted was to end up browning myself in front of like half the girls at our uni. I mean, every lad wants to be a legend, don't they, but for the right reasons. So anyway, on the day of the house party, despite my mates insisting I make an appearance and throw together a costume,

I had made the firm decision to stay at home and chill for the evening. As much as I felt like I'm missing out, I just didn't feel up to it. So about seven-ish, my mates are pre-drinking in the kitchen, while I'm up in my room looking to order the spiciest curry I could get my hands on in the hopes that it would purge the rest of the sickness out of me so I could start the following week feeling fresh again. So about the time I'm burning my face off with a little chicken vindaloo my mates are just about to head off down to the house party for a night of debauchery. There are a few final pleas for me to join them but

these are all violently rebuked. There might have been a chance of me joining them before the curry but afterwards, no chance. I was in a full on food coma. So a couple of hours later I'm just chilling on the couch and wondering why British Netflix had such a dire collection of horror films when there's a knock at our front door. My first thought is that there's been some kind of puke-related disaster and one of the lads had to come back to get a change of clothes before heading back to the house party. I mean, this wasn't entirely out of the question since the house party was only around the corner, safe staggering distance for anyone that had drank too much too quickly. But it then occurred to me that there

was a chance it could have been trick-or-treaters. Smithen has a big mix of residential and student housing, so there was also a decent chance it could have been kids looking for sweets. So to save the house getting egged, I legged it into the kitchen and grabbed a few bits from the cupboards to offer any potential trick-or-treaters. But when I answered the door, Mars bars in hand, there was no one there. Maybe I'd just taken too long grabbing sweets or maybe it was just some knock and run type deal. But either way, there was no one to be seen. So I just head back inside, plonk myself down on the couch and get back to digesting a ton of curry that I'd just eaten. A short while later I'm still watching Netflix, about ready to doze off when something in the

corner of the living room catches my eye. You know when you're so used to looking at a certain something that just the oddest little difference catches your eye? Well, I happen to notice that there was a little less of the orange streetlights outside coming through the little crack between the curtains and the window. Like this dark shape was outside, standing at the window. I sit up all nervous and it disappears from view, allowing me to see the orange light illuminating the street once again. Someone had been watching me. I got up, rushed to the cupboard under the stairs to grab my housemate's cricket bat then edged toward the front door. I threw it open, ready to swing at

whatever was out there but again, there was nothing. I started to feel like I was going mental at that point that maybe I was just exhausted from being sick for most of the week. I hadn't slept very well at all during the few days prior to Halloween, and I tried to reassure myself that maybe I was just a wee bit jumpy from being overtired. I decided it was best that I get an early night, telling myself that I'd feel much better in the morning. I did a bit of washing up, got a shower, then put on some comfy clothes to get ready for bed but just as I do there's another knock on the door. Only this time I can clearly hear some young sounding voice go trick or treat from the

other side of the door. I'd almost jumped out of my skin when I heard the door go but the voice was weirdly reassuring. I mean it was only trick or treaters right? The worst that could happen was I got a few eggs thrown at me or some toilet paper lashed over the house. I walked downstairs, grabbed the handful of Mars bars I'd fished out of the cupboard, then opened up the front door. I was expecting to see a gaggle of school-aged kids, maybe accompanied by an adult supervising them, but there was just one smallish looking figure stood in the pathway of our shared house. They couldn't have been any older than a

teenager but they definitely looked a little bit too old to be trick-or-treating. I don't imagine that they'd been particularly intimidating otherwise but the mask they were wearing seriously gave me the creeps. It looked old, like it smelled like disgusting unwashed latex on the inside. I'm not even sure it was meant to be a Halloween mask at all. It was like an old man's face with these tiny black eyes and a big white smile stretching from ear to ear. I made some derisive comment to him like, aren't you a bit too old to be trick-or-treating? But held the handful of Mars bars out towards him anyway. I reckoned he'd just tell me to bugger off and snatch the sweets off me and leg it down the path, but he didn't. The lad just stood there, looking at me from behind the

mask, not even moving to take the chocolate bars off me. I asked him if he was alright, starting to actually get creeped out by his behavior on top of the weird old mask he was wearing, but still he didn't say anything. There was something intensely creepy about not being able to see his actual eyes behind that mask, and the longer we stood there in silence, just staring at each other, the more I felt myself begin to tense up. Then right as I'm about to just give him an awkward goodbye and shut the door, I hear a loud noise coming from behind me. I didn't really think the situation through, I just reacted, running into the kitchen at the

back of the house where the noise was coming from, just in time to see someone smash the back door open. About three or four people then pour into the kitchen, all wearing masks, some armed with bats, others with these big knives in their hands. I turn around and leg it back towards the front door, planning on running upstairs to my room where my phone was charging to bring the police. But to my absolute horror, blocking the way to the stairs was the little lad with the mask on, only this time, he had a knife in his hand too. He'd been in on this whole thing that whole time and as he pointed the knife in my direction, all I could do was raise my hands in this please don't stab me type of way. Get on the floor, he said in this voice that seriously sounded like he was no older than about 14. Like he legit sounded like a kid and that scared me even more. A grown man might

have the presence of mind to not hurt anyone and keep the severity of their crimes to a minimum, but a kid? I thought he might just stab me up for the fun of it. I'd heard stories about gangs all over the world making younger kids commit violence to just sort of prove themselves, and that's what had me shaking as I lay down on the carpeted floor in the hallway, face down with my hands on the back of my head. I listened as the gang just completely ransacked the house. I couldn't see exactly what they were taking taking but I heard them mentioning laptops and phones a fair bit, laughing to themselves as they absolutely raided each and every room in the house. At some point I heard smashing and crashing noises as they just took

it upon themselves to commit as much wanton destruction as they liked, giggling maniacally to each other as they realized they had the time and freedom to do pretty much whatever they fancied. I thought if I just lay there, keeping still and quiet, that they'd leave me alone, but that was just wishful thinking on my part. Obviously they had to make their way through the hallway a fair few times and when they did, they'd either literally walk all over me, which was painful enough, or they'd get in a few kicks here and there just to hear me grimace. I think the worst part of the physical abuse was when I heard one of them say,

kick him in the balls, lad, to one of their mates. I tried to shut my legs, but they still aimed a few kicks between my thighs. Luckily, I was kind of tucked up, if you know what I mean, and there wasn't anything too delicate to expose, but still, the idea of getting my bollocks crushed under the trainer of some disgusting little thug had my heart practically jumping out of my throat. It sort of reminded me of that scene from A Clockwork Orange. They were there to rob us, that was bloody obvious, but they clearly took a great deal of joy in just being able to terrorize someone for a bit

and they seemed to get a real kick out of realizing that I wasn't from Liverpool. At some point I said something like, just take what you want, please don't hurt me, and they burst out laughing. I wouldn't say I'm posh by any stretch of the imagination But I'd definitely say I'm well more spoken than your average scouser They started mimicking me in these little voices Stamping on my head and kicking me I just lay there wishing I'd never said anything

After what seemed like forever Listening to those kids ferrying out belongings into the alley behind the house, they finally left. But not before putting one of their knives to my throat and telling me that they'd be back to cut my head off if they so much as even saw a police officer in the area. Then as quickly as they'd all appeared, they just ghosted. I waited for a long time before I found it in me to stand up and as I tried, my knees were way shakier than I'd care to admit. I went from room to room surveying the destruction. The place was a mess, but the thing that amazed and gutted me more than anything else was the sheer amount of stuff they'd taken. God knows how they'd got it all away from the house, but they'd taken the TVs, our game consoles, audio equipment, pretty much

anything electrical that wasn't nailed down. It also looked like they'd taken pretty much all our trainers and had raided our closets for any clothes that took their liking. I wanted to call the police, really did, but with what phone? I'm almost glad I got a few kicks to the head otherwise the sense of shame and humiliation might have been too much to bear. I ended up knocking at my neighbor's houses but unlike me, they were way too smart to answer their doors to strangers on Halloween. It was probably the single worst experience of my life up to that point. I had to just go back inside the house and sit there in the living room couch with my head in my hands, just trying not to hold back tears. It was hours before any of my drunken housemates

arrived back. Before that, I think I just sort of sat there at the kitchen table, in the one room that hadn't been completely ransacked, just drinking a few tins of lager, feeling absolutely shell-shocked, until finally two of them who hadn't pulled returned home. And that's about the end of it. There's no real resolution to this story. The police couldn't do anything other than take down a list of what had been stolen in the hopes that any of the laptops turned up in pawn shops but we never heard back about anything involving that. It was weird in that house for a long while after. I used to think the other lads blamed me for what happened for not defending the house property but I realized that was just the trauma from that night making me doubt myself.

I had nightmares for a while, a long while actually, and in the end my parents paid for a few counseling sessions to help me get through my skull that what happened that night really wasn't my fault, how it could have happened to anyone. I got past it in time but to this day it remains the single most terrifying event of my entire life. My mom married her boyfriend of a few years about 5 years ago now. It wasn't one of those weird awkward affairs though. I was genuinely happy for her. You see my dad passed away from brain cancer way back when I was 12 so she had been a widow for over 12 years and I know just how lonely she'd been in that time. Her new relationship

with this guy was a huge whirlwind for years with them meeting, dating, breaking up, dating again before eventually getting married. My mom felt like she was betraying dad's memories at times and she didn't make it easy on the new guy. But he stuck with her, even when she was having rough patches and I gotta admit, that really won me over when I realized just how much he loved her. She spoke once about him having experienced some loss in his life too and how that experience had united them, given them a shared experience to bond over. As I said, I liked him and I didn't know much about his personal life or his background, but my mom was happy enough so I really did approve of the whole thing.

After she married him, she ended up packing her bags and moving into this big old house of his up in Scotland. Turns out he had a lot of money from playing the stock market and actually offered to pay the rent on the apartment me and mom used to share, which as you can imagine, didn't get an iota of complaint out of me or my boyfriend, who ended up moving in to take her place when she'd moved out. A few months went by before we got an invite to come up to stay with them. I thought we might be able to all get together for Christmas, but as it happens, mom and the new guy were off to winter in the Maldives at a place he owned and wouldn't be around until the following February. So we worked all around our respective commitments and the only time we'd all be available to get together happened to be one particular few days, the days surrounding the

31st of October, Halloween. As it turns out, mom's new home was really out of the way. It was an absolute pain to get to. We had to get three trains as well as a taxi that cost us an arm and a leg. But honestly, when we finally got there, it was worth the journey. It was absolutely gorgeous. Seriously, like something out of a Downton Abbey. The estate, as the new guy referred to it, sat on a few hundred acres of beautiful rolling Scottish hillside and was just about the most picturesque place I'd ever laid eyes on. I'll admit that I was extremely nervous about getting to know Stephen, my mom's new husband, but I really was for trying my best to form some kind of bond with him. I knew how much it'd mean to my mom and

I really mean it when I'd say I'd do absolutely anything to make her happy. That and it was my first chance at any kind of holiday in years so I was determined to make the most of it. However, it definitely wasn't easy. Not that he wasn't the perfect gentleman, he made every effort to make me and my boyfriend feel welcome there and made a point of showing me exactly how happy he could make my mom. He didn't try and play at being my stepdad, he wasn't overbearing, he was exactly the kind of guy we needed him to be, and for that I'll always be extremely grateful. But over the course of our first day on the estate, I began to feel more and more troubled for some reason.

I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was, and my boyfriend actually suggested that maybe staying in something that looked like your stereotypical haunted house over Halloween probably wasn't helping. But I promise you, it wasn't that. I'm quite the horror movie fanatic, as well as being a dyed-in-the-wool skeptic, and I'm definitely not one to start sensing auras or any of that nonsense. But like I said, something just didn't sit right with me about that place, and no matter how hard Steven tried to make us feel at home, I still couldn't quite shake this oppressive feeling. I finally chalk it up to me being more upset about my mom getting remarried than I was willing to admit to myself. So, still willing to make the effort, I found myself wandering around

the grounds of the estate, dragging my boyfriend in tow. Because being inside the old manor house just made me feel worse and worse with each passing minute and the last thing I wanted was for my mom to assume that I had taken the hump with Stephen for whatever reason. God forbid that I was jealous or like resented the fact that he came from old money or something because I can assure you I'm not that kind of person. On that first night at the estate, me and my boyfriend took a bath together in this massive porcelain tub that sat in the en suite guest bathroom. We were sitting there, soaking up the hot water that was infused with this super fancy molten brown bath oil stuff, engaged in some inconsequential conversation when

he stopped mid-sentence and put a hand on my shoulder. He asked me what I'd done to my back. I was like, what are you talking about? As far as I knew, I hadn't done anything to my back at all. He then told me I had this massive purple bruise on my back. I reached back to feel where he was talking about and he was right. I felt this dull pain when I pressed down on the skin of my shoulder blade. There was actually this big bloody bruise there. I jumped out of the bath and walked over to this big fancy mirror to have a look at it and dear god, it was massive. I put it down to the strap of one of our bags digging into my shoulder as I was carrying it but honestly, I knew full well that there was no way it could have done anything like that. I tried not to get too freaked out but I'll be honest, I was really quiet for the rest of the

night, right up until me and the boyfriend got into bed together to get some well deserved rest, but that night I hardly slept. You see the guest bedroom looked out over this big empty field on the estate. I had no idea at the time but something about that big dark field was really really bothering me, even when I couldn't see it from where I was lying. At one point I got up during the middle of the night and just wandered over to the window, staring out into the darkness, not even sure what I was looking for. I was only able to actually get any bloody sleep once I'd worked out how to draw the big old curtains. The curtain rail must have been a hundred years old so it took some doing but with the help of my boyfriend we did

manage to close them and only then could I actually get my head down. I honestly thought that I'd start feeling better the following day but when I woke up the next morning, Halloween morning to be exact, I was in floods of tears. I didn't actually wake up on my own. It was my boyfriend that shook me awake, telling me that I was whimpering and crying in my sleep. He was really shaken up himself, telling me that I'd scared the life out of him and asking if I'd had some kind of nightmare. I couldn't remember any bad dreams at all but I still felt grim and in my panicked state I told him that I thought that we should just get out of there.

He tried to calm me down, telling me it was probably just the angst of seeing my mom with someone else bubbling to the surface. But I flipped on him, telling him yet again that it wasn't anything to do with that, how something was badly wrong with that house, even though I just couldn't exactly work out what it was. My boyfriend insisted that we should stay another day, just to see if things would get any easier for me, but I flat out refused, telling him we needed to make up an excuse as to why we needed to leave so I wouldn't upset mom. So being the good boyfriend that he is, he manufactured some excuse that he had a family emergency back home and that I'd have to come with

him for emotional support. He even said he could bear the brunt of my mom being annoyed with him and god, if ever there was a time I knew I loved him, it was then. As soon as we were in the taxi and on the way back to the train station, I felt like a bloody great weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I still felt proper weird for a day or two, but I think that was just knowing my mom was up in that house. Even if it was with Stephen, who I honestly still adore to this day, it just didn't feel right up there, and I just couldn't quite relax knowing she was there. A few weeks later, Stephen and Mom are back down in London where Stephen was based as part of his job running a company. I was made up that they were out of that big old house, but Mom insisted on making plans for us to go up there as a family again at some point.

It was only then that I just came out and told her no, that I hated it up there, how I really felt horribly uneasy and that, although I didn't know why, that I knew that there was something horribly wrong with that place. I told her all about the big weird bruise on my back, how I woke up crying that morning, the feeling of the big dark field, the works. I hadn't even finished speaking when she turned deathly pale. Then it all came out. She'd been feeling the exact same way the whole time she was up there, she just didn't want to let on. She thought a bit of family time up there might do the trick, but it just hadn't. It hadn't fixed a bloody thing. She hadn't felt right about the place ever since she learned what had happened to Stephen's ex-wife You see, remember I told you that Stephen had suffered a significant loss himself at one point?

Well, it turns out that he too had lost a spouse Only not to some slow, painful disease like cancer Stephen's wife had been suffering from severe postnatal depression ever since they had their third child The family doctor had tried everything they could to help her, but nothing worked suffering from severe postnatal depression ever since they had their third child. The family doctor had tried everything they could to help her, but nothing worked, and one day she had gone into the hunting shed around the back of the house, loaded up a shotgun, walked into a field, and blown her own head off. I had so many questions, but I remember only asking one at first.

I asked her which field Stephen's wife had shot herself in. My mom looked at the carpet as she answered. The one just outside, the guest bedroom. To be continued... sister, but let's just say they weren't always the most attentive because of their respective work schedules. I could do pretty much whatever I wanted to, whenever I wanted to, which, as you can imagine, wasn't exactly good for me. And one of the things I'd do which definitely messed me up a bit as a child was staying up all hours watching late night TV until I passed out on the couch. Like I loved those times. I got to see all these messed up movies and stuff way before any of my friends got to. But it was staying up late like that which allowed me to see something even more screwed up than any horror movie or Cinemax flick. It's Halloween night, of all the nights for this to happen, and I'm lying on the couch in the TV

room after a night of successful trick-or-treating with a few school friends. I'm just sort of drifting off while watching Nightmare on Elm Street, only really awake from the stomach ache of eating way too much Halloween candy, when I hear a noise coming from the porch. I instantly recognize it was the sound of an old school porch swing rocking back and forth, like this telltale metal creaking noise that I'm sure you can all imagine pretty well. My mom and dad are doing their weird grown up things upstairs, which turned out years later that they were a husband and wife team of drug dealers,

and my sister is in bed upstairs, so as soon as I realize whoever is out there is actually some complete stranger, I start getting pretty creeped out. But as much as I was pretty scared, I absolutely could not resist the urge to see who it was. I had to know. Even when I was that age, I was super protective of my little sister. So I find myself just slowly creeping on my tiptoes over towards the big bay windows of the TV room and peeking around the curtains to see out into the porch. It's pretty dark outside and we didn't have a security light back then so I could only use the glow of the street lights outside to actually make out who was out there on the porch. But I'll never forget what I saw

when my eyes finally adjusted after having been staring at a bright TV in a dark room for so long. Sitting there, rocking back and forth on our porch swing is this middle-aged looking woman. She looked about as old as my grandma at the time, so maybe 50 to 60, wearing nothing but some old nightdress type thing. Inner hand was something I didn't quite recognize at first because of what it was covered in. If I could have seen the blade shining in the low light, I'd have known it was a knife right away. But because it was still dripping with what I could only assume was blood, that actually looked kind of black in the orange streetlight, it took me a minute to realize exactly the kind of horror

that I was facing. When I finally did, I immediately just freak out and bolt upstairs to my parents' room. They did that weird thing that they always did when I burst into their room unannounced, closing various drawers or boxes, hiding things they didn't want me to see. They were angry as usual, asking me impatiently what I was thinking just walking into their room like that. Usually it was for me to tell them I needed food or whatever they neglected to do but this time I was just too terrified to actually get the words out. Like I said, they were annoyed at first but when they realized just how upset I was they actually took me seriously for once. Maybe they thought it was the cops or something outside.

I guess they were right to be paranoid about that sort of thing. But when I actually told them what I'd seen, they lost all sympathy. I remember my dad telling me that it was just a bad dream from all the dumb movies I watched. Like that wasn't mostly their fault and all the Halloween candy I'd eaten. And that I should grow up and go back to bed. But I just kept on crying and begging him to go look, insisting that what I'd seen was actually real and not just some figment of my childish horror-saturated imagination. He tried to push me out of the room so that they could carry on with whatever illegal nonsense that they were doing in there but when I pretty much just clung on to him and screamed my little head off, he finally snapped.

He dragged me downstairs by the arm so hard I almost fell down the entire flight of stairs, then into the TV room and over to the front door, apparently just to prove that there was nothing actually there. But as you can imagine, this only made me worse. He was pulling me towards the single most terrifying image I'd ever seen at that point in my life. Way more terrifying than just some dumb horror movie, because what I'd seen was actually real life, and even though I was young, that was painfully clear to me. We reach the front door. He swings it open and drags me outside, cursing under his breath the whole time. Then he like points in the direction of the porch without even really looking himself and says, see, there's nothing there at all, just your fri-

Then he stops, because he actually sees what I've been talking about. I never saw a look like that on his face ever again, one of pure shock and terror that his kid had actually been telling the truth about something so utterly horrific. It was only then that I actually got a really good look at the woman instead of seeing the bloody knife in her grip. She was ashen-faced, like she was completely traumatized by something. Her hair was up in rollers, and the nightdress or nightgown or whatever she was wearing was absolutely soaked in blood. She turned towards us, and there was just nothing behind her eyes. They were wide, these big white and brown circles just sunken into her head, but there was nothing

in them, like she had no soul to speak of whatsoever. Then she stood up, that bloody knife in her grip, and said the words I'll never forget as long as I live. I killed him. I had to. I couldn't take it anymore. So I killed to. I couldn't take it anymore, so I killed him. My dad just pulls me inside the house, even more violently than he dragged me out of it,

then slams the door and runs to grab his gun from the upstairs bedroom. For years I wonder why I didn't just call the cops, but I suppose that's something else that's painfully clear at this point. I watch from the hallway, peeking out as he goes back outside and points the gun at her, telling him to get off the porch as the cops were on their way. This was a lie obviously but it was enough to get her to leave. She didn't even run though, she just sort of stood up all slow and then wandered off into the night as I watched her from a crack in the TV room curtains, same spot I'd spied her from the first time. It was only like ten years later that I actually found out what the deal was. Apparently the him she was referring to was her abusive husband who'd been beating on her so much that she'd gotten sick of it and decided to finally defend herself,

albeit in a pretty permanent way. She'd finally gotten picked up by the cops later that night when she tried to break into one of our neighbor's houses and as far as I know, she's still in prison for what she did. I also wondered why my parents were so keen to get rid of the porch swing that day and why they lied to the cops when they called, telling her they hadn't seen the woman even though they had. I guess they just didn't want anyone snooping around the house asking questions or picking up any suspicious smells that might lead to some kind of DEA raid or whatever. Nothing really changed after that though. My parents didn't get any better at being

actual parents. I just didn't stay up late anymore. Because I never wanted to be the one to discover anything like that ever again. I grew up in rural Iowa, the kind of place where it's just cornfields for miles and miles around. It was a pretty terrible place to grow up. Like, it'll always be home to me, and I'll always have a fair amount of affection for it. Home is where the heart is and all that nonsense, but even from the earliest age I can remember, I couldn't wait to leave. Like, put it this way, Halloween has always been my favorite holiday. But unlike the kids who trick-or-treat over in Cedar Rapids or Waterloo, who had actual neighborhoods to harvest whole sacks of candy from, we'd have

to walk like a mile and a half at a time just to make it to the next house. So aside from the one year where our mom drove us over to Dyersville so we could actually get a taste of how those city kids lived, trick-or-treating just wasn't really an option for us. So a little backstory here, the last year we were allowed to go trick or treating, our immediate neighbor to the east who lived like three miles away basically told us to buzz off because we were getting way too big to be playing kids games. This guy has begrudgingly given us a few apples some years and we always sort of resented him for it. But that year, when he told us where to go, it made us downright hate him. I mean, for the entirety of the next year,

me and my brother would scowl whenever my dad drove us past his house. To us, he ruined the one good thing we got to do around Halloween each year. I know we were just dumb kids, but kids are also cruel and stubborn on occasion, and I guess we were just that kind of kid. So the next year my mom decides to take us over to Living History Farms over in Urbandale. Living History Farms is this place over near Des Moines that bills itself as interactive outdoor museum which teaches people about midwestern rural life experiences. Obviously we weren't thrilled about the visit. It wasn't exactly exciting for two boys in their early teens.

I mean learning about some of the origins of Halloween was pretty cool. I mean a kid like me was all about hearing how Halloween was the night when spirits of the dead returned to earth to wreak havoc on those that had wronged them in life. However, there was one particular little educational tidbit that got me and my brother's attention, and that was the stories of how our Iowan ancestors used Halloween as a night to play all kinds of pranks on each other. Pulling up cabbages and shrubs out of the garden was a common trick. Wagons were pushed into the lane or the street or if the kids were feeling ambitious, they'd hoist the cars up on top of the victim's barn roof.

But the most common mischief was taking your neighbor's garden or barnyard gates off the hinges and leaving it in someone else's yard. I remember the teacher lady telling us this, then me and my brother just looking at each other with this wordless kind of communication like, oh the neighbor is going to get it this year. So that year, we snuck out of the house in the early hours of the morning, walked down to the neighbor's place with a screwdriver and hammer, and then did exactly that. We took his front gate off the hinges, walked it like a mile down the road to his other neighbor's place then left it in the front yard. We did stuff like that for the next couple of years, each time getting progressively more bold, screwing with him harder and harder until it got to the point that we struggled to top the previous year's prank. Like it got to the

point where we stole a huge section of his white picket fence and just threw it into the cornfield across the highway. I mean, we put some actual work into that, dismantling it piece by piece so as not to make too much noise and wake the guy. I mean, it sucked that we never got to hang around to see his reaction, but I guess imagining him going outside in the morning and going insane with rage was enough to keep us amused. So this one year, we rocked up to his house in the middle of the night and saw something we'd never expected to see in a million years. The neighbor guy obviously hated Halloween and never ever put up any decorations or anything. But that year, we turned up to see this grim reaper figure on his porch. It wasn't just some dumb looking scarecrow type thing either. It seemed like the guy had put in a lot of work getting hold of an actual mannequin of something,

as well as all this spooky looking black rope stuff to dress it in. But since he was a farmer, he didn't have much trouble getting hold of the old rusty scythe that was leaning up against it. I mean, yeah, it was kind of intimidating. He'd obviously only put it there to try to scare us off, but we weren't about to be put off from our little year ritual at this point. Nothing short of a tornado could deter us from getting our revenge for having been so mean to us that Halloween night. But right as we started to dismantle his fence in almost absolute silence, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. Or rather, I noticed the lack of something. So subtle that it actually takes me a minute to realize what I wasn't looking at. At some point, as we were taking his fence apart,

the Grim Reaper statue thing had just up and disappeared. I stopped what I'm doing, looking around the front yard and trying to spot where it could have gone. I whisper over to my brother like, the Reaper's gone. Did you see it move? And at first he looked at me like I'm crazy. But then he too starts getting pretty freaked out. We're just crouched down, tools in hand, in the dead silence of the night, realizing that we'd been a little bit overconfident on our yearly pranks. I mean, we didn't quite realize what was happening at the time, only that things were about to go horribly wrong for us. Let's get out of here, my brother whispered, and we immediately get up and start sort of jogging back towards the highway. Then, out of nowhere, the Grim Reaper is just

standing there in front of us, with that big old rusty scythe in his hand, blocking our escape. It hadn't been a mannequin that was set up on the neighbor guy's porch, it was actually him. He dressed up like some dumb decoration and just stood there, still as a statue, waiting for the pranksters to arrive. There was like one drawn out moment where we just sort of locked eyes with the guy who had taken down the hood of the black robes he was wearing and then we just bolted. But since he was blocking

the way to the road out front, we had to run back through his property, climbing over a fence and into a cornfield to get away from him. He was really fast for an older guy too, like maybe it was just all that anger from having been victimized year after year, but somehow he wasn't weighed down by that scythe and those robes which for some reason he'd opted to keep on didn't slow him down either. I was scared sure but I figured we'd be able to get away but remember how I said we had to scale a fence to get away? Well jumping down the other side didn't go too well for me and I badly sprained my ankle when I landed. That was when I really got terrified, when I realized I couldn't actually get away from the guy. My brother just kept running and

I wanted to shout after him to help me but I knew the shout would give away my position to the guy so I just kept my mouth shut. So picture this scene, I'm hiding out in the cornfield, so scared that I'm actually covering my mouth to keep from breathing too heavy while this furious scythe armed guy is stalking up and down the rows looking for me. So every so often I had to just sort of limp to a hiding spot further away from him, trying my best not to rustle any of the stalks so I wouldn't betray my hiding spot. Thank god it was the middle of the night and maybe the guy's eyesight or hearing was just failing him in general but I managed not to get myself caught. I just kept on stumbling further and further away until he just gave up and headed back to his house. Jesus Christ, it was completely

and utterly terrifying hearing him say all this stuff like, I'm gonna cut you up into little pieces and feed you to my pigs. Like the voice of his was telling me he meant every word of what he said. So yeah, as you can imagine, I was pretty close to peeing my pants, knowing that I just couldn't get away fast enough. Needless to say, we didn't try any more pranks on that guy after that. I made up some excuse to my parents as to how I'd hurt my ankle and then just used it as an excuse to stay home until it had healed, given that I was super

paranoid about the neighbor guy figuring out who exactly had been victimizing him year after year. But yeah, that's my story. I know it's probably not the scariest thing you'd ever heard, and I know that we kind of deserve what we got in the end. To be continued... Apparently they were part of some weird, obscure Christian sect, one that was heavily persecuted in internavigated Bohemia. So they took a ship to Ellis Island and lived in New York City until they were basically chased out of there too, hence why they ended up in rural Nebraska. They started a farm here, worked the land and actually became relatively wealthy for the time whilst keeping themselves to themselves. According to a family story which my grandpa insists is 100% true, it was the middle of October when my great-great-grandma comes down with some horrible disease. The family did everything they could to keep her comfortable,

riding their horses for miles and miles to fetch her medicine which actually brought her back from the brink a few times. But eventually, right when they thought she might actually be okay, her condition deteriorated rapidly and she passed away one night just after midnight. Now this would have been a sad occasion under any circumstances but the date of her passing was of particular relevance to my family. You see, she died just after midnight on the 31st of October on Halloween. Like I said, my family were members of a particularly strange sect of Eastern European Christians, ones that, like many, believed that Halloween was a time when the spirits of the dead were particularly active. Only they believed that if a person died on

Halloween, that it was possible for these long dead spirits to enter the corpse of the person recently deceased, to take over their body and resurrect it in order to perform acts of evil. To prevent this, they had to perform a series of rituals very quickly before burying the dead person as soon as possible in order to prevent the evil spirits from taking hold in the person's body. So according to grandpa's story, they washed my great-great grandma's body with ointment, burned sage to shoo away spirits, then buried her in the family cemetery located in a secluded patch of their farmland. Now apparently my great-great grandma had these two big dogs that absolutely adored her. Naturally they were completely devastated when she passed on and stayed by her body for the longest time. When she was buried they refused to leave her gravesite and no matter how much meat or animal bones they were offered by my family, they refused to come inside the old farmhouse. They thought this would just happen for a day or two until they realized the permanence of the loss and just got too cold or hungry and decided to return

indoors. But night after night they slept by the grave, only eating or drinking water if it was brought over to them and even then they seemed to do so reluctantly. Then about a week and a half after she was buried, well into the month of November they began to bark so reluctantly. Then about a week and a half after she was buried, well into the month of November they began to bark and scratch at the earth atop the grave. They would howl all night long, and the attempts at digging got so bad that eventually a long dead uncle of mine had to go out there and drag each of the dogs inside in order to keep them from straight up digging up the grave. But even when they were locked inside, the dogs would bark and howl in the direction of the cemetery which obviously caused the family

a huge amount of distress. The grief was bad enough without the weird behavior of the dogs, but as much as they tried to quiet the animals, the dogs just would not cease their barking and howling. Apparently it was close to driving the family half insane by the time they tried to do anything about it. They had even discussed killing the dogs just so they could get some real sleep at night. Before they took any such drastic action, they decided to check out the grave in order to make sure nothing was amiss with the burial. It was thought that maybe rats might have burrowed their way into the grave, chewed through the wood of the coffin, and were gnawing on my great-great-grandma's rotting flesh, which obviously the dogs will have been able to hear or at least smell given their more powerful senses of perception.

But after hours of work digging through the frozen soil, they reached my great-great-grandma's casket and found that there was no damage to the wood and it was all perfectly intact. But still, the dogs kept on barking. They ran out to the grave site and began barking into the open grave so the family decided to properly exhume her to make sure nothing was amiss. What they found was absolutely horrifying. Instead of the peaceful look on my great-great-grandma's face, the one she was buried with, she had wide, dead, terrified eyes and her jaw was wide open in what appeared to be a death scream. Huge chunks of her hair had been torn out from her scalp,

presumably by her own hands, lying in patches of steel grey around her rotting head. Not only that, but her fingers were bloody and mangled, the fingernails lying around the wooden box where they'd been torn off by incessant scratching on the coffin lid, which itself bore the damage from her efforts. The sight drove her still-living husband to madness. He ran screaming from the gravesite and was never the same again, and when he realized exactly what had happened that Halloween night, he hung himself from a rafter in the barn. And he did so because he realized, despite the lack of medical knowledge possessed by the family, that my great-great-grandma hadn't been quite dead when they had buried her

that night. In fact, she had merely slipped into a comatose state, one which was mistaken for death by the family that was so lacking in accurate medical knowledge. And so, when she was unconscious and presumed dead, they'd taken her out to the cemetery that day and buried her alive. The dogs were barking and howling not because they could hear rats, but because they could hear my great-great-grandma's screams for help. They could hear her ripping her own nails out from clawing at the wood of her own coffin, and it drove them to an absolute panic. That's why they barked and howled at night, because they knew their beloved owner was suffering so much. I'm not sure how true this whole story is, to be honest, but I also can't think of a reason why such a tall tale might even exist in our family. Surely a person might want to

hide something like that from the world forever, but maybe it's retold so often because they never, ever want it to happen again for any reason, because the results of their poor judgment were so traumatic that it almost destroyed an entire family, one that had already survived such hideous persecution on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean. But I know it's a story that, once a year, around Halloween, the elders of our family tell to the oldest of the children so that they might tell the tale in time to ensure that no matter what happens, the family never faces such a mind-shattering horror as long as it might exist. To be continued... Be sure to submit them to my subreddit, r slash let's read official and give and receive feedback from the community and maybe even hear your story featured on the next video.

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