The Lets Read Podcast - 126: Childhood Memories & Human Trafficking Stories | 24 True Scary Horror Stories | EP 113

Episode Date: March 15, 2022

This episode includes narrations of true creepy encounters submitted by normal folks just like yourself. Today you'll experience horrifying stories about Childhood Memories, Human Trafficking & Homelessness... 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

If it's a flat or a squeal, a wobble or peel, your tread's worn down or you need a new wheel, wherever you go, you can get it from our Tread Experts. Until May 30th, purchase four new Michelin passenger or light truck tires and receive up to $70 by prepaid MasterCard. Conditions apply. Details at Michelin.ca. Find a Michelin Tread Experts dealer near you at TreadExperts.ca slash locations. From tires to auto repair, we're always there at Treadexperts.ca slash locations. Everyone's got a pro. Need tires?

I've got a pro. Car making a weird sound? I've got a pro. So who's that pro? The pros at Tread Experts. From tires to auto repair, Tread Experts is always there, helping you with Michelin tires you can trust. Until May 30th, receive up to $70 by prepaid MasterCard with purchase of four new Michelin passenger or light truck tires.

Find your pro at your local Tread Experts. From tires to auto repair, we're always there. TreadExperts.ca I'm sorry. A mere five years ago I discovered the existence of a silent plague sweeping the nation. An unknown wildfire roaring unhindered through our homeless population. In America, the less fortunate, those forced to live on the streets, are almost invisible to most of us. I too once looked at them with disgust, even derision, if I looked at them at all. That was until a series of events occurred that drastically altered the way in which I viewed them. In 1995, I inherited a small corner store from my father He, along with my mother, opened it in 1962 At that time the neighborhood was home to predominantly Catholic blue-collared folks

As I grew older I watched the neighborhood undergo massive change With the influx of very low-income individuals to the area most made the move to nearby suburbs. Such a large exodus of the population naturally caused the area to financially implode. With time, even the newer arrivals would move on, leaving a gaping hole in the area's housing market. Eventually, as the 1980s came to a close, the overwhelming majority of the area had been redeveloped into industrial space and chain stores. We were the last of a dying breed, and we knew it. By the point I inherited the store, our remaining time was measured in months rather than years. Most old stores like ours usually only attract a small group of patrons. We still had our die-hard

customers. These came from the last few remaining families still living in the neighborhood. They were usually the old, my parents' generation and older. The overwhelming remainder were drawn from the homeless and very poor. Low-end wines and beers made up almost 40% of our monthly sales. It was a sad way to see such a once vibrant area turn out. Despite my dislike of their lifestyle, the homeless calling the neighborhood home were keeping our doors open. A small group of these men and women wouldn't even become my friends or at least acquaintances. Two men, Jeffrey and Franklin, were probably the ones I saw the most.

Both were jolly old men who shared a love of fortified wine and dirty jokes. Every once in a while they wouldn't have any money so I'd let them stock the cooler or sweep the floor for a bottle of Mad Dog. It seemed a better option than them possibly stealing it. Early spring of 2015 something changed. Franklin stopped coming in. He'd been coming into my store seven days a week for as long as I could remember. I was a little concerned but assumed he may be sick. When he didn't show for the third day in a row I knew something had to be wrong.

A few of the others including Jeffrey hadn't seen him either. I learned the location of a few of his haunts and decided to search each one. I finally found him at an abandoned warehouse. He slept there in the cooler months. He appeared to have been dead for several days. At least that's what the cops told me. They wouldn't know the cause for a few weeks, but judging from the puncture mark on his arm, he'd overdosed. I hadn't found a needle or anything near his body. I knew he wasn't an addict. We'd had a discussion about drugs once. He thought they were destructive. The irony of this coming from a drunk wasn't lost on me. It was a hard pill to swallow. I didn't want to accept it but as time passed,

I learned things about Franklin, things he'd lied about in the past. Despite his story of hating drugs, I'd found out he was no stranger to them. In his younger years, he'd been quite the amateur chemist. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised. He was a homeless drunk. I chalked it up as a learning experience and moved on. After that I took what Jeffrey and his friends told me with a pinch of salt. I wasn't angry at them, I should have known better. Life had just begun to get back to normal when another of the family disappeared. It was Jeffrey this time. Just like Franklin, I waited a few days before asking around about him. No one knew anything for about a week.

Then one morning an on and off again girlfriend of his came in for a bottle. She only shopped the store on rare occasions. I took the opportunity to ask about him. Her face dropped and she looked down. You haven't heard? Not knowing what she meant, I naturally said no. He got a hold of some strong dope and OD'd on it. I shouldn't have been shocked, but I was. I knew Jeff dabbled with drugs from time to time. Quickly, however, my shock gave way to suspicion. How did two men overdose on heroin so close together? I asked her if a string of overdoses was going around. It does happen once

in a while. She said no. As a matter of fact she hadn't heard of any other than Franklin. A second overdose so close to the first I couldn't shake my feeling of unease. The next few days I turned it over in my brain. I did my best to see it objectively. Any outsider would have no problem saying this is normal. Addicts die sometimes. It's a side effect of the habit. I looked at the deaths from every angle I could fathom Nevertheless, something still weighed at me I began spending my time after work watching the homeless and asking them about outsiders Technically, I was one myself, but somehow got a pass A few names would come up in the course of my sort of investigation, I guess you could call it

None would go anywhere They all turned out to be your run-of-the-mill do-gooders. I couldn't see any of them giving bums hot shots or the like. I continued to follow this path for around a month. I was beginning to feel stupid with my theories. They weren't the first homeless men to die from drugs and certainly wouldn't be the last. I was two days away from calling it quits when two more men died. Like the others, both overdoses. I'd got the news from a couple of women who came into the store. Now even the homeless themselves were beginning to sense a problem. They swore to me neither man ever touched anything more than booze. While I was skeptical of their claims, I was now fully on board with my sort of serial

killer theory I had going. I wanted to go to the police but knew I'd be rebuffed without any proof. That night I hopped online and searched for other homeless deaths in the city. Minute after minute the net sprawled out farther across the state than across the country. Not every death was drug related. In some cases, the homeless were disappearing in droves. In others, the killer was far bolder, killing them and dumping the bodies in the wide open. I had to stop after a few hours. I was overwhelmed by what I had found, whatever it was. It looked to be far worse than I could ever have dreamed of. This wasn't one psychopath drugging the homeless in one small city,

it's a nationwide nightmare. Throughout our country, countless numbers of people are preying upon them. I couldn't be the only person who's connected the dots. I knew I couldn't stop at all, but I was determined to stop it in my city. I spent a week compiling every article, posting and news report I could find. I made connections with others on the same trail I was on. I tried to get the police to listen. I made countless phone calls and personal visits to every precinct in the city. No matter how hard I tried, no one believed me. I thought perhaps the FBI would.

Unfortunately, it went as much as it had with the cops. The feds said it wasn't their responsibility. After constant attempts to get law enforcement to listen, I finally gave up. I was at the end of my rope. By now, I'd had to close the store and was living off my meager social security checks. I thought that my options had run out and to an acquaintance on Reddit put me in contact with the local reporter. A couple of months ago we had a meeting where I showed her my evidence. She was very receptive to

it. Her editor gave her the go ahead but insisted we have a name before publishing the story. I've been compiling a list of suspects since I initially began my journey. The recent epidemic has made things difficult. Fortunately, I've received an email from an anonymous source who may have the information I need. I hope this means I'll have that name in a few days, so keep your eyes peeled. Very soon you may see a groundbreaking story on the front page of your paper. It's something I've been looking forward to for a long time, but I know I can't rest on my laurels. Even after this story breaks, I still have loads of work to do. As I've said,

this is a nationwide sickness, and potentially worldwide. This name will just be the first of many, God willing, but please be patient, I'll keep you all updated Let's hope this meeting goes well and if so, it may mean we're truly on the road to ending this evil blight on mankind Once and for all This happened to me about five years ago. At that time, I had a lot of crazy ideas about life and wasn't afraid to say them. This behavior put me in conflict with most people, especially those closest to me. Like my parents, we would butt heads at least twice a week. It was usually my fault. I wasn't just a loud idiot but I was also a slob. Don't get me wrong, I bathed religiously and had overall great hygiene. I fell short when it came to picking up. Whenever I would buy something I usually wadded up the receipt and chucked it on

the floor. Just sloppy stuff like that. I didn't realize how fast that stuff fatted up. Before I knew it, I couldn't see my floor and to be honest, I didn't really care. Anyway, one day I said something very disrespectful to my folks and my mom slapped me. She'd never touched me before so I was a bit shocked. Instead of apologizing, I called her something I regretted and this set my dad off. Some more words were exchanged and he told me to get out. In my deluded brain, I thought this was no big deal. I'd crash my car until I had enough to get my own place. Then I'd never have to deal with their rules again. I had no clue how hard this was going to be. I grabbed my laptop and took off in my junky 1992 Civic. I worked that night as usual. Afterward, I laid down in the backseat and

tried to go to sleep. The parking lot lights made it hard, but I eventually managed to doze off. Around midnight, a banging woke me up. It was a cop. I told him the situation, but he said I had to move on regardless. I moved on to the next place and the same thing happened. For the rest of the night, I hopped from place to place, being told to move on every time. Needless to say, I got very little sleep and finally around 6am I caught a few hours in the Walmart parking lot. Later that day I went inside the store and bought a few things including a cheap sleeping bag and blanket. I noticed I was starting to get a tad smelly so I cleaned up in the bathroom sink. The cracks in my theory were already beginning to show. Even after my bath and a liberal application

of deodorant I still felt dirty. I took another nap until I had to go to work. I was worried my whole shift someone would notice that I was wearing the same clothes as the day before. If they did, no one said anything. I headed straight for Walmart afterwards. This time I parked my car away from the lights and I was much more comfortable now and quickly fell asleep. Sometime in the night a noise outside woke me up. I assumed it was a cop. When I stuck my head up, instead I saw a person rummaging through my glove box.

He must not have seen me laying in the back. I was half asleep and more curious than scared as I should have been. I sat up and asked him what he was doing. This must have scared him. He jumped up out of the car and peeked down into the back. When he saw me, his eyes got real big. He pulled out a knife and began leaning into the car. By now, I was squeezed between the seats. When I saw the knife, I grabbed the door and attempted to shut it He got his knife-wielding arm in the door and tried pulling it open with the other I was fighting against it, pulling the door with both hands This seemed to go on forever

I was about to lose my grip when I saw a flash to my left All of a sudden, the guy yanked his arm out and the door slammed shut. I didn't realize what was happening until I noticed the second man standing outside and saw the knife guy running in the distance. The second man walked up to my passenger side window and asked if I was okay. I assumed I was safe now and stepped out. I thanked him for chasing the man off. He explained he had been gassing up his car and heard the struggle. He turned around and saw the knife flashing through my windshield.

The guy must have spooked and ran when he saw him coming. He asked what had caused the fight and I explained that it was an attempted robbery. I had scared the guy and he pulled a knife. Then I explained my situation. He turned out to be very sympathetic. He said he'd been homeless a while after he left the army. What he did next I'll forever be grateful for. He offered his driveway to me. We were strangers, obviously. He didn't know me from Adam, but he believed every man deserved a safe place to sleep. During the day, I was on my own. However, after work, I'd be allowed to park at his home. That way, I wouldn't be harassed by cops or worry about being robbed.

I thanked him yet again and almost began crying. He introduced himself as Nathaniel. We shook hands and I followed him home. That night, I slept better than I had in a few days. I drove around that morning and thought about how terrible my life of freedom had been. I was on the road to enlightenment, but it would take a few more days to reach my destination. I'd repeat the same pattern day after day. Wake up, take a shower with Nathaniel's water hose, drive up to get breakfast, hang out at Starbucks for the free internet until work, go to work and then drive back to Nathaniel's to sleep. Not until the fourth day did I go inside his house. I never asked before then. Neither of us knew the other and I didn't blame him for his caution toward me. That fourth morning was a Saturday, about 7am. Nathaniel

knocked on my window and invited me in to have breakfast with his family. I was a bit nervous to meet them. He introduced them to me, one by one. They were all very nice. We made small talk and when we'd finished, his wife said I could take a shower. I almost broke down right there. This woman had never met me until this morning and was treating me like a son. She reminded me of my mom, actually. I was beginning to see how much I'd taken my family for granted. After my shower, Nathaniel and his wife invited me to sit down and talk. I was scared of what they'd say. I shouldn't have been. We just talked about my situation and

they asked what I had planned, moving ahead. I wasn't sure, honestly. Nathaniel did give me a great piece of advice. He asked if I thought my relationship with my parents was salvageable. I figured it still was. He recommended I patch things up with them. He said he'd had a rocky history with his father. He'd always intended to reconcile with him, but he'd died before that could happen. He says he wishes every day that he didn't wait. Even if I decided I didn't want to go back home, I should at least tell them that I was sorry. I thanked them for the advice and all their hospitality. And later, as I sat there at Starbucks, I thought a lot about how I'd treated my folks.

It wasn't until that morning that I realized how lucky I truly was, and I decided I wanted to go home. Not so much for comfort's sake, but more so my parents would know that I was safe. At least that's what I told myself. That evening I called them. My mother answered. I made sure to apologize right away. I told her all that I'd learned over the last week. I didn't mention the knife thing. I didn't want to scare her. Then I asked to speak to my father. I apologized to him also and said most of what I told my mother. Only then did I ask if I could return home and then he said, of course you can. You're my son and we love you. I broke down right then. I thanked him for being such a great father and I said that I was on my way

I learned a lot in that week away from home I'm a 31 year old man currently living in Florida. The following story takes place when I was 17 and living in Kansas City, Missouri. I'd lived in Kansas City my entire life, was even born there. My childhood had been a happy one until the death of my father. His death plunged us into the depths of poverty and forced our mother to sell our home. Our new neighborhood was riddled with crime and drug addiction. This drastic change of lifestyle hit me very hard. At first, an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness enveloped me. As I got older, however, the despair transformed into a determination to break free, to escape the

grinding poverty surrounding me. At 16, I began working. Most jobs were only temporary, a few weeks at most. Then just after my 17th birthday, I got my first real job. I got on at a neighborhood grocery store as a bagger. The shift seemed to drag on forever and pay was awful. On the upside, you were allowed tips. Too bad nobody offered them. As terrible that job was, I have a lot of happy memories. All of the other baggers were around my age and we were constantly messing around. Probably the funniest guy was Martinez. He would always mess with the homeless that hung around the parking lot. His favorite thing was to tell a drunk guy that another homeless man had called him names or made a remark about his mother.

About 60% of the time this would cause a fight or an argument to break out. Watching two drunks try to swing at each other sure made the day go by faster, and I realized how cruel this is now, but at 17 I thought it was hilarious. This ignorant attitude would begin to change one late night just before closing. I was killing time until my shift ended. I had about 15 minutes left and I was very slowly gathering up carts to bring inside. I remember stopping at one point to pick up a lottery ticket. I was checking to see if it was a winner when I heard loud voices off in the distance. I figured it was some drunks screaming at each other. I still had some time to kill so I walked around to the location that I thought the voices were coming from.

Sure enough I saw two homeless men in a full blown yelling match. The yelling lasted another minute or so until one of the guys pushed the other down. The guy got up and charged his attacker with a bald fist. I thought I had lucked out. Within 30 seconds they were rolling around on the ground, taking occasional swings at each other. I covered my mouth so they wouldn't hear my laughing. I didn't want anything to ruin this priceless moment. One of the men finally got back to his feet and cussed out his opponent from afar.

He was out of breath and could barely stand up. Things swiftly ceased being funny after this. He walked over to a chain link fence and picked up a large bottle of some sort. Then he bent over and broke it on the ground. All he was left with was the neck and some pointy shards of glass jutting from it. My heart began pounding and a sick failing rose up in my stomach. The other guy must have known he was in danger. He tried kicking the weapon from his hand. When this didn't work, he grabbed for the other guy's arms and it did no good. The guy with the bottle easily pulled away and slashed his opponent's arms. When he retracted back in pain, the bottle guy stepped forward and plunged the improvised weapon into the opponent's guts. I gasped, but quickly covered my mouth to stifle it.

The bottle guy stabbed the other over and over at least five times until his victim dropped motionless to the ground. The second the attack ended, I rushed back into the store. I said nothing, instead ran straight into the customer service booth and dialed 911. The last few employees hovered around me and watched as I spoke to the dispatcher. I stayed on the phone until a cop car arrived a few minutes later. I stood at the doors and waited for them to come in but they didn't. I couldn't wait any longer and ran out to them instead. One cop seemed kind of startled but I didn't care. I just pointed towards the scene of the attack and yelled help him and hurry up at least three times. They just stood by their car and stared at

me. My impatience caused me to make a foolish mistake. I ran off towards the scene not taking into account whether the killer was still there. It worked though. The cops finally got the stick out of the butts and got moving. They followed quickly behind me in the car until I stopped and pointed at the victim. Lucky for me, the killer had escaped while I was gone. The officers noticed the man and approached him. An ambulance arrived mere seconds later and the paramedics went to work trying to save him.

Meanwhile, I'm describing everything I saw as it happened and acting out the scene for the cops. I must have looked like a huge moron. Another two cars joined us at some point. They were parked down by the store entrance questioning the other employees. I'm not sure how long the cops kept us at the store. I didn't make it back to the house until about 3am, but I had to walk. The entire journey I was looking all around me hoping a crazed bum with a broken beer bottle wasn't waiting around the corner. The next morning I told my mom and brother what had happened.

My mother was terrified and tried to get me to call into work that evening. I went anyway. The minute I walked in the other baggers were crawling all over me. They had loads of questions. I answered each one probably ten times. My manager even pulled me aside to inquire if I was okay to work. I told her I was. Only then did she let me know that the man had died at the hospital. It shocked me, but after what I'd seen, I can't say it was unexpected. The rest of my time working there was far less action-packed. We had our occasional shopliftings, but nothing else. I never found out if the killer was caught. The cops didn't seem to even care either way. One less bum, I suppose, in their mind.

It's a mindset even I was once guilty of. Maybe a time will come where all human lives have equal value. It would be an awesome thing, but considering the unrest currently tearing our country apart, I don't expect it will ever become a reality. It's had to have almost been 20 years since this happened. I've had a severe head injury in between now and then so I kinda can't remember a few of the smaller details. Nonetheless, the major points of that night will always stay with me. At the time, I worked for a local paper as a route courier. I was the guy who stocked the machines and provided papers to grocery stores. Nothing was different about that night as

far as I can recall. I'd hit my first set of machines and was dropping off papers at the stores. I'd usually shoot the breeze with a few overnight cashiers at Kroger's for around an hour. He'd take his break and we'd smoke a bowl or three in my car. Kroger would normally mark the halfway point of my night. After leaving there, I'd cross over to the eastern side of town to my other set of machines. I was headed that way when I happened to notice them. Off to my right, maybe thirty yards away,

I caught sight of three men running toward an alley. The closer I got, the easier it was to suss out what was happening. In actuality, two men were chasing another man. I have no clue why he ran into the alley, but he did. He slowed to turn the corner and they caught up with him. One man, the bigger of the two, punched the victim in the back of his head. The victim fell and his attackers began kicking him. I didn't know the reason behind the fight but I didn't like the odds. I pulled into a nearby gas station and ran toward the alley. When I was within 20 yards I yelled at the pair to stop kicking the man. They'd made their point.

They ignored me and continued kicking. I drew my pistol and fired into the man. They'd made their point. They ignored me and continued kicking. I drew my pistol and fired into the air. I began carrying it soon after getting the job because I was handling a large amount of change from the machines and I didn't have a permit to carry but my feeling of safety outweighed any legal issues for me at the time. They looked up with their first shot. When I fired a second, they ran off and out of sight. The man laid still on the ground. I ran up to him and checked his pulse. He was still alive, but blood was coming out of his nose and ears. I knew that couldn't be good. I carefully rolled him over onto his back, and that's when I first noticed who he was.

He was a homeless man that I'd often saw while working my route. I'd even spoken to him a time or two. I've slipped a five into his pocket once so he could get some food. He never asked for it, and that's probably why I gave it to him. At this moment, who he was wasn't important, and he needed help, and he needed it soon. I ran back over to the gas station and called 911. The ambulance arrived first. I led them over to him and they went right to work. The cops showed a minute later but from the start they didn't look happy. I told them what I'd seen and the directions the attackers had fled. I left out the gun part of course. Once the cops said

something like they had done the old guy a favor, I didn't find it funny and I told him so. The second cop spoke up and seemed a little kinder. After they took my name and other info, they said that they'd give me a call if they needed me. The paramedics loaded the man quickly into the ambulance and sped away. The officers returned to their car without even a thank you. They pulled away, took the first left and disappeared into the night. I was left standing alone in a parking lot at 3am. The entire intersection with the emergency services only

lasted 10 minutes max. I was a little confused. While I appreciated their quick reaction, I got the impression no one cared about the victim, especially the first officer. You can probably guess that I never heard from the police. I even called the hospital to find out the victim's fate, but they wouldn't tell me. I didn't see him around after that, so I assume that he may have passed. The entire episode gave me a dim view of mankind, although I'll never change the way I treat my fellow man. I'll never expect the same show of kindness from anyone else ever again. We'll be right back. 30th. Purchase four new Michelin passenger or light truck tires and receive up to $70 by prepaid MasterCard. Conditions apply. Details at Michelin.ca. Find a Michelin TreadExperts dealer

near you at TreadExperts.ca slash locations. From tires to auto repair, we're always there. TreadExperts.ca Discover the exciting action of BetMGM Casino. Check out a wide variety of table games with a live dealer or enjoy over 3,000 games to choose from like Cash Eruption, UFC Gold Blitz.

Make instant deposits or same-day withdrawals. Download the BetMGM Ontario app today. Visit BetMGM.com for terms and conditions. 19 plus to wager Ontario only. Please gamble responsibly. If you have questions or concerns about gambling or someone close to you, please contact Connex Ontario at 1-866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with iGaming Ontario. In my hometown, there exists a neighborhood of old houses caught in a limbo.

A limbo between opulence and poverty. For several blocks in the eastern section of town, some of the finest homes ever built stand as a reminder of a better time Better not only in the history of the neighborhood, but the city itself From 1905, when the first home was built, until the late 1970s, the neighborhood was the most affluent in the state Alas, as the century drew to a close, it slowly became encircled by hordes of the less fortunate, people some may call the dregs of society. Although most are actually hard-working human beings, living paycheck to paycheck, their amoral neighbors often overshadowed them with their repeated criminal acts. As so often happens, many of those who

called the neighborhood home for most if not all of their lives fled to safer parts of the city. Despite this, there still exists a few families determined not to let their historic area fall to the barbarians at their gates, so to speak. This is where I become a small part of this much larger story. I attended an arts magnet high school near the center of the city. My senior year I met and fell head over heels for a girl about a year behind me. Her piercing blue eyes and dark black hair melted my icy heart instantly. We dated exclusively for the next two years until I transferred to a university out of state. Her and I had been together around four months when I was invited to a party at her house.

It was a July the 4th BBQ her family held every year. When she told me where they lived, I got a little intimidated. The house just so happened to be one of the most historically important in the neighborhood. I was afraid her parents wouldn't like me because of my background. This turned out to be a foolish concern on my part. They were actually a very nice pair of people and treated me like one of their own. Upon my arrival at the house I realized the photos didn't do it justice. It was far larger than any home I'd ever been in and the architecture was breathtaking. My girlfriend showed me around then led me through to the backyard. The barbecue had just begun and the smell was heavenly. While I waited for the food I met almost everyone. I'd estimate that there were around 100 people in attendance. Everyone I met that day treated me as a social equal. My nervousness soon faded and I had a good time, at least until the festivities were

rudely cut short. I was making my way to get another soda when I heard a loud argument. It took a second to find the location. I noticed everyone was looking at the back wall. Only then did I realize the voices were coming from the alley running behind it. The guests tried to ignore the yelling and continue talking amongst themselves. I admit my curiosity got the best of me. I moved as nonchalantly as I could toward the wall. I could tell both voices belonged to men and one sounded very intoxicated. The longer it went on the louder and looter the talking got. I could see by their expressions the hosts were getting

uncomfortable. My girlfriend joined me and apologized for the ruckus. Just then, a loud bang quickly followed by two more exploded from the alley. Most everyone instinctively crouched down. I took my girlfriend by the arm and followed the others into the house. A few of the older ladies were a little shaken up. Their husbands did their best to calm them down while we waited for police to arrive. I couldn't believe something like this was happening in such a nice neighborhood. I overheard the others talking and they sounded the same. I must commend the police for arriving quickly. They asked their questions and allowed us to leave not long after. Despite my shock, I was eager to know exactly what had happened. After leaving the house, I circled around toward the alley.

I pulled over and watched the police do their work. One sheet in the shape of a person laid stretched on the ground. Tape was blocking both ends of the alley. Nothing was clear from my position so I left after 15 minutes. I continued south on the same road and passed through an area I'd never experienced. As far as the eye could see, the businesses, mainly pawn shops and liquor stores, had iron bars covering every bit of exposed glass. A man staggered down the street arguing with an invisible adversary. A little further on, a woman wearing a very short skirt leaned inside a car and talked to the driver

I could only assume that she was a lady of the night As standing two blocks over were two other scantily clad women The shooting made much more sense now I'd grown up in a blue-collar neighborhood. I was aware of bad stuff happening, but social decadence on this level and out in the open was something I'd only seen in movies. It existing so close to a world of affluence and beauty turned everything upside down. It was the most literal example of have and have-nots I'd ever witnessed. I wouldn't have to wait long to hear what happened.

That night on the 10 o'clock news, a report gave all the salient facts. The shooting apparently spawned from an argument over drugs. One man, a homeless addict, felt that he had been cheated by the other. When the homeless man confronted the drug dealer, a heated argument broke out. Said argument ended with the death of the homeless man. The dealer fled soon after the shooting and was still at large at the time of the story. I couldn't help but feel sorry for the dead man, drug addict or not. Fortunately, the shooter was caught and later convicted, and from what I've heard, the violent crime rate has only grown since then. Everyone in the area, rich or poor, seems to be suffering. Unfortunately, in things such as this, it seems everyone loses. I'd barely had a job a week when I met Wallace. I think I'd seen him around town before,

although I'm not sure. The homeless are not my primary concern when I'm busy doing errands. He seemed like a nice guy, more of a gentleman than I'd expected from someone in his position. I did my best to treat him with respect. was still a human after all And our initial problems stemmed from his hygiene His breath was overpowering and his overall smell sometimes made me gag Five days out of the week I saw him I kept my distance and talked to a minimum We got along as well as I did with any of the other regulars I hadn't noticed his growing infatuation with me at the

time. I'd never been the type to make eye contact. Perhaps I would have caught on if I was. How he got the crazy idea that I was interested in him, I can't possibly fathom. I was a 23-year-old girl and he was at least 50. Even if he didn't smell like a garbage can, he and I would never have been involved. It couldn't have been more like a garbage can, he and I would never have been involved. It couldn't have been more than a month before the flirting began. It was tame at first, but as time passed, he grew far bolder. I can't remember one time that I encouraged him. Maybe I laughed at something he said, and he took this as a sign of approval. I'll probably never know. Regardless, the flirting got so bad

I had to scold him. He didn't take this very well. The following Monday, another employee told me that he had said that I was leading him on. I laughed it off at the time but was secretly kind of worried. That afternoon, he didn't have much to say. I was fine with this and hoped things would return to normal. However, after a few days the sickening smile and flirting would return. The day he touched me was the final straw. I yelled at him and he bolted from the store. My manager, who was already well aware of the situation, ran out of her office. I explained that Wallace had attempted to put his arm around me. My skin still crawls every time I think about it. After that, he was banned from the store where I was working. It felt like a massive weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Now, I realize how

naive it must have been to think the problem was over. It would actually become far worse. I wouldn't see Wallace in the store after that. It appeared that he was following the rules. Another week went by before I noticed him walking up and down the sidewalk directly across the street. I initially got worried but after a while he disappeared and I figured I was overreacting. I went on with work and didn't see him for the rest of my shift. That night as I locked up, I looked around, but he was nowhere to be seen. The short walk to my apartment went on as usual. A few people milled around, but the area was quiet. Once I was inside, I took a shower and dropped down on the couch.

I resumed the show that I was watching and must have fallen asleep. A noise from outside woke me up a little later. It sounded like a man yelling. I sleepily stumbled to the window and peeked out. It was the worst thing I could have done. Down below stood Wallace. He was staggering around, yelling my name. When I opened the curtain, he looked right at me. I tried closing it, but it was too late. Now he knew where I lived. He began laughing and walking up the stairs.

As he got closer, I could tell that he was very drunk. Never seen him like that before. His words chilled me to the bone. He said that he was tired of my games. He was going to teach me a lesson whether I wanted it or not. There was no doubt what he intended to do now. I ran for my phone and dialed 911. The operator asked me the usual stuff. I told her a man had followed me home and I was almost positive he intended to force himself on me. She told me officers were on their way. A loud bang came from behind me. Wallace must have been inside my apartment now. The banging happened again. I realized he was beating on my window.

His words, despite being slurred, now had me in a near panic. His voice had an unbelievable tinge of evil to it. He began banging harder and harder on the window. I was afraid that it would break any second. I was in full panic mode now. I heard a woman screaming and realized it was me. I must have been ranting at the operator. She was doing her best to calm me, but the pounding combined with his disgusting words had driven me over the edge. Suddenly, the pounding stopped. I turned toward the window, believing it to have burst. It was still intact. A struggle had replaced the pounding.

I dared to look out. Just outside my door, on the landing, three police officers were fighting to get Wallace under control. He was lashing and cursing at them, battling to get free. I was terrified he was going to get away and almost screamed as I watched. One of the officers finally shot him with his taser. Only then were the other two able to get him under control. They slapped handcuffs on him and drug him away to the patrol car and I almost broke into tears. The relief I felt was unimaginable. One officer stayed behind. He knocked on the door and assured me that they had Wallace in custody. I opened the door and welcomed him in. I felt bad for him. He had a cut on his forehead from

the struggle. I asked if he was okay but he shrugged it off. We were soon joined by a female officer. We sat down and I explained the whole rotten road that had led to this. I looked down at my hands and I noticed that I was uncontrollably shaking. I quickly sat on them so the officers wouldn't see. A paramedic arrived a few minutes later and asked if I needed him. I didn't of course and told him no. He treated the officers cut while I spoke to them. I tried to relax after they left but my heart continued pounding until dawn.

Although I didn't get much sleep that night, I still went into work that evening. My manager tried to send me home after I told her but I refused. She stayed with me until close, I guess to watch over me. She gave me a ride to home afterward. I do appreciate her concern. We still speak to each other on occasion. It's been nearly 10 years and she still treats me like a mother. She attended the trial every day with me. Her testimony did a lot to ensure Wallace's conviction. I think my situation scared her a little. She could have easily been the focus of his madness instead of me.

I've since moved away from the city in which this took place. I'm not sure what had become of Wallace. Honestly, I hope he's turned his life around. When sober, he could be a good man. It only goes to show you how bad your life can become if you let alcohol take control. In Wallace's case, it not only took everything he had, it almost took everything from me too. Way back before I was married, I volunteered at several homeless shelters in California. I'd always intended to go back once our kids started school. Well, you know how life gets away from us.

I wouldn't be able to return to volunteering until both our children moved away for college. I don't regret making my kids my focus all those years, but nevertheless, once I had the time to myself, I felt the call to help very strongly. Our town didn't have any full-blown shelters. I did some research and found a position at one of the community kitchens. These organizations offer a hot meal for anyone who needs it, facilities to shower, even provide connections to programs that help them get off the streets. I'm proud to tell everyone I meet that I'm part of it. Unfortunately, even in a place full of so much hope, terrible things can happen.

It was 2017 and I'd been with the kitchen almost two years. In that time, thousands of faces passed in and out of those doors. Not until I met Hollis had I formed any close relationships with our clients. This wasn't what you may think. We were not engaged in any physical relationship of any type. I saw him as almost a father and I believed he viewed me like a daughter. Hollis wasn't an alcoholic or addict like many of his fellow homeless. He had fought in Vietnam. Upon returning stateside, he had a difficult time readjusting. Since he was unable to hold down any real employment, he soon ended up on the streets. He'd been on and off of them multiple times over the years. He had once lived with a daughter for

a short time, but they became estranged. I didn't lived with a daughter for a short time but they became estranged. I didn't ask what had caused the rift but it did appear to sadden him any time it came up. I tried to convince him to call her a few times but after he refused the last time I didn't push the matter. In the end it wasn't my business anyway. I was just there to help and if the person doesn't want it there's not a thing you can do. Among the other regulars I saw on a daily basis Barney was perhaps one of the worst. He was everything Hollis wasn't. I don't think there was an instance in which I spoke to him when his breath didn't reek of booze. He tried to bully the other clients and several of the women told me that he tried to

force himself upon them. I didn't like the man but I did all I could to help him, just as I would any of the other visitors. He'd sometimes try to kiss up to me, often flashing his toothless grin and telling me how pretty I was looking that day. I ignored his behavior. I just assumed he was doing it to get something. I wouldn't find out until later that his motivations came from a much baser place. September 25th, 2017 was a day just like any other. The morning had seen a brisk turnout and we expected the same for dinner. I was cleaning up in the dining room when Hollis came in. We had a brief conversation and I gave him a short hug before he left. It was something I'd done countless times. I returned to the kitchen and began prepping for that evening. About an hour passed and I heard

screaming coming from the activity room. Roman, our head cook, volunteered to check it out. I stayed behind at his behest and no more than a minute later he ran back to the kitchen. He was short of breath and acting panic. As soon as he could speak he said Hollis had been stabbed and was dead. I didn't believe him and ran out to see for myself. On the floor laid Hollis with a pool of blood surrounding him. A couple of women were crying nearby and most everyone was staring with shocked faces. He wasn't moving and only then could I accept the truth. I collapsed at his feet, joining the others in weeping. The paramedics arrived within a few minutes and whisked him away.

We all knew that there was nothing they could do. Only then did I ask who had done it. More than one witness pointed at Barney. I looked around for him, but they said that he'd walked out after the stabbing. I'd always known he was a bully, but I'd never known him to be violent. When I asked for the reason, no one answered me at first. They all had guilty looks on their faces. I then demanded they tell me. Finally, one of the women nearby said, Well ma'am, Mr. Wallace came into the room and Barney got in his face. He said something like,

Don't you dare touch her again, she's mine and you know it. Don't you ever lay hands on her again, I mean it. Mr. Hollis laughed and asked Barney who he was talking about. Barney then said, you know well who, Booker, Jeanette in the kitchen. This made Mr. Hollis roar out in laughter. He put his hand on Barney's shoulder and said, you're a riot, Bates. Then he laughed even louder. And this made Barney furious. He pulled a knife out from his pocket and stabbed Mr. Hollis. Mr. Hollis dropped dead where he stood and Barney turned around and walked out, calmly. I was speechless, no idea what to say. Barney never gave me a reason to believe he was obsessed with me, certainly not enough to kill.

I sat down and began bawling again, my hands over my face in shame. The idea of being the cause of Hollis' death was horrifying. It seemed like hours before I could get it together. By then, words were filtering in that Hollis had been pronounced dead upon arrival at the hospital. It wasn't a shock. Once the police decided I was free to leave, one of the other volunteers drove me home. I was still a mess and useless to the kitchen. Even as late as bedtime that evening I cried myself to sleep in my husband's arms.

I took a few days off to decide if I was continuing at the kitchen. During that period I was happy to hear Barney had been arrested. I've heard he told the police it was self-defense, but I know for a fact Hollis didn't have a mean bone in his body. Doing it in front of a room full of people didn't help his case either. He wisely took the sentence that he was being offered and most likely will die in prison. After the funeral I decided to return to my job at the kitchen. I don't think Hollis would have wanted me to give up on helping people. I won't lie, it's been hard working every day without Hollis being around,

knowing everyone knows the reason why. I know I would have been miserable if I hadn't. While returning to work has been difficult, forming any bonds with the clients, well, that part has been far harder. I can't say for sure when the bullying began. I'd say it was the first grade at the earliest. It was a small town, so there was only one elementary school for all the kids. This is likely why it went on for so long. As we moved on to middle school, it continued. The Whitney family was large from what I remembered, six boys if I recall.

My older cousins told me stories of the beatings they suffered at the hands of the older siblings. I don't know if it was something caused by their home life, but Blake Whitney, the youngest of the brood, would carry on the violent tradition. My brother and I were just two of many who grew up under his thumb. We told our parents, but there was little they could do. They had a couple of meetings with the school staff, who all excused it as a part of growing up. The principal would talk to him, and things would get better for a while, only for the bullying to slowly come back once no one was paying attention. Our family was too poor to move and there were no other schools in the county,

so there was little that could be done. As we grew older, my brother and I learned how to avoid our tormentor. The bullying occurred less often, but never completely. Eighth grade started much like all those prior to it. I'd been going to school with the same kids since kindergarten. We all knew each other's names, but the teacher insisted on making us introduce ourselves anyway. I was in third period math class when I heard a name I didn't recognize. I immediately looked up and saw this skinny kid with glasses talking to the class. My name's Timmy Coleman.

My family just moved here from Tennessee. And I have an older brother named James. He's in the 11th grade. I like to watch cartoons with my brother. We couldn't help but laugh at him. He spoke kind of like a robot and wore these thick black framed glasses. After class I introduced myself and asked him where he lived. Despite being dorky he seemed like a cool kid. I invited him over to my house after school to play games and he was super excited.

I couldn't understand why until he had told me he had never had before. His family couldn't afford them. I'd always thought that I was poor because we only had one car, but after I met him, I realized I was almost rich in comparison. Being new to the school was only a matter of time before Blake caught wind of Timmy. The two would meet on a Wednesday morning about a month after the term began. I'd all but forgotten about Blake. Perhaps if I hadn't, things wouldn't have turned out so bad. Timmy was walking to class and ran directly into Blake. Knowing him, I'm sure he'd planned it that way. Timmy fell flat on his butt. Blake didn't even

give him a chance to stand up. He pushed him back onto the floor and called him a spaz. Timmy apologized and Blake laughed. That's where it would have normally ended, but Timmy said the wrong thing. As Blake walked away, he returned to his feet and asked me a question. Why is that guy such an a-hole? Before I could answer, Blake stopped and turned around. My heart sank. Would you say, you little four-eyed dork? I'm not ashamed to say I was terrified.

Blake had made most of my childhood a nightmare and I knew what he was capable of. I tried to push Timmy down the hall, but he seemed confused. His back was turned when Blake threw the first punch. It made solid contact with his head and he dropped like a rock. His head banged against the locker as he fell. Like the coward I am, I stepped back and hoped the beating wouldn't last long. Once he was down, Blake pounced. He began kicking him over and over. Timmy's body was limp. After kicking him five or six times, he chuckled and walked away. Once he was out of sight, I went to check on Timmy. I tried to shake him awake, but he wasn't moving. Panic began to take over and I started crying.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a teacher and ran over to him. I quickly explained that my friend had fallen and wasn't moving. The teacher checked on him and told me to run to the office and get help. The 200 or more yards was probably the furthest my fat little body had ever run before. I told the lady at the counter and she called 911. I didn't wait for instructions. Instead, I ran back down the hall where Timmy was laying. The teacher was giving him CPR, although I wasn't sure what he was doing. I knew it had to be bad.

When the ambulance left, I'm almost sure Timmy was breathing. All kinds of adults began swarming around and asking questions. Nobody had been around to see the fight but myself and a few others. Everyone else was already in class. They got around to me and I was too scared to say what had really happened. I just said I had found them that way. This seemed to have convinced them. A principal wrote me a note and told me to go on to class. I did what he said and went on with my day. I couldn't call Timmy's house because they didn't have a phone. I assumed I'd see him the next day or the one after that. The following day he wasn't at school. I decided I'd ride my bike over to his house afterwards.

A few minutes after the bell I was walking back to the bike rack and noticed Timmy's brother James. I was about to ask him about Timmy when he approached Blake. He began yelling at him and poking him in the chest. Blake was doing his best to look cool but you could see the fear in his face. I stood about 20 yards away and watched the conversation. Initially I couldn't hear what he was saying. However, as he spoke he got louder. The first words I understood were, you beat him to death. He's effing dead because of you. I gasped when I heard this. Surely he didn't mean Timmy. No way. Spit was flying from James' mouth

as his yelling quickly became unintelligible. Blake began looking around like he was expecting someone to help him. He became increasingly nervous. I was just waiting for James to begin hitting him any second. Instead, his rant stopped cold and he took a big long breath. He calmly smiled and drew a pistol from his waistband, aimed at Blake's head and pulled the trigger. Blake dropped like a sack of potatoes. It took a moment for everyone to process what had just happened. When they did, screaming and running broke out all around me.

I was frozen where I stood. He then put the pistol back in his jeans and walked away. A few seconds passed before I had the presence of mind to go for my bike. As I rode away from the school grounds, kids were scrambling everywhere. When I got home, I ran into my room and locked the door. My mind was racing. Not only had one of my friends died, but I had just watched a murder take place mere feet from me. That night at dinner, the shooting was the only thing anyone was talking about.

My parents asked me if I had heard about it, but I played dumb and avoided the conversation. I wasn't ready to talk about it, and to be truthful, this is the first time I have. I found it easier just to act as if it never happened until I wasn't sad anymore. Probably not the healthiest way to deal with loss, but it worked for me so far. Maybe I'm just a bad person. I hope not. The cops arrived at the Coleman house just after James did. Despite demands from the police and pleas from his parents, he refused to come out.

After the SWAT team stormed the home, it was discovered that he had been dead all along, probably turning the gun on himself as soon as the police first showed up. Everyone was hoping the entire mess had ended, but the Whitney's began talking about suing the Coleman's for Blake's murder. They quickly retracted their threats when they realized the Coleman's had nothing to take. On the other hand, if the Coleman's decided to go after them for Timmy's death, they had a lot to lose. Eventually, both sides went silent and I believe the Coleman's moved back to Tennessee. I'm sure had this happened these days, school would have been cancelled for the funerals and every kid would have been forced into counseling for the rest of his life. We had none of that. Not even the ones who witnessed the shooting first hand. While I may have had a lot of outdated beliefs, I am happy with the way

bullying is being dealt with nowadays. I know first hand that it causes you to hold on to a lot of anger. Because of my experiences, I want to express how important it is to listen to your children. If they tell you they are being bullied, take action right away. Things have changed greatly since I was a kid, some for the better and some not so much. But I do believe if people took bullying as seriously then as they do now, three young men may not have lost their lives in such a senseless and violent way. 3.26am, June 22nd of 2006. I remember it like it was yesterday. I had been dreaming of leaving for a long time, but this day was when the dream became a reality.

If I hadn't been driven to the point of ending my own life, I probably wouldn't have left. When your mother beats you almost daily, you lose that desire to live that most children have. Even after putting up with all that, I can confidently say I regret my decision. With the benefit of hindsight, I probably should have gone to the police or even a teacher rather than flee from the safety of my own hometown. We can't unfortunately go back in time and reverse the bad choices we make. However, I hope after I share a few stories of my time on the road, it may make the next kid reading this think twice before they run away. The first thing that

happened about 8 months into my time, our group had been in Austin almost 2 weeks. My boyfriend was 19. Although he obviously wasn't a model citizen, he kept me safe. He and I had been crashing at this pot dealer's house. My boyfriend, who we'll call Chad for the time being, had clearly befriended this dude because he was always drowning in weed. The guy had so much he didn't mind letting folks take a little on credit. We greatly abused this kindness during our stay. No one in their right mind ever stiffed him until Chad came along. The dealer had been cool until the last few days before we were planning to leave. When he was asked, Chad assured him he the last few days before we were planning to leave.

When he was asked, Chad assured him he'd get his money before we left. The problem was I knew he didn't have it. This wasn't the type of guy you wanted to mess with. I expressed my fears to Chad but he said not to worry about it. I had no choice but to trust him. This turned out to be a bad idea. The night before we left, we were packing up and the dealer came home. I could tell he was mad even before he began demanding the money. Unbeknownst to me, Chad had been with some of our friends and bragging about how he was going to leave without paying his debt. Somebody must have talked because our host was livid. Our ride was already waiting outside and Chad tried to use this as an excuse to get away.

The dealer wasn't having it. Chad, being the arrogant fool he was, told me to take our stuff out to the car and wait. He claimed it wouldn't take more than a few minutes. I was terrified of course, but it was all out of my hands. I loaded our bags into the trunk and asked our ride to wait. The yelling got so bad I could hear it in the car. This carried on for almost ten minutes until the house grew silent. I figured everything had been resolved and let out a big sigh of relief.

No sooner had I then heard two quick pops come from inside the house. I screamed out uncontrollably and began sobbing. I didn't even have a chance to decide my next move before I saw the door open and the dealer step out. He was holding something and walking swiftly toward the car. I started yelling at the driver to go. She was still shocked and wasn't all there yet. I yelled at her again. Each second he got closer and I became more panicked. I yelled a third time, slapping her on the side to get her attention. It must have worked. He was probably four steps from the car raising the gun to fire before she hit the gas. I looked back at him as we sped away, full of relief and anguish. The two of us agreed never to mention what happened. Strangely, no one asked where Chad had gone or even acted as if he ever existed.

I willingly played along. The next morning, we left Austin, never to return. What happened after that, I have no clue and honestly honestly I have no desire to ever know. I hope that first story gives you a good perspective on how dangerous life on the road can be, not to mention the poor decisions that a young person without a responsible adult can make. The second story plays out in the last few months of my time as homeless. I was now 17 and had a baby on the way. The father had long since moved on and I was terrified my daughter was going to be born with some kind of problem. I didn't have the money to get regular checkups or know about public clinics. This nice lady at one of the

shelters told me about this program for girls in my current position. Through a long series of fortunate events, I was offered a place to live. We don't have the time here to lay out everything that happened, I'll just say an amazingly generous couple opened their home to me. Thanks to the kind ladies running the program, I was able to get all the things I needed to ensure a healthy and happy birth. Things were looking up for me, until my pending living situation got back to the wrong person. This guy had been hanging around in the homeless community for a long time. He himself was not living on the streets. Instead, he provided drugs to the younger

girls with the goal of making them dependent so he could pimp them out. He had been trying to sink his hooks into me for a while but I managed to avoid him. It didn't last though. One day he caught me alone and backed me against the wall. He began his usual spiel but I was far too street smart to fall for it. I told him off and this was the wrong thing to do. He began gritting his teeth and cursing me saying that I thought I was too good because I have a home now. He pulled out this long switchblade knife type thing from his pocket and flicked it open. He was waving it uncomfortably close to my now heavily pregnant body.

Now I was terrified. I had never really thought much about myself, but my unborn child's life mattered more to me than anything. I started apologizing repeatedly. My mind was spinning in high gear looking for a way out. I did the only thing I could think of. I peed myself. I remembered something a girl had said once. We were talking about being abducted and she said that she would pee herself if it ever happened to her. We laughed about it at the time but in my present situation I was willing to try anything. Crazy as it may seem, it worked. The dirtbag was so grossed out he told me to go clean myself up. It was my chance to get away and

I took it. I knew this wouldn't keep him away forever though. I kept my head down and hid until I could get off the streets. Things got so hectic the last few days I had to hide under an abandoned house. That's a hair raising story in itself but best left for another time. That Monday came around and I was finally able to move in with my host family. I never looked back after that. I'm still not sure exactly why he was pursuing me so vigorously but I'm thankful to everyone who helped me during that final week. If you hadn't already realized, being a runaway is no way to live. I'm sharing this to impress upon fellow females how very dangerous it is for us to be homeless. If you're a young man, don't go away thinking you have it

made. I've seen more than my share of males lose their lives during my four years on the streets. Whether you're male or female, don't make the mistakes I did. It may not seem like it, but there are people out there that can help. You just keep looking. Your life at home may feel like pure torture, but I can promise you it can't hold a candle to growing up on the streets. Both of my parents worked so hard to get to America. They followed all the rules, did all the paperwork, and paid all the money. I'm sure their first day here was one they'd never forget. Then, after going through all of that,

they happened to meet each other in a town where Asians are a tiny part of the population. They surely had to think that they'd achieved the American dream. It's too bad that they wouldn't get much time to enjoy it. I'll get to what I mean by that in just a moment. First I should probably explain how things got us to where we are. For several years after they were married, both my parents worked almost around the clock to where we are. For several years after they were married both my parents worked almost around the clock to make ends meet. Their dream has always been to buy a gas station,

make it successful and pass it on when the time came. I was six when they purchased the store I now own. Money was tight. They couldn't afford to hire anybody for the first few years however around the time I was 13 they had a few employees on the payroll. Things were looking good and I got to spend more time with my parents outside the store. Then the night of May 13th, 2003 happened. The day started as normal but then two people quit. One of them was an assistant manager so both my folks went in to cover the shift. The store was usually busiest between 5 and 10pm. I tried to convince my mom I was old enough to be left alone but she wasn't having it.

Against my wishes I was dragged along. Most of the night I surfed the net and talked to my friends on the office phone. Once or twice I had to go up front to help but I preferred not to be seen. Things were beginning to wind down at around 9.30. My mother told me to get my things together we'd be leaving in the next 15 minutes. She went back up front to do a few small tasks. I sat back down and watched the cameras while I waited. A few customers came and went until the store was empty. A few minutes passed and a tall skinny dude with dreadlocks came in. He just milled about the store and then left without buying anything. No longer than 30 seconds went by when the dreadlock guy came back in with

another man. They were both wearing masks, but the guy's hair gave him away. I stood up and locked eyes onto the screen. Each of the men drew pistols and pointed them at my parents. My heart began pounding in my chest. The men were both clearly nervous, constantly looking around and barking orders loudly. My parents were frozen in fear. They made the robbers angry because they weren't moving. Suddenly, the unknown gunman hopped over the counter and struck my father across the forehead with his pistol. My mother screamed and

crouched down to check on him. While she was doing this he fumbled with the register. He couldn't get it open so he turned to my mother and yelled at her to open it. She did as he said and she was so scared she couldn't get it open either. Things were quickly getting out of control now. The guy behind the register struck my mother on the skull and she stumbled to the floor. The dreadlock guy yelled something I couldn't hear to the other. They both spoke for a second then the unknown man turned around to my parents and began firing at them. He shot both of them at least four times. Once he was satisfied he'd killed them, he pushed the register off the counter.

It hit the floor and just popped open. While the dreadlocks guy hurried to empty the register, his partner grabbed an armful of cigarette cartons and hopped back over the counter. Just as they ran out the door, another customer passed them coming in. He just stood inside the door and stared dumbfounded. I ran out of the back office screaming for him to help. I must have scared him. He jumped up and made a little squeak. I yelled at him to call the police but he stared at me silently. I yelled that they just shot my parents for him to help me and he finally began to catch on. He stepped forward and looked over the counter. He must have seen them.

He jumped over the counter and grabbed the phone. While he called 911, I tried to get my parents to talk. My father wasn't breathing but my mother was still barely hanging on. It took the longest 5 minutes of my life for the ambulance to arrive. They quickly left with both my parents not giving any indication to their status. I was left with the police and the customer. I rapidly told them what happened and they gave me a ride to the hospital. And as I sat there waiting for the news, I was all but for sure my life was over. In a matter of a few minutes, the only life I'd

ever known was stolen from me. The hours drug on until finally around 1am, I discovered how bleak my future was to be. As most expected, my father didn't make it. The doctors tried their best but were unable to repair the damage. On a good note, my mother was stable and had a positive prognosis. That being said, her recovery was a long road. Even when she was able to work again, she refused to return to the store. The second she began talking about it, she crumbled. This created a vacuum that had to be filled. I was still several years away from being able to take over. It was beginning to years away from being able to take over. It was beginning to look like we were going to have to sell the store.

Fortunately, at the 11th hour we convinced my uncle to run it until I was ready. He did such a good job that we made enough cash to buy another store. When I took over from him, my mother and I gave it to him as a thank you gift. Sadly, my mother was diagnosed with cancer in 2015. Already weakened, she wasn't able to fight it off, and she passed a year later. I wish I could say the men responsible were made to pay for what they did. Even with the video of the dreadlock guy's face and our statements, both men managed to elude arrest. It wasn't until five years later that the second man was identified and he had been killed during another robbery the year before. The dreadlock guy is still free to this day and

the police believe that he fled back to Haiti not long after the robbery. For my parents' sake, I hope he's caught. When all is said and done, I'm very grateful to my parents for giving me the chance at a better life. Had they stayed in Korea, I probably wouldn't be doing as well as I am now. I just wish they both would have got to live long enough to see what I'd achieved with what they'd left me. You couldn't possibly remember that. You were too young. This is an idea I hear often, and to be honest I wouldn't believe it myself had I not experienced it first hand. It wasn't always this way either. It took a strange series of events just to bring it all surging back. From what my shrink tells me, our mind will block out

such terrible events in order to preserve our peace of mind. While I did have the small snippet pop up in dreams here and there, I was never able to place where they originated. I'd always attributed them to a forgotten horror movie or television show. I can't say finding out that your mother was murdered is an awesome experience, especially when you always believe she died in a car crash. I suppose when I grew older and had mentioned it, my grandparents figured they were free and clear. I don't hold it against them though.

They were far better parents than I would have had otherwise. Why, you ask? Well, the resulting murder and the murderer taking his life would be the best indication. However, it was probably because they were both high school dropouts with raging meth habits. How I ended up healthy is an incredible miracle. Even then, it seemed like they did all they could to kill me. In addition to leaving me with strangers for weeks on end, I was severely undernourished when my grandparents got me. I just wish I would have been with them on New Year's Eve of 1999, and I'll explain why in a moment. With my parents dead, it became of the utmost importance I have a normal childhood.

For the most part, I did, all except for the nightmares. Some nights I was troubled by visions of violence and death. Around 11, my grandparents began sending me to therapists. When I became an adult, I sought out a new counselor. We went through the usual getting to know you phase you go through with a new shrink. As we got comfortable with each other, the topic of hypnotism came up. Somehow it had never come up before. He thought it may help to get to the root of the problem with nothing to lose I agreed. With each appointment a small yet important part of the puzzle would arise.

By the end of our time together I remembered every little detail of that night. Just to be safe I had to be sure I wasn't being fed a false narrative. So, through connections I made in school and a few less savory members of the hacking community, I was able to get a hold of my parents' file. This would ultimately change my view of them while at the same time make everything so much clearer. Only now could I be sure the story I'm about to tell was real and not some terrifying images cooked up by a young man's overactive imagination. Before I began, be aware this story includes depictions of violence and abuse. If you think you may be triggered by this, stop here. Thank you for all for following thus far. The evening of December 31st, 1999, I was called to the home of Corey and Rita Bryant.

Upon arrival, the first thing that grabbed my attention were the tiny bloody footprints scattered throughout the home. I was told by the responding officer that they belonged to the male toddler of the Bryants. Toddler Bryant was not on scene when I arrived having been taken to the hospital for a full examination. The toddler himself was not injured, instead is believed to have walked through the blood of Mrs. Bryant. In the corner of the living room laid the body of Mrs. Bryant. She had been handcuffed to the home's radiator. Next to her body laid a heavy framing hammer covered in what I assumed to be Mrs. Bryant's blood. My preliminary conclusion is that Mrs. Bryant had

been beaten until dead by Mr. Bryant. After observing the primary crime scene, I was led to the master bedroom where Mr. Bryant's body was located. It laid slumped at the foot of the bed. A semi-automatic pistol lay next to Mr. Bryant. A small entrance wound was discovered on the right temple and appeared to be the primary cause of death at this time. That was the gist of what happened, although I obviously edited the report for the sake of brevity and personal privacy, it accurately describes what my subconscious had been trying to tell me for so long. Fortunately, I've managed to not suffer from any long-term psychological damage. I count myself lucky in that matter. Despite being somewhat shocked after

learning the truth, I'm still able to view everything as if it happened to someone else. And in a way, it kind of did. Twenty years ago, a three-year-old child was present while her father beat his mother to death, only to take his life soon after. I feel terribly sorry for what that little boy must have went through, but that's not me. I'm happy. A well-adjusted man who happened to once have terrible nightmares. Now that I know the truth, my life is great. And I can't remember the last time I didn't sleep like a baby. To be continued... were better than others but overall I didn't much like the man. I wasn't the only one either. He and my mom were constantly fighting, usually about nothing. It seemed like he just had to be

that way to people sometimes. I asked her once why she didn't leave him but according to her, he wasn't always like that. They had been high school sweethearts. She even attended the same college as him just so that they could stay together. Back then he was a kind and generous man but after they were married he began to change. He began getting paranoid and drinking heavily. Initially everyone thought it was because of the alcohol but the paranoid episodes were happening even when he wasn't drinking. In those days he would still apologize for his despicable behavior, but as time went on, the apologies came less and less often, until one day they just stopped. Once the schizophrenia was diagnosed, he finally had an excuse. That was my theory anyway. I wished

every day that he could be normal again, but it never happened. In fact, it only got worse. As I neared my 13th birthday, things had grown so bad I considered running away. Dad was unemployed by this point, living off of disability checks and occasionally odd jobs. Drinking consumed almost every minute of his waking hours and his venom towards me knew no bounds. Even when I thought I'd found a good place to hide, he would burst in screaming, calling me an ungrateful son. Michael, my oldest brother, had moved out the year before. Without him around, no one remained to protect me. That's why I should have known something was very wrong. When I snuck in from school,

there was no sign of dad. No loud TV or noise whatsoever. I took advantage of this and slipped into my room, unprotected. The rest of my day was spent like normal, keeping quiet and trolling the internet. The one time I left my room, I tiptoed out to get some food. Dad was sitting at the table so quietly I didn't even know he was there. I froze and held my breath, unsure of what was next. Instead of screaming and cursing, he said nothing. I thought he may be asleep but his eyes were wide open and he looked miles away.

I took the opportunity to grab a bag of chips and ran back to my room. Things would only get stranger as the evening went on. About 5.30 I heard him go to his room. Things would only get stranger as the evening went on. About 5.30 I heard him go to his bedroom, but rather than come out for more beer, I didn't hear him for the remainder of the night. Except for a short period just before bed, I was brushing my teeth and something caught my attention. I turned off the water but heard nothing at first. A few seconds passed and I began hearing sobbing. It couldn't have been anyone but dad. This was impossible. I stuck my head to the wall and listened quietly. Sure enough, I could hear him crying. I've never heard him do anything like this before.

As I drifted off that night, I began to have a feeling that I'd never felt in my life. Pity for my father. The following morning I ate a quick breakfast and left for school as usual. I had a hard time focusing during my classes. The feelings that had stirred the previous night were heavily weighing on my mind. I'd spent so much of my life hating my father. The idea of feeling sorry for him was super confusing. I hoped the day before had just been a positive sign of what was to come between us. As I slipped in the afternoon I was optimistic but guarded. Just like the day prior the house

was quiet and calm. I dropped my book bag in my room and went to take a leak. When I entered the bathroom I thought I could hear beeping through the wall. Mom had left for work hours ago. Dad was the only adult left in the house. I hadn't seen him anywhere else, so he had to be in there. Why would he allow it to drone on? Anyone as touchy as him couldn't let that go. It soon began to annoy me.

Him being passed out was the only possibility I could think of. I figured I could slip in, turn it off, slip back out without being noticed. So that's what I did. The door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open. As I thought I could make out a shape sprawled out on the bed. It was dark, but it had to be him. Quickly I walked over to the far side of the bed. The clock sat on the nightstand, screeching like a banshee. I fumbled around with the buttons until the noise stopped. Finally, I could relax. I turned to walk out, but now the room seemed too quiet. My dad snored like a foghorn when he was drunk, but there wasn't a peep.

I carefully leaned over just to check. I made sure not to move the bed. I knew if I woke him, my life would be over. I could see his eyes were open. I began to panic. I threw all caution to the wind and turned on the bedside lamp. I was met with a gruesome and horrifying sight. Not only was he dead, but the pistol he used was still gripped in his left hand. The sight almost made me wretch, so I turned away. Unsure of what to do, I called my mother.

Once she got herself together, she told me to call 911 which I did. They couldn't do anything of course. Just like that, mom and I were alone. After the shock wore off I became furious. I didn't understand why he had to die just when things were beginning to improve. I know now that that was a symptom of what was to come. I continued to feel that way for some time. In the ensuing years, however, I would soften toward my father. While I won't say I've come to love the man, the reasons behind some of the things he did did make a bit more sense now. I don't give him a pass, though.

However, I can't begin to understand what mental illness does to you. Hopefully, I never will. Nevertheless, I do know what it does to your family. As the arrival of my first child grows ever closer, I pray the dark cloud that consumed my father passes by me. If I do become a victim, I can only hope if just for my child's sake, I don't grow into the monster he once was. I guess I should start by explaining how I grew up. From birth until I was 20, I lived in a lower class trailer park with my parents. I also had a younger brother, but we'll learn more about him later. Although we weren't full blown trailer trash, we weren't

far from it. I don't completely blame my parents for this. They both worked very hard, often at more than one job at a time. The biggest problem was probably that they spent so much of their money on garbage like beer and cigarettes. We possibly could have had a somewhat better lifestyle had they not had such wasteful priorities. Like I said though, we weren't completely dirtbags. They never abused us in any way and we always had plenty of food and clothes. I only wish the people around us cared so much for how they lived. Most of our neighbors did just well enough to not get evicted.

It wasn't uncommon to see new faces constantly popping up. The few that managed to stick around in a real extent of time were the worst. If you didn't hear them screaming at each other at all times of the day and night, you were running from their vicious mutts. This particular subject is at the root of what I'm sharing with you today. Early on I made mention of my younger brother, Luke. He was almost 5 years my junior with these piercing blue eyes. All the mothers were constantly oohing and aahing over how handsome he was. It seemed a bit creepy to me too. But anyhow, he and I didn't make it through a week without some neighbor's dog coming after us.

Most of the time we'd make it back to our house safe and sound. That was until one terrible day when our whole family's life would be changed forever. This happened on a summer morning in 1997. Luke and I were out for the break and playing around the playground in the center of the park. Our mom was at work that morning as usual. The old lady across the road, Sissy, was supposed to be watching us, but she spent most of her time asleep in her recliner. We had been playing Dragon Ball Z or some other role-playing stuff that kids do. He and I were coming back from lunch and I noticed the neighbor's dogs were running loose.

They were both some sort of chow mix. From experience, we knew they were mean. Every time we walked by their yard, they barked and growled at us. Under normal circumstances, they would be locked inside a fence, but their alcoholic owner left the gate open all the time. From where we were, it appeared we had plenty of space to make it to safety. Somehow, we'd forgotten about the shortcut and they caught up to us. I'd managed to get away, but Luke wasn't so lucky. I made it about ten steps before I turned back.

To my horror, both dogs were on top of him, and since he was so small they probably had no problem knocking him down. I knew I had to help him, so I ran back and started kicking the one chewing on his face. No matter what I did, neither dog stopped what they were doing. Luke was doing his best to fight back but it was useless. His screams still hurt my heart today. I'm not sure how long it took but I finally got the smaller dog to come after me. I hoped the other one would follow but he continued mauling Luke.

I ran for Sissy's trailer hoping to get her help. She jumped out of her chair when I ran inside. I told her as fast as I could what was happening and to her credit she acted fast. She pulled out her pistol from her desk and ran outside. The bigger dog had pretty much lost interest and was just nudging Luke around. Sissy opened fire on him and scared him off. The smaller dog had already left by the time we came out. Luke wasn't moving anymore. His body was a big, bloody mess. Sissy checked his pulse and yelled me to call 911. I may have been young, but I knew what that meant. The paramedics arrived very quickly and we followed the ambulance in Sissy's car.

While we waited she contacted my parents and they were understandably upset when they got there. Things only got worse when we received the bad news. Luke didn't make it. This is when it finally hit me and it hit me like a rock. I started crying and for a long time blamed myself for his death. I realize now I did all I could at that age, but kids aren't always logical about that stuff. My dad was beyond furious. As soon as we got to the park, he went looking for the dogs. He found them back inside the yard and the owner begged him not to kill them, but it did no good.

He'd be charged with animal cruelty later that month, but considering the circumstances, the charges were soon dropped. After Luke's funeral, we did our best to return to normal. Of course, this was easier said than done. For a long time, Mom would break into tears anytime Luke's name was mentioned. We did as best we could to honor his memory. Every year on his birthday, we'd get together at his grave and say our respects. Both my folks died early, so after they passed, I've carried on with the tradition. Now that I'm an adult, I'm more focused on the good times we had. Wherever he is today, I hope he's happy and he's been reunited with our parents. I pray I'll be able to join them all when my time comes. To be continued... 11. My family had always been a normal one, at least as normal as a military family can be.

My dad had been a naval officer until he retired in 1992. Soon after being stationed in the Philippines, he and my mom met and got married. When it was announced Subic Bay was being closed, dad decided to call it quits. This was the first time they mentioned moving to the states but they ultimately chose not to. Five years passed and my mom was pregnant with my future brother, Robert. I'm not sure if he was planned but everyone in my family was looking forward to his arrival. The discussion of moving to America was brought up again and this time my dad decided we should. His reasoning was because his parents were getting older and

they deserve more time with their grandchildren. So, by the time the next winter holidays came along, we were living in a suburban house not far from them. For any kid that has grown up in another country, the culture shock of America can be hard to come to terms with. I wasn't any different in that regard. However, the person who had a much harder time adjusting was my mother. Without any of her own family nearby, she couldn't shake her feelings of isolation and invisibility. What perhaps made things even tougher for her was not having anyone she knew who could help her with my brother. Although my dad's folks were close, she hadn't yet become comfortable around

them. This resulted in her becoming very attached to him. Even when my dad held him, she would stand by nervously, unable to relax until he was back in her arms. This is why when Robert began getting sick, she became more unhinged. At first, he would occasionally vomit. Not abnormal as far as I know, but within a week, the sickness grew far worse. Finally, we had to rush him to the hospital late one night. After a boatload of tests, he was diagnosed with a rare infection. We were all understandably upset, but mom was beside herself. A few days passed and Robert was released. He seemed to be getting

better. It was chalked up to a freak incident and things began to get back to normal. Unfortunately, two months later the symptoms returned. Robert was readmitted to the hospital and the tests were all repeated. The diagnosis was the same. We began to fear something around our home was causing it. My dad went through the house with a fine-tooth comb but nothing came up. The doctors were clueless too, but Robert's condition slowly began to improve. His doctors hinted that he may be released by the end of the week. Everything was looking good but not 24 hours later his condition took a downturn. Mom was convinced he was dying and called for a priest to give him his last rites.

What we didn't know at the time was, the hospital had contacted the police after Robert started to decline again. The nurses had become suspicious that someone in the family was making him sick. They believed he was being poisoned. The overwhelming consensus was my mom. Some more tests were done to confirm the poison theory and the following morning, my mother was arrested. Of course, we were all shocked. My dad was furious and almost got arrested himself. Nobody believed she was capable of doing something so heinous, especially to her own child.

Her and dad went so far as to do an interview with the local news, and watching it now after all this time, you can see how much she loved the attention. Robert's symptoms did go away after mom's arrest. He couldn't be discharged back into our home until the case was resolved, so my dad's folks took him in. The family continued to stand by her her but as the trial drew closer, her guilt became more and more possible to us. In the years she and Robert had been apart, his infection hadn't returned. The final nail in her coffin, so to speak, was the trial. After hearing all the evidence they had against her, she had no supporters left.

As you can probably guess, the jury found her guilty and she was sentenced to 25 years in prison. Since her conviction, we had almost no contact with her. Dad understandably filed for divorce not long after the trial, and after he remarried, she was never heard from again. This was until Robert turned 18. Now that he was an adult, mom was free to contact him. She still maintained her innocence after all these years and that's probably why her attempts at parole were denied. She continued to send him a letter a month for almost a year.

Each one begged him to visit her. The thing is, Robert had no connections with her. Our stepmother was his mother all but in blood and he had no desire to go see a stranger in prison. Since Robert blew her off, I feared that she may soon try to contact me. Her time inside is drawing to a close. As far as I know, she doesn't have anywhere to live when she gets released. I'm almost positive this was her motivation for contacting Robert. If she has any hopes of being a part of my life, she can forget it. I'm a grown man with a family.

A family I love. No one capable of what she did is welcome anywhere near them. For context, this happened to me when I was about five years old. Some of the details are still a little fuzzy, and because both my parents don't quite remember what happened, this is largely anecdotal at best. At the time, my parents and I were living with my paternal grandparents, and I was in the front yard, which is quite large, playing by myself and my grandparents Rottweiler Damien. My parents were both inside, not sure exactly what they were doing but I was definitely alone aside from me and the family dog. Suddenly, at least to my childlike mind, a man in a beige colored car pulled up at the curve of my grandparents house. He began talking to me, I'm unsure of what exactly but at one point I remember him asking me if I wanted a toy. Of course I said yes please. He then produces a small little stuffed

lion and hands it to me which I graciously accepted. Suddenly I remember hearing Loke growling behind me. Turning my head I see that Damien is standing pretty close to me, staring directly at the man, growling deep in his throat. Damien was typically a lazy dog, choosing to lounge around and just being a normal goofy dog, but his breed means he was fiercely protective of his family, especially me. However, I didn't understand why he was so upset at the time, so I told the man thank you for the lion and brought Damien inside, happily clutching my new toy. My parents noticed both that Damien was still looking outside on guard and that I had a new toy in my hand. My dad asked where I got it and I told him the nice man outside gave it to me. Suddenly my dad is on his feet and charged outside. My dad was and still is a tall man with looks that could kill and knew how to

fight so he was ready to attack whoever was giving gifts to his one and only daughter at the time but not surprisingly the man and his car were long gone. After that, both my parents sat me down and explained stranger danger and that I can't accept things from people, even if they seem nice. Unfortunately, because the man was already gone and his license plate wasn't written down, we couldn't go to the cops about it. But since no harm was actually done and after washing it, I got to keep the stuff lying which I affectionately named Simba. Thinking back now, I'm quite aware of the dangers of potentially being kidnapped or much

worse. I didn't live in the best area at the time so I'm very lucky that nothing bad actually happened. I'm also forever grateful to Damien for being protective of me and being there with me. Rest in peace, buddy. I will name my first Rottweiler after you. When I would hear the old adage, right place at the right time, I'd think to myself, yeah, okay, it's all just coincidence. But after what I've been through these past six weeks, my mind is changing. Maybe you were put in a specific place at a specific time for a reason, but I digress. As most of you know, the Pacific Northwest, for those unfamiliar, was recently ravaged by an

ungodly amount of wildfires. Seeing all the little fire emojis dotted all over maps of California, Oregon, and Washington made my heart ache. My home was burning. Fortunately for myself and my family, our area hadn't been hit as hard as many others. I had planned a camping trip a few weeks prior to this pandemic of wildfires, so I was happy to see that my usual spot was not near any major fires and subsequently had been deemed safe to travel and camp in. I am a camping enthusiast, enjoy deep wilderness camping, and my usual spot is fairly remote. It requires a two-hour drive up a two-lane road into the middle of nowhere, followed by a 30-minute drive up an old logging road that ultimately crests a small mountain.

The mountain's slope leads into a beautiful valley, with much larger mountains encircling the valley from the north and east. In the center was a decently sized clearing. The clearing was littered with fallen logs, beautiful pink and yellow yarrow flowers, and the occasional family of white-tailed deer. This was my true happy place. This valley has a name, but I will keep it hidden for anonymity purposes. I left on a Tuesday morning in early September. The drive to the mountain was relatively uneventful, besides almost hitting a

large buck who decided to cross the road right in front of my truck. I arrived on the mountain's crest and began unpacking the bed of my truck. I had just recently bought a new 2020 Toyota Tacoma. I parked my truck facing the clearing, roughly 5 feet from the edge of a small drop off. The slope down to the valley wasn't steep and is fairly easy to hike down. I'd say it's about 400 to 450 feet from where I parked down to the start of the valley floor. I had camp set up just as dusk was setting. I usually would have a large fire going, but with the previously mentioned wildfires, that wasn't possible. I brought a small propane stove and a space heater to prevent any accidents.

As I finished gulping down my last bite of dinner, I noticed it was quickly growing dark. I hopped off my tailgate and made my way to my driver's side door. As I was digging in my pockets for my keys, I looked down into the valley and noticed something strange. I could make out two small circular lights in the far distance. They flickered as they quickly moved closer to the clearing. It looked as if though they were hovering and navigating through the trees at a steady pace. I crouched down in front of my truck and looked on in curiosity. I watched for a few minutes until the lights eventually arrived at the tree line of the clearing. I could hear the humming of motorcycle engines echoing from the

valley and that's when I realized that that's what I was staring at. What on earth were these two people doing riding dirt bikes out here? This was the first time I had ever seen another person out here. The lights were stationary at this point. I assumed the two riders were off their bikes and walking around the clearing, although this is only speculation as I couldn't see anything aside from the two bike headlights. I knew they couldn't see me as I had no visible lights on or a campfire going and I instantly thought to grab my phone out of my glove box. Local news stations warn the public of suspected people intentionally starting fires in the woods. They encourage citizens to be vigilant and gather any evidence they could. In an absolute lapse

in judgment, I pressed the unlock button on my keys. My truck lights flashed and a loud beeping sound rang out. I had just given a beacon of my location to these midnight riders. In a rush of adrenaline, I threw myself onto the ground stomach first. My mind was screaming, quit going Einstein. I could barely think as my heart was pounding in my ears. I watched as the bike lights began to turn back into the direction they came from and eventually disappeared into the darkness. I could hear the engines revving harder than they had before. That unsettled me a bit. As I stood up and brushed myself off, I began thinking about how odd it was. Usually people with good intentions do not run off like that when they notice other campers.

These people were obviously up to no good down there. Maybe drug traffickers, meth cookers, arsonists. My mind was filled with all the potential threats I might have alerted to my location. I sat in my truck and mulled over my options. Should I drive home? What if they were waiting for me at the end of the logging road? Was I overreacting? I decided to pack up camp and spend the night in my truck and drive home first thing in the morning. After packing everything up, I drove down the logging road a little ways and backed into a small gap in the mountain face. That way if the midnight riders decided to pay me a visit they might miss me.

I was in full paranoia mode. I lowered my seat back, racked around in my handgun and eventually dozed off as the adrenaline turned into exhaustion. I awoke to my alarm with my life for hire by ADTR blaring from my phone. In a groggy daze, I sat up and rubbed my eyes. My phone said 6.32am. I looked out my windshield. I could see thick brown smoke swirling in the wind.

As I stepped out of my truck, I was hit with the intense smell of burning wood. So as you guessed, there was a fire very close by. I jumped back into my truck and raced back up the mountain. From my camping spot, I'd be able to get a better understanding of the situation. As I drove way too fast up this narrow logging road, I noticed the smoke was thinning out as my elevation grew. My heart sank at this realization. When I reached the crest, I jumped into the truck bed and looked out over the valley. I could see blue skies above the mountains across from me to the north and east. My heart sank as this confirmed my suspicion.

I turned toward the logging road to my right. I could see the smoke thicken from that direction. I was trapped. My mind instantly went to the two riders from the previous night. I grabbed my phone, praying for a signal. Of course, no such luck. I jumped off my truck bed and threw my passenger door open. I frantically searched for my backpack. I ripped it apart once I found it, looking for my GPS satellite phone. I kissed it with joy when I grabbed it from the bottom of the bag. I ripped it apart once I found it looking for my GPS satellite phone. I kissed it with

joy when I grabbed it from the bottom of the bag. I flipped it open and thank the lord I had a signal. I called 911 to report the fire and request help and I chatted with the operator for about 15 minutes. The operator said she'd contact local wildland firefighting companies and attempt to get a helicopter to evacuate me. After being on hold for a few minutes, I was transferred to a helicopter pilot with a wildland firefighting company that was nearby. I mentioned the valley by name and the man said he knew where it was. He claimed that they were sending a helicopter to pick me up and that I needed to be there and ready to leave as soon as they landed. After we disconnected I rushed to clear out my truck of any valuables. I sadly rubbed the dashboard and said sorry to my new truck as it was evident the fire would

eventually consume her. I then gradually started making my way down the slope and into the valley. After only falling a few times I reached the valley floor. I bolted through the trees and toward the clearing. My lungs were on fire as I neared the clearing. As I broke through the tree line I collapsed on the ground gasping for air. After a few minutes of laying there, catching my breath, I got back onto my feet. I started walking towards the center of the clearing. When I got to what I assumed was the center I glanced up at the peak of the small mountain and I could see my bright red truck sitting where I left it. Roughly 200 feet to the left of it was a wall of fire.

Black smoke was rising from the wall as it raced up the mountain. I turned away, not wanting to watch my $39,000 literally go up in flames. I began scanning the skies, searching for my rescue. I concentrated on listening for the chopping sound of the helicopter's rotors. As I stood there, listening, I heard something else that made me question my sanity. Just to my left, I could hear someone crying. A shockwave ran through me. I stood there, unable to believe my ears. I upholstered my handgun and called out, Hello?

Is someone there? I then began to hear muffled screaming. I ran towards the screaming trying to hold back tears. I noticed a piece of plywood roughly four feet wide by eight feet long, covered in branches and dirt. It was laying on the ground with a large boulder set on top. I called out, hello? I heard the muffled scream again, this time much louder and unmistakable. Is someone really under this plywood? I thought to myself. I rushed to move the boulder. After struggling for a few minutes, I finally managed to push the boulder off the plywood. I slowly lifted it up and threw it to the side.

What I saw, what I saw, is something I will never forget. Sitting inside a small hole, probably no bigger than four feet by four feet, was a woman. Her wrists were zip-tied and her mouth was gagged with a piece of cloth. I gasped and took a step back. I couldn't believe it. What was going on? The woman was frantically looking around. I snapped out of my shock and rushed to help her. She flinched as I reached out to grab her. I lifted her out of the hole. I took the cloth from her mouth and she frantically started yelling in Spanish and raising her arms. I told her to calm down. You're safe now. I cut the zip ties that were

binding her wrists. She instantly started pointing behind me and repeating, Mia, Mia. I didn't understand her as unfortunately I knew no Spanish. I turned around quickly to see four more pieces of plywood scattered across the clearing. I was horrified. I rushed over and started flipping them over one by one, and one by one they were empty. The woman following me as I did this let out a painful cry as I flipped the last piece of plywood, exposing a fourth and final empty hole. She collapsed on the ground and began sobbing. I tried to ask what was wrong, but I couldn't understand her.

As I attempted to console her, I could hear the distinct sound of helicopter rotors. I looked up to see the chopper descending into the valley. I helped the woman out and put her arm over my shoulder as we rushed to the awaiting chopper. A man jumped out from the side doors. When we reached him, he helped the woman in, then stopped and yelled at me that you didn't tell us that there would be two of you. I yelled back trying to be heard over the loud rotors. I just found her. I had no idea what is happening. He replied with, you found her? What are you? Nevermind. We don't have time. Get in. He helped me into the helicopter and shut the doors. Soon after we started to ascend, I looked down over the valley to see the fire had engulfed the peak and was halfway down the slope towards the valley.

I sat back in relief. I was finally safe, but I had so many questions. The state police and EMTs met us when we landed back at the base camp. I explained the entire situation and they took the woman and I back to the station. Eventually, I was released after retelling my story to six different officers. My wife picked me up and I was able to return home. That wasn't the end, unfortunately. Over these last six weeks, I was interviewed by local authorities,

state authorities, the U.S. Marshals, ICE, and even a pair of FBI agents. My final interview was with the two FBI agents. They were the only ones who gave me any real information on the situation. After retelling my story, just as I did here, they filled in some holes for me. They explained that I most likely stumbled upon a human trafficking operation. When I unlocked my truck, it spooked them. He said I was lucky that I hid in that gap when I did, as they most likely went up the logging road to handle me. When they couldn't locate me, they probably assumed that I had left to get the police.

So they packed up any valuable assets, including the woman's young daughter, and started the fire to destroy any evidence before I could alert the authorities. I asked about the girl. The older agent informed me that her and her daughter were kidnapped from Nicaragua. The woman claimed that they were set to be sold to a wealthy Russian oligarch. She was being held in government custody until she can be returned home. He then said, she's lucky you came along when you did. You were at the right place at the right time. Now this story starts the day after I moved into my new home. I had just moved from my apartment, which was in a bad neighborhood with lots of bad things happening there, but that's another story.

So I had just moved into my new house, a small two-bedroom house. The kitchen was right in front of the master bedroom and the secondary bedroom was right off of the living room. I had my mother and two siblings living with me. They took the very large master while I took the secondary bedroom. Anyways, this encounter took place pretty late in the night at around 11pm. Everyone had gone to sleep so I was pretty excited that I got the house to myself. I decided that I would do the dishes to help my mother out and then play some games on my Xbox for the rest of the night. I walked into the kitchen with my dog and started doing up the dishes. About halfway through them, I started feeling really uneasy.

I started thinking it was just an unexpected anxiety attack which I get pretty often so I didn't really think much of it. I paused and decided that maybe a glass of water would help. While I was sipping my water I started to hear my dog growling from the living room. I say to my dog but he is really my mother's dog. He is a very, very good guard dog as in will destroy any intruder in a heartbeat type of guard dog. Anyways, I heard him growling, a very low, quiet growl. Me being the stupid 17 year old that I am, decided I was going to go see what he was doing. I put down my glass and walked into the living room where both my puppy and my mother's dog were standing by the front door, their nose in the crack of it. I tiptoed my way up to the door and listened carefully. All I heard was a faint scratching noise, so I assumed it was just a raccoon or

one of the stray cats that frequented our house because we always leave our cat food out for them. I took a peek out of the front window, which is located right beside the door and didn't see anything, just the dark yard and porch illuminated softly by the glow of the street light in front of the house. So I told the dogs to chill out before they woke the family up. After they settled down a bit, I went back to finish up the dishes and think about what games I was going to play. As I was washing a plate, I got that uneasy feeling again. The feeling in the pit of your stomach that just feels like something is very wrong. I tried brushing it off, but it was coming on so strong.

All of a sudden I got the feeling as though someone was behind me, staring at me, silently watching me. My uneasy feeling turned into scared and then stress. I was so uneasy that I whispered to myself, something bad is going to happen, I just know it. The floor started rumbling as though someone was running on it, running up behind me as my back was turned away from the entry to the kitchen. It rumbled so hard the pounding of the footsteps was so loud, I didn't know what to expect and I put my hands over my ears to block out the sound. It ran up behind me and it slammed me into the kitchen counter, leaving a large purple bruise

on my stomach. As soon as it all started, it stopped. Nothing but silence in the small kitchen again. While checking my stomach i waited to see if anything else was going to happen but nothing did the room felt quiet once again i started panicking feeling so scared about what had just happened i finally got the courage to turn around and as i did i sighed in relief. My big eyed pupper was sitting in the doorway staring up at me. I walked over to her and hugged her then hooked her up to a leash to take her out before I went to bed. At this point it was about 12 and I was so scared and exhausted from that experience I just decided it was the sleep my body was desperately craving but hadn't received

causing me to think something happened when it really didn't. Though it doesn't explain the bruise forming on my stomach. I said to my pupper, hard to believe that my mind could conjure up something so scary. She was hooked up and we walked outside onto the porch. Normally we have four baby stray cats that basically live out there but they were nowhere in sight so I assumed that they took cover at the neighbor's house. I walked the little pupper into the yard a little ways away from the side of the house where the kitchen window was. Now, I wasn't in front of the kitchen window, I was at the front of the yard, but I could see the kitchen window from where I stood. I looked down and talked to my dog, telling her what a good girl she is and how beautiful she looked, you know, what all puppy mamas do. She looked up at me and

wagged her tail in delight, but then her mood suddenly changed as she then snapped her neck to where the kitchen window was. When I say snapped, I mean she turned her head so fast I for real thought that she was going to break her neck. It startled me so much that I naturally took a couple of steps backward trying to calm down from the scare. I glanced over to where she was looking. Just a small quick glance into my surprise I actually saw something. I wasn't expecting to see anything so I had to double take at the sight of this thing. We both sat and stared trying to see what it was. to double take at the sight of this thing. We both sat and stared, trying to see what it was. It looked like a black silhouette, probably about 7 maybe 8 feet tall

with a very large chest. I remember the chest so well because it stuck out so far, like scarily far. The figure looked thin in the face but quite large in the rest of the body. It was staring over the large hedge that was in front of our kitchen window. It was staring into the window like it was waiting, silently for someone or something to move inside of the house. I'm guessing my dog's eyes finally adjusted to the darkness because she let out a small woof at the creature. As soon as she did this, the creature turned its head and stared at me with huge green eyes. My heart sank, and the way its eyes were reflecting the light made me instantly think that what I was standing in front

of was a giant 78 foot tall animal. It was silent, no sound, no nothing. I was so focused on the creature that I had failed to realize that the night's insects had gone silent as well. There was no noise except for the static around the energy coming from the city. I froze while my puppies started barking loudly and violently. What could this be? Am I seeing things? Is this real? I scooped my pup in my arms and ran inside the house, all the while feeling the same pounding and hearing the loud, thudding footsteps as the previous encounter that took place an hour earlier. I ran. Ran so fast that I almost tripped over my own feet. I darted indoors, basically tossed my pooch on the couch and locked the door as fast

as I could. Leaning against the door, I listened for whatever it was that chased us in. I almost held the door closed, thinking it would actually do something to protect us from that thing. All I could hear was the sound of heavy breaths from running so fast. My dog barking must have disturbed my family because my mother came out of her room and saw me holding the door closed. She saw that I was distressed and wrapped her arms around me telling me everything was okay and asked what happened. I couldn't get out the story. For some reason, my mind told me not to tell her because I knew she wouldn't believe me. So I made up a story about how one of the

neighbors startled me and assured her that I was okay. To this day, she still doesn't know the story, none of my family does, and I still don't know what that creature was, but I do know one thing about it, that it will haunt my mind for a long, long time. The experience that I'm about to recount is one of the most terrifying incidents that's ever happened to me. At the time of this encounter, I was 17 years old and my family decided to visit our cottage for a weekend during the warm months of July. Before I continue, I would just like to specify that I am female. My family's cottage is deep within the countryside of Ontario, Canada. I had recently lost a lot of weight because I had taken up the habit of going on long walks every afternoon and I wasn't going to let staying at the cottage ruin my new routine.

One evening, I decided to go for a walk a couple of hours after dinner, just as the sun was setting. Now that I'm older I realize how foolish this idea was. For context my family's cottage is in a rural area, there are barely any cars, no street lights and the area is heavily wooded on both sides of the skinny one-lane road that stretches for kilometers in both directions. At the beginning of my walk it was still somewhat bright outside and I decided to call my friend while I was out to help pass the time. Looking back, I guess I must have been so engrossed in conversation that I didn't realize how quickly the sun was setting. Before I knew it,

the sun was almost completely gone. By this point, I was 30 minutes away from my family's cottage by foot. During my walk I only saw about two cars pass the entire time that I was out. Eventually I told my friend that I was heading back because of how dark it had gotten. Just as I turned around the long stretch of road I saw an old beat up pickup truck coming down the lane. At first I didn't think anything of it. In fact I even made a joke to my friend over the phone that wouldn't it be hilarious that that pickup truck ended up turning

around? In hindsight, that was an extremely stupid comment to make. The pickup truck sped down the road and out of sight. However, about five minutes later, before I knew it, it must have pulled into somebody's driveway and made a u-turn because it was coming right towards me, not trying to hit me but just traveling in the opposite direction down the road. I was a little bit perturbed but I didn't initially think that anything was wrong or amiss. After all, there was a small convenience store that you could probably get to in the same amount of time if you sped like a maniac. So naive 17 year old me just brushed it off.

But things soon took a turn for the worst. Not even 5 minutes later the old pickup truck turned around again and this time it was clear that the driver had decreased the speed enough to get a good look at me through the window. This time I totally freaked out. I told my friend about the incident and was panicking. I've read way too many let's not meet stories on reddit to know where this was going. I told my friend under the phone what was happening and she told me to hang up and call my dad who was at the cottage with the rest of my family. I did as she said and soon after I saw the truck make a u-turn in someone's driveway and come back in my direction again. The truck passed me once more but each time it did, it speed decreased, which set me on edge and made me feel uncomfortable.

After all of these years, I still can't fully describe the sheer amount of panic that I felt on that summer evening. Right before I called my dad, I was trying to figure out my next course of action. There were woods on either side of the street. I decided that if the truck came back round and if the driver attempted to get out and pursue me, I would make a run for the woods in order to get as far away from them as I could. I finally called my dad and told him what was going on. I couldn't help but almost cry. He asked me for directions. I told him if he made a right from their cottage and kept on driving for about five minutes or so that he would eventually spot me. By now it was pitch black outside. The only source of light I had was the moon in my iPhone's flashlight. During this time, the truck made another turn and once again,

drove by me extremely slowly. This time it drove up a couple of rural driveways down the road and I saw that it was idling with its headlights off. At that moment in time, I didn't care if I was overreacting. I genuinely thought that whoever was in that truck was planning on abducting me. I've read countless stories online and watched way too many documentaries to know where this situation could potentially lead me. Luckily, just as I was losing hope, I saw the headlights of another car approaching. My phone rang. It was my dad. He flashed his headlights twice and I bolted as fast as my legs could take me over to his car. The problem was, in order to make it to his car I had to pass the driveway that the old truck was parked in. This was a moment that I just winged. I didn't care. I just thought to myself, if I run

as quickly as possible I'll make it, and if someone gets out of the truck and chases me I'll run into the woods. Looking back, who knows if that idea would have lost me my life. I took the risk and made it past the truck and finally to my dad's car. I opened the door and got into the front seat breathing heavily. My dad was glad to know that I was safe and I was glad to see him. At first I thought we were going to start the car and bolt right out of there but my dad wanted to do a test. He parked his car and turned off the headlights. He told me he wanted to see if the truck driver I described would try and make a run for it

or at least try to continue the search for me. After five minutes it was clear that the truck driver was smarter than we thought as the vehicle remained hidden. We drove back to the cottage and called the cops. There wasn't much they could do because I didn't to the cottage and called the cops. There wasn't much they could do because I didn't catch the plate and technically the driver hadn't done anything to me. Looking back, maybe I was overreacting. Maybe it was a local concern that a young girl was walking alone at night. I still don't know. But I do know one thing. The events that transpired that night

didn't set well with me. My gut told me everything I needed to know. Better safe than sorry. And I want anyone who's reading this to know that no matter how silly you feel about any situation, always trust your gut. This happened a few years back when I had just gotten hired at the local grocery store in my city. I was 16 at the time and definitely looked my age if not younger. It's also important to mention that I'm quite a shy person as is, especially back then at my new workplace. I had been working there for a while when our store hired a new cashier, for this story I'll call him Joseph. Overall Joseph seemed pretty nice, he was always waving hello to everyone, greeting everyone at the start of his shift. Just fit in pretty well and seemed like a fairly

normal guy, trying his best to befriend his co-workers. After a few months of working there, Joseph started trying to talk to me more frequently. This didn't seem weird, as cashiers tend to get close to anyone that they frequently work the same hours as. It's always nice to have someone to have short conversations with when the store gets quiet. It did escalate pretty quickly with him going out of his way to talk to me about any chance he got, but again, he was fairly new and I assumed he was just being friendly. This changed one day as I'm getting off of work and he approached me as I was exiting the store and asked if I would like to get coffee with him. I was caught extremely off guard by this and

due to being shy and an anxious person I stammered out a quick, uh, yeah, sure. Immediately regretting this in my head as I had zero attraction to Joseph before I quickly ran out of the store to where my parents were waiting to pick me up. That day when I got home I searched his profile on Facebook to see if I could find out more about him. It turns out Joseph wasn't actually as young as I assumed he was. He was 26 years old at this time. At this point I will also mention that it was a known fact between all cashiers that me and a handful of other cashiers were all in high school. So knowing that I wasn't going to entertain the idea of coffee with him, the next day

at work when I saw him I told him that I wouldn't be able to get coffee with him as the age difference was too much for me. Unfortunately this didn't seem to deter Joseph, who simply replied, Does age matter to you? It doesn't matter to me. I replied with a quick, well, when you're almost 30 and I'm in high school it matters a bit. This comment seemed to go unnoticed as he stated how he would wait for me and how he could make me happy. This obviously creeped me out and from then on I began to avoid Joseph as best as I could. However, he began to become very persistent. Every single shift I had, he either happened to be working already or would go through my till

to buy a single item and continue to pester me for a date, asking me almost daily, have you changed your mind? And telling me that I wasn't giving up. This may not seem like much for those reading, but being harassed daily by an older man in an environment where you were supposed to be safe was terrifying for me. I admit, if this had taken place now, I would have totally gone to HR or my manager and told them about the situation, but as a 16 year old girl working her first job I feared that I was overreacting. Eventually after at least a couple of months of honestly being scared to go to work I confided in a friend that I worked with that it was happening. This friend happened to be a huge six foot tall man who said that he would talk to joseph about

his creepy behavior around the same time i also told one of joseph's closer friends at our workplace about his behavior and how it was upsetting me and around this time joseph began to leave me alone shortly after leaving the store entirely i actually began to forget all about this until a year or so ago after it all happened when I got a message from an old work friend who I don't typically talk to. Her message simply stated, did you see this? And had a link below. The link was a mugshot from the crime stoppers unit in our town, a mugshot of Joseph. Underneath which it's said that there was a province-wide warrant out for his arrest for the charges of possession and distribution of illicit images containing

children. I don't know what I avoided by not going out for coffee with him, and I can't say with certainty that anything would have happened, but boy am I glad my warning bells went off when they did. The story takes place two years ago when I was living in the same house as my two younger sisters and my father. We lived in a neighborhood that wasn't necessarily unsafe but wasn't the best neighborhood for people to live in. I can recall some neighbors getting arrested for dealing when I was maybe five but the story isn't about them In the summer of 2018 my sisters and I would stay up late into the night Sometimes only going to bed after the sun had risen I was 17 and my sisters were 15 and 13

My father would go to bed early as he was a responsible adult To explain the situation best I need to describe what my house looked like. It was a one-story home with four doors on the front of my house, three of which opened to our living room and one of which opened to my bedroom. Our backyard fence had been knocked down by a storm recently and we had two doors on the back of the house, one that opened to the kitchen and one that opened to my father's room. One night at around 12.30am I was doing what I usually did. I was listening to scary stories on my phone as I made art on my iPad. I didn't use earbuds because I've always been paranoid that something might happen while I'm using them. My sisters, who shared a room down the

hall from me, were doing whatever they did at night. It didn't really concern me. My father was fast asleep in his room. Now, I don't know about all of you, but I always end up very on edge when I'm listening to scary stories, so I'm hyper aware of what's going on around me. You can imagine how hard I jumped when I heard a sharp pounding on our front door. Four hard thuds could be heard throughout the house, and I could hear the front door shake with the strength of each knock. I checked the time, terrified. It was 1am. I held my breath, hoping to god that I'd heard wrong.

I really didn't want to think someone was at my front door. At this moment, my middle sister, Jen, came running to my room trying to keep her steps silent. She looked at me, eyes wild. You heard that too, right? She asked, voice trembling. I swallowed and nodded, heart pounding in my chest. We need to go wake dad up. I responded and started towards my father's bedroom. Julia followed diligently behind me. On our way to our dad's room, my youngest sister Ness peeked her head out from her room. She too looked scared. I opened my dad's door and shook him awake, trembling slightly.

One of my worst fears is someone breaking into our house. Dad, someone's at the front door. Even as I said this, I felt sick. What? Dad whispered, groggy and not at all happy that we had woken him. There's someone here, Jen whispered. I heard it. Someone knocked on the door. I nodded all too eagerly. My dad slowly got out of bed. He knew that my sisters and I always jump to the worst conclusions whenever anything happens, so he assumed we were doing the same here. I watched silently as he went to the front door, my stomach leaping to my throat.

There's no one out there, he told my sisters and I, absolutely unimpressed as he looked through the blinds. My heart sank a little. I kind of started to doubt myself, but my sisters had heard the knocking too, so I knew I wasn't alone in this. I tried to reason with him before he went back to bed, but he didn't believe us, too scared to really care what we were saying. Dejected but scared, I ended up taking my mattress off my bed and sleeping in my sister's room for the night, taking a baseball bat and lying it next to my mattress. My overactive imagination had me thinking that whoever was at the door was out to kill us, and I knew I have to defend my younger sisters against any danger that dared enter our house.

The next day passed just fine. My sisters and I knew we had heard something and our dad brushed off our attempts to explain it. He thought we were sleep deprived or perhaps that a large bug had hit our door. That explanation I had frowned at. It wasn't until 11pm that night when my father was lounging on one of the couches in the living room that we heard the pounding again. Only this time it was much more aggressive and directly on the door behind my father. My father let out a loud frustrated scream and charged toward the front door. I had been standing in the living room when the pounding occurred again and my sisters had rushed to stand next to me after hearing my father shout. We were all shaken.

Our father never yelled like that. I started to cry as my father went to rush outside and confront whoever was out there. I begged him not to go outside in case he were to get hurt. I told my sisters and I to call the cops and he cursed some more when he realized that whoever had knocked on the door was now gone. My sisters called the cops and they arrived fairly quickly, talking with my dad about what was going on, claiming that there had been other complaints about this happening and explaining that they would try their best to find out who was doing this. The police did a search around her house but didn't find anyone,

even searching the backyard where I was afraid the perpetrator might be. The police assured us that someone would patrol the neighborhood that night. Once the cops were gone, my dad apologized for not believing us the night before. We said it was okay and left it at that. He locked all of the doors and stayed up later than my sisters and I. I couldn't calm down, so I slept in my sister's room that night as well. Eventually though, I put this situation behind me. A few months had passed, but not without nightmares and sleep paralysis about the whole ordeal. Most nightmares ended with someone breaking in and hurting my sisters, other nightmares ended in more brutal ways. I thought nothing more of the whole ordeal. This is until one day I came

home from school and Ness ran up to me, buzzing with energy. She proceeded to tell me that apparently the cops had found out who was knocking on everyone's door about a month or so ago. It was some older guy who lived a few houses down from us. They had gotten him to stop and I'm not sure if he was given a warning or something. He was a little unstable mentally and nobody had ever opened their doors for him. Ness then told me that the same guy had been arrested earlier this day. I was shocked. He'd only been knocking on people's doors at odd hours of the night. I asked her why he'd been arrested. He shot and killed 15 people one town over. She responded. I couldn't believe it, but my father later confirmed this story.

I'm happy to say that he is in jail and no longer lives in that neighborhood. I haven't done any more looking into his crime other than trying to confirm it for myself the day he was arrested. I'm also happy to say that after another recent event where someone tried to break into our house, my father installed a ring doorbell, the doorbell with the camera, which gave my sisters and I some comfort. I hope this man gets what he deserves, or maybe that he gets the help he needs if he really truly is completely insane. I also hope that the families affected by this man's actions are able to find some form of closure in knowing that he's locked away for what he's done. This is a post about my creepy experience when I was 13 on my trip to China. As a little background, I am now 21, 6'2". When I was 13, I was about 5'5", so I didn't really stand out, but about average.

My family and I went to China during the summer. We went to Shanghai. We stayed there for the duration of our trip. And one day I found myself on the subway coming back from a movie with my friend that lives here. His house was right near the movie theater so we parted ways earlier. I know I should have been with my parents but I have always been independent. I was sitting on a seat in the subway on my phone looking at Instagram. I also must mention that I was and

still am a redhead which is very rare in China and this will be relevant later. I was on the subway when a man comes onto the subway. An Asian man with black hair, probably about 5'8". He was taller than me but not by much. At first I didn't pay him any mind but I slowly noticed he was getting closer to me. When he first came in he was about 10 seats away from me and now he was about 5. As he slowly was advancing he was staring daggers at me so I was like, okay, this guy is a little creepy but I stupidly shrugged it off. I had two stops left till I got off.

Now my parents raised me to show respect and politeness to everyone, until you have a reason not to, and I've not been able to use this to my advantage. Whenever I witness someone being bullied, or whenever I have been, I'm very polite and it throws them off. So by now, this man is only two seats away from me. I said to myself, when this dude sits next next to me I'll engage with him. So soon enough he sat next to me staring. I say are you okay sir? This threw the man off. He didn't

respond but stopped staring. He expected me to be scared so I thought that was that, but boy was I wrong. Soon enough, my stop comes, I get off, and then my friend over here gets off also. And at first I said, okay, maybe he's at the stop also. And my family and I had a condo a couple of blocks away, so I started walking, and this idiot follows me. I start jogging, and so does he. So then I have the opportunity to make a split decision. I can take the alleyway and I'll be about two minutes from the condo or I can take the long way that is populated. My dumb 13 year old self took the alleyway. I full out sprint but this guy is at least 6 foot and I'm 5'5 and he catches me.

He pins me to the floor and is about to inject me with something in a syringe. When I get lucky and I'm able to knee him in the balls. He doubles over and I escape. I tell my parents and they absolutely lose their mind and we call the police. All I'm able to do is give a statement and they say they'll keep an eye out for him. I don't know the whereabouts of that man still to this day. I'm still thinking about why this man wanted me and I looked up some of the top crimes in China and one of the top ones I found is human trafficking. Do you guys think that this guy was potentially part of some greater ring of traffickers. I live with my mom, dad, younger brother and our dog in a very rural area in Bavaria in Germany.

When this happened, I was about 13 years old, and we don't have any close neighbors. It was a very cold Saturday in December. I remember the day because my mother worked only on Saturdays. My brother, father, and I spent our afternoons watching movies. In fact, we watched one of the Narnia movies, and it was close to 5pm at this point. Since it was winter, it was nearly getting dark outside. The room was only lit by the TV in our fireplace. At one point, my brother looked outside the window because it started to snow heavily. We all looked outside the window when all of a sudden my dog began to growl. He ran up and down the room very alert. This was very unusual for him to do so. My dad

stood up and looked around but he didn't see anything. After a few minutes he began to calm down again. We returned to our movie and everything was fine for a few minutes. Then he started doing it again. I noticed my brother was staring out the window next to our back door. I asked him what he saw and he shook his head. Then all of a sudden we saw an old lady approaching our back door. We were baffled because hardly anyone comes out here, especially not an old woman like her. She looked to be around 80-90 years old, wearing one of those typical grandma aprons and a headscarf. Now mind you, it's about negative 10 degrees Celsius outside. She tapped on the back door glass and started to smile really weird.

Meanwhile, my dog hid under the table, whimpering and growling. My brother came close to me and my dad walked to the back door and opened it a bit. In a confused tone he asked what she was doing in our backyard. She smiled and looked directly at us, not even noticing my dad. She took a step forward to the door, shoving her foot into the crack of the door. My dad immediately shut the door closed. She glared at him and then at us before she started to laugh maniacally. Then she just calmly walked away like nothing had happened. We looked at each other in confusion, not knowing what to say. My brother and I looked outside the window behind us, and we couldn't see her. The only way in and out of our backyard was this small path next to the house. From the window behind us, we must have seen her leaving but she didn't pass by

that window. My dad stepped outside and couldn't see her anymore. Neither could he see any footprints in the snow. There was absolutely no way the tracks would have been covered by snow already since only a couple of minutes had passed between her leaving and my dad going outside. To this day, we don't know what we had encountered that day. I don't know if this was anything paranormal or not. It may not seem too creepy to you, but to us kids, this was the most terrifying thing we'd ever witnessed. My uncle was always my grandpa's favorite. As a young boy, my uncle's grandpa would always sneak him treats and get him to come help him with any chores that needed doing around the farm.

His grandpa would always wear one of those peak caps, like the ones in the show Peaky Blinders with the razor blades in them so when his grandpa passed when he was in his late teens he kept the hat as something to remember him by and still has it today. My uncle was a diesel mechanic and spent most of the late 80s working in the mines in outback Australia on all the excavators and dump trucks etc. The way it worked in most of these mines at the time being that they're so remote, is he would come in for 2-3 weeks and then after that would go home for a week or two. My uncle had just finished up one of these few week long shifts and was driving home which was about 400km away so he had a long drive ahead.

The roads in the outback are very empty and distance between towns can be about 50 kilometers plus. Given that information, my uncle would often travel at well above the speed limit on his way home to try and cut back the time it would take to get home. As he was starting to head around a large bend, he saw an old man standing in the road with his arm outstretched in a stop motion, with his head down and a peak cap, just like his grandpa used to wear, masking the top of his face. My uncle slammed on the brakes and came to a stop about five meters from the man, and after the initial shock of nearly running this guy down wore off, my uncle thought it was odd that an old man would be out in the middle of the Australian desert by himself. His initial thought was that

the old man's car had broken down or something similar. He got out and asked the old man if he needed help and told him that he shouldn't be standing in the middle of the road going around a bend as people might not see him in time. But the old man didn't say a word and remained in the same position, arm out and face down. After my uncle had finished saying this, a mob of kangaroos came out of the bush and jumped across the road behind where my uncle's car had came to a stop. He had turned around to see what the noise was and when he turned back to where the old man was, he was gone. My uncle called out and started to search for the man but couldn't find any sign of him. Eventually he got into his car and decided to search for the man but couldn't find any sign of him

Eventually he got into his car and decided to drive up the road a bit further to see if there was a car broken down or anything that could explain why the old man was there He slowly rounded the bend and was met with a large tree that had fallen across the road He said that if he hadn't stopped, at the speed that he was going at, he would have had no hope of stopping before he crashed head first into it. To this day he swears it was his grandpa that had slowed him down and stopped him from an almost certain death. About five years ago, my family took a trip to see Mom's childhood friend. I was about 15 years old at the time, not super long ago. I'm going to avoid any obnoxious introductions so I can just tell the story. I think we left it around the afternoon. It takes about three hours to get there, from one side of Arizona to another side,

but we make it with no problems. We stay there for about two days, again, no problems. The problems occurred on our way back. We had two dogs that we took with us and so naturally we needed to stop every so often to let them go to the bathroom, stretch their legs, etc. The first part of the drive was fine, no problems whatsoever. Later we're driving through a small town in northern Arizona and we took a back road to avoid holiday traffic. The layout of this road was simple. On one side, you had your standard apartments, and on the other side, you had an empty lot surrounded by forest, empty like they were planning on putting more apartments there. My mom saw it

and said something like, we should take the dogs over there. My dad was driving and my little sisters were small, so it was up to me and my twin brother to take the dogs out because we were strong 15 year old boys. My brother hands me one of his earbuds so we can listen to music and starts walking. We were walking maybe 5 minutes when me and my brother decided to take the dogs to some bushes behind a tree so they could relieve themselves. As we were waiting for them to go, we see a body, which looks like it was covered in blood. The body looked like your typical homeless person's stereotype of tattered clothes and long beard, but it's just covered from head to toe in blood, like someone had dipped it in blood like you dip a chocolate-covered strawberry. My brother and I are freaking out, so we run back to the car and tell our dad

he follows us back to the bush that we saw it but there was nobody there it just vanished my dad understandably was very livid yelled at me for almost giving him a heart attack and storms off nothing happened after that we were pretty shaken up after. Me and my brother had a lot to talk about what happened and neither of us were believers in the paranormal, but we are now. How else did the body disappear just like that? There's just no logical explanation. To be continued... to be alerted of all future narrations. If you got a story, 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. And join my discord to interact with me and other listeners directly. And if you want to support me even more, grab early access to all

future narrations for just $1 a month on Patreon, and maybe even pick up some Let's Read merch on Spreadshirt. And check out the Let's Read podcast, where you can hear all these stories in long compilation form and save huge on data, located anywhere you listen to podcasts. Links in the bio. Thanks so much, friends. And remember, when the time comes, you gotta keep whiting and don't look back.