The Lets Read Podcast - 133: APPALACHIAN TRAIL TERROR | 20 True Scary Horror Stories | EP 121

Episode Date: May 3, 2022

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

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But, for some reason, for the first few years of his life, Randall's mother chose to dress him in girls' clothing. We can only speculate as to the effect this had on the young man, but what we do know is that his schoolmates would later describe him as something of a loner, as well as a habitual liar. He often told tales of money he didn't have or of spurious-sounding adventures he'd been on. This led his peers to calling him L.R., an acronym standing for Lying Randall. During his youth, Randall would often go walking the Appalachian Trail alone, finding solace in the rolling hills and deep primordial forests. After high school, Randall earned a living doing odd jobs around Virginia. Some might have fretted at the instability, but

Randall relished it, as it gave him the freedom to ramble where he liked. And just like in his youth, he would spend the majority of his spare time wandering the Appalachian Trail, sometimes disappearing for days at a time. The trail stretches for just over 2,000 miles from Georgia to Maine and attracts thousands of hikers every single year, most of which see the trail as a kind of rite of passage for serious hill walkers. Most use the trail as a means of escaping their busy workday lives, taking comfort in the peace and serenity of nature. But at times, there have been a number of hideously violent crimes committed in the area,

perhaps the most infamous being the 2008 abduction and murder of Meredith Emerson by a psychopath drifter named Michael Hilton, which took place in a region known as Blood Mountain. During the spring of 1981, two 27-year-old social workers from Maine by the names of Susan Ramsey and Robert Mountford decided to hike through Appalachia to raise money for a mental illness charity. On their travels, they had made friends with another hiker on the trail, but had to part ways shortly afterward. However, they had agreed to meet up in Pearisburg, Randall Smith's hometown,

to catch up and grab a bite to eat together. But when Susan and Robert failed to show up to the meeting, their hiker friend became concerned and contacted the police to report the missing. Deputy Sheriff Tom Lawson gathered up a handful of other deputies and then went up onto the trail to begin the search. On the way, they spoke to a number of other hikers, asking each if they had seen anyone fitting the missing couple's descriptions. Most said no, but one group said yes, reporting that they had seen a man and a

woman talking with a rather strange looking individual who seemed to be acting in a bizarre manner near the Wapiti Shelter, a small log structure that had been constructed so that wary hikers could rest a while before continuing down the trail. The deputies headed straight for the shelter, finally reaching it on May 30th of 1981. By that time, it had been 11 days since the last sightings of the missing hikers, and unless they were experienced in bushcraft, the chance of them reappearing unharmed were rapidly dwindling. While searching the small wooden structure, one of the deputies noticed what appeared to be a bloodstain on one of the floorboards. The men then fanned out, searching the area intensively until they came across a small clearing that contained a pile of leaves,

one that looked like an attempt to cover something up. They kicked away the leaves, revealing a cloth sleeping bag that had a large, heavy mass inside of it. When they cut it open, they discovered it was the corpse of Susan Ramsey, the female half of the charity hiking couple. A day later, with the help of a sniffer dog, the body of Robert Mountford was found buried near a tree stump, also wrapped up in a sleeping bag. Robert had a single bullet wound to his head,

fired from a.22 caliber pistol, while Susan had been stabbed several times before being bludgeoned to death. Their bodies then dragged from the Wapiti shelter to the spots that they were buried. Nearby, deputies found Susan's camera. They had hoped that the film might contain clues to who had murdered them, but found it had been pulled out and stolen. However, Susan's backpack was also found, a backpack which contained a paperback book that was taken for fingerprint analysis. Most of the prints obviously belonged to Susan, but one set belonged to someone else entirely. Investigators initially believed they belonged to Robert Mountford, but were shocked to find that they did in fact belong to none other than lying Randall Smith. Sheriff deputies immediately traveled to Randall's home. He wasn't around, but the deputies had a

search warrant and smashed their way into his place to make some seriously disturbing discoveries. Not only did they find bloody clothes and some items which evidently belonged to the murdered hikers, they also found a great deal of pornographic materials and most disturbingly, some hospital instruments that apparently had been fashioned into makeshift toys. Devities also found a handwritten note stating that he had been kidnapped and was going to be executed, but analysis showed that this had been written in Randall's own handwriting and was no doubt merely an attempt to throw the police off his scent. The race was on to find him before he could hurt anyone else.

Days passed and police had no luck in locating Randall Smith. All of his usual haunts reported that he had not been seen in days, with rangers and police scouring the Virginia section of the Appalachian Trail with absolutely nothing to show for it either. The effort was exhausting and Deputy Sheriff Tom Lawson found himself needing a break, so he took his family on a brief vacation down to Myrtle Beach in South Carolina. But in some bizarre twist of fate, Deputy Lawson ended up getting a call from the department back home saying there had been an arrest in South Carolina of a man that was strongly suspected to be involved in the hikers' murders, an arrest in Myrtle Beach of all places. Deputy Lawson hurried to check the suspect out. When he arrived, he was told that the arrested man claimed to have amnesia and could not remember

his name or how he ended up in Myrtle Beach, but that he was covered in insect bites in a way that was consistent with someone having hiked the Appalachian Trail for days on end. Insect bites that had been scratched so much that they were in danger of becoming infected. In order to get the man to reveal his identity, the deputies hatched a cunning scheme. They told the man that they could not get him the medical assistance he required without a medical consent form that he was required to sign. When given the form, the man scratched out a name onto the paper. Randall Lee Smith, he wrote. The police had found their man. Randall Smith was just 27 years old when he was extradited back to Virginia on charges of first-degree murder. At first, it seemed as if

Randall would get the death penalty if convicted, but in a strange turn of events, he accepted a plea bargain that resulted in him getting a 30-year sentence instead of being executed. One of the victim's fathers was an Episcopalian minister who accepted the use of the plea bargain and was generally against the idea of Randall being executed. It was also thought that the plea bargain was the better option, seeing as there was a complete lack of motive in the killing, with prosecutors believing that this would weaken their argument in the event of a trial. The resulting reduced sentence caused outrage among the local community and fury among hikers nationwide. Out of a 30-year sentence, Randall Smith only ended up serving 15 and was released in 1996

after reportedly being a model inmate who never caused any problems in prison. He walked out of prison a self-confessed murderer but a free man and returned to Parisburg as a pariah. Randall lived with his mother until her death in the year 2000. After she passed he became more and more of a recluse although just like in days gone by he spent much of his free time up in the Appalachian trails and on more than one occasion was spotted chatting with hikers who were no doubt completely unaware of who they were talking to. But even if they did know Randall Smith, the murderer by his image, they may not have recognized him now. By that time he was 54, no longer the portly young man who had been convicted of killing Susan Ramsey and Robert Mountford. He was skinny, pale, and walked with a slight limp, and his time in prison had hardened what had once been boyish, smirking features.

Then, in March of 2008, Randall seemed to give up on life entirely. He took all the pictures down from the walls of his mother's home, packed up a few belongings, then walked off into the woods. He took only a few change of clothes, some camping and fishing gear, and Bo, his dog. For all intents and purposes to the people of Pearisburg, Randall Smith had dropped off the face of the earth, there one day totally vanishing the next. But to them it was simply one less thing they had to worry about so barely a peep was raised. A few months later on May 6th, two fishermen named Scott Johnston and Sean Farmer were catching trout up near their favorite spot on a place called Brushy Mountain. It was a beautiful summer's day, perfect for outdoor activities and feeling a little closer

to nature. All was peaceful and serene when suddenly they spotted something coming through the trees towards them. It was a middle-aged man with a slight stoop one who warmly waved before approaching their campsite. The man introduced himself as Ricky Williams. Scott and Sean followed the unwritten code of Appalachia by inviting Ricky to sit and share a dinner of freshly caught fish. Ricky happily obliged them explaining that he was starving and that he'd

been in the woods for weeks by that point and hadn't eaten substantially in days. Scott and Sean could see that this was no lie. Ricky was pale and skinny and the dog that accompanied him was evidently equally hungry with its ribs protruding from its fur. The campsite the three men had dinner at was only a mile and a half away from the Wapiti Shelter, the site of the hikers' murders way back in 1981. As they ate, Scott and Sean asked Ricky about his life. Ricky replied that he was graduated top of his class from Virginia Tech University and had gone on to write highly advanced scientific papers for NASA pertaining to complex new methods of spaceflight.

He also claimed to be extremely wealthy, owning multiple homes in Florida and South Carolina where he would spend time with his wife who was a runner-up in several Miss USA pageants. Scott and Sean listened skeptically, recognizing that the man's appearance and his tall tales about a high-flying career were most likely a complete fabrication. To them, it was almost as if the man who sat before them was in the habit of lying. It came so easy to him, like it was second nature. As the hours passed and the sun began to dip below the horizon, Scott and Sean began to wonder why their guest hadn't started to make a move back to his own campsite, which was apparently a few miles further upriver. One of them made a comment that he better head back before the inky black of night had truly descended. Falling and

injuring yourself on such a secluded stretch of trail could mean real trouble for even the fittest young man, but death for an old-timer. Ricky stayed for about a half hour longer before finding his feet, thanking Scott and Sean and beckoning his dog to follow. Come on, Bo. For the man's name was not in fact Ricky Williams. The man's name was Randall Lee Smith and just as he began to walk away from the campsite of his generous fisherman hosts, he pulled a.22 pistol from his pocket and pulled the trigger four times. The first bullet struck Sean in the temple. The second shot slammed into Scott's neck. The men tried to run but still the shots came. The third tore into Sean's chest cavity while the fourth hit Scott in the rear of his neck.

Blood poured from wounds caused by red hot lead having ripped through their bodies, but still the fishermen hurtled into the woods for safety. Scott had managed to find cover behind a tree as Sean reached his truck, parked in the grass just a few yards away. But as he climbed into the cab of the vehicle and slammed the door behind him, he saw the face of Randall Smith through the window to his left. Randall raised his.22 pistol, pointed it at Sean's head and once again pulled the trigger. But no shot rang out. The gun hadn't fired. Randall Smith had run out of bullets. As the potential murderer began to reload the.22 pistol,

Schott gunned the truck's engine and put the pedal to the metal, screeching towards a nearby road with a bullet wound in his head. When he found the road, his headlights illuminated a figure standing in the middle of it, but it wasn't Randall Smith. It was his fishing buddy Scott. He had survived his wounds and had cut Sch Sean off at the road in order to escape. Sean threw open the passenger door and Scott dived in, still holding onto the open bullet wound to his neck that leaked fresh blood upon the upholstery.

But although they were in the process of escaping certain death, their chances of survival were horrifyingly slim. Scott was bleeding to death from the wound to his throat. Sean had been shot in the head. The nearest hospital was over 30 miles away and they were driving on an uneven dirt road in the middle of near total darkness. Their headlights, the only thing to guide them, in woods so deep they had no cell reception whatsoever. And to top it all off, Scott had left his truck behind with the keys in the ignition. There was every chance that Randall Smith was following them having tasted blood, looking to finish them off.

It took just five minutes for Scott and Shine to find a house with lights on inside but to them, those five minutes felt like an eternity. As they pulled up outside it, Scott leapt from the cab of the truck and began to hammer on the front door, screaming for whoever was inside to call 911. The homeowner, a woman named Melissa Miller, initially thought it might have been some kind of home invasion and was reluctant to actually answer the front door. But when she did, she screamed for her 20-year-old son Randy to fetch some towels before calling 911. Twenty minutes passed after the first 911 call and still no ambulance had arrived. There was a pile of blood-soaked towels sitting in front of each wounded man

when Scott asked to use the Miller's family phone to call his mother and father. He believed with all of his heart that he'd never see them again, but shortly afterward an ambulance did arrive and with it came a police officer. The EMTs tried to stabilize both men and ensure that neither would bleed to death in the Miller's family home, but it was impossible and they soon called for helicopter support to airlift both men to a hospital for emergency surgery. Scott, still bleeding from his neck wound, was loaded onto one of the medevac choppers, by that point convinced that he was going to die. He could think of no other reason for such drastic measures. His life must have been hanging in the balance.

His fishing buddy Sean had been shot in the head and chest, but it was he that was being airlifted. If his wounds were more serious than a straight up headshot, he knew his chances of survival were bleak. As the helicopter took off, he felt his mouth filling with blood and heard one of the EMTs talking over the radio saying she didn't think he was going to make it. He felt himself slipping away and said at one point he thought he was already dead. But as the helicopter landed in nearby Roanoke and a blast of downdraft from the rotor blades hit him as he was unloaded, he knew he was still alive. Thanks to the swift actions of young Randy Miller, who had not only helped with fetching towels, but had also managed to get a hold of one of Randall Smith's missing posters,

the police knew who the shooter was. Later that night, a Virginia State trooper was driving along a road about 8 miles away from Pearsburg when he spotted Scott's stolen gray truck going in the opposite direction. The trooper turned in the road, turning on his lights and the truck picked up speed dramatically in an attempt to evade him. But in his frenzied effort to escape justice, Randall Smith ran the truck off the road and flipped it upside down. The trooper pulled up alongside the overturned truck with his gun drawn while Smith was still strapped inside of it, the same.22 he had tried to kill Scott and Sean with lying on the ceiling of the truck cab just out of reach. The trooper

caught a glimpse of Randall's eyes with his flashlight and later described them as the coldest he'd ever seen. In a chilling twist of fate, the unconscious murderer was then taken to the very same hospital that Scott and Sean had been airlifted to, and when he awoke, tried to claim the shootings were in self-defense. When Randall was well enough to be transported, he was taken to the medical wing of the New River Valley Regional Jail in Dublin on May 9th, 2008. Then a few days later, a jail officer went to give Randall his dinner, but when the crazed killer didn't retrieve his meal, the officer called his name once, then twice, but there was no answer. The officer went to unlock the cell door, finding Randall lying unconscious on the floor in front of him.

Medical staff hurried to revive him, but their attempts were in vain and shortly afterward, Randall Lee Smith was pronounced dead at the age of 54 years old. Forensic analysis showed that there were no obvious signs of foul play. There were no marks on his body whatsoever and in all likelihood, Randall had simply died of natural causes. So distraught at the prospect of spending more time in prison, so disappointed that his victims had survived the attack and deprived him of the thrill of killing, that he had simply given up on living. His funeral service lasted just 30 minutes and to avoid any angry displays by the local townsfolk, the service was only announced after he was buried. Randall was buried next to his mother while his dog, Bo, scratched into the dirt during the graveside ceremony

You may be pleased to hear that Bo has since been adopted and given a home with a loving, caring family Who feed and walk him regularly Perhaps the most terrifying thing about Randall Lee Smith is that It seems that there were absolutely no motives to his murders Scott and Sean could well have been the kindest people Randall had met in his entire life, two people who shared food and warmth with the total stranger, owing him nothing but giving nonetheless. In return, Randall tried to take everything from them

in a sneak attack that changed both men's lives forever. It seems that Randall killed simply for the sake of killing because it thrilled him, because it made him feel powerful. There was no rhyme or reason to his bloodlust, and not even those who were kind and generous to him were safe. Mankind has long fabricated beasts, demons, and malevolent spirits that have only ever been confined to the page or screen. An attempt at creating a kind of uncontrollable fear, a simulation, one intended to distract us and comfort us, because the reality is much more terrifying. Real monsters walk amongst us, looking and sounding just like our friends, neighbors, and family.

But they are not driven by love, and they are hungry. The End Way back when I was in my mid-twenties, in the late 1980s, I used to be hardcore into hiking and camping. But given that my home state of Rhode Island is like the size of a postage stamp, relatively speaking anyway, I exhausted a lot of the more local campgrounds pretty quickly and began to long for something a little wilder. I've heard a lot of great things about the Appalachian Trail, how hiking it was a badge of honor for a lot of people who shared my passion for the outdoors. My uncle on my dad's side had hiked the whole thing over the course of a summer back in the 50s and he never shut up about it whenever he'd see me and the

subject of hiking came up. He made it sound absolutely magical, like there was true wilderness out there just waiting to be explored. And so I made up my mind to mimic the journey my uncle took over one summer. I couldn't get the time off of work to walk the whole trail but if I timed it right I could walk the southern portion of the trail from Harper's Ferry to Asheville, North Carolina in just a couple of weeks, fulfilling a hiking dream I've had for what seemed like an age. Then, in the summer of 1989, I traveled down to Harper's Ferry by bus and by train with all my hiking and camping gear on my back. After picking up a few final supplies from my journey south, I hiked up onto the Appalachian Trail and kicked off the journey of a lifetime.

Needless to say, the first few days walk were pretty tough, but I got used to the level of strain pretty quickly and I'm telling you, I've never been as hungry or tired as I was on those first few nights up in Appalachia. I brought a hammock with me as I'd heard some pretty intense stories about the bugs down in West Virginia. Nasty little beasties with names like the assassin bug which basically has a big spike for a mouth or cow killer ants whose stings are so painful that they're said to have taken down an actual cow once or twice. That had to be pure rumor, but it was intimidating nonetheless. So, every night after my day's hike, I'd take it out of my pack,

unroll it, and tie it up between two trees before getting some shut-eye. It didn't make for the comfiest night's sleep I'd ever had, but I wasn't complaining, especially if it kept the black widows off me. But since I was out in the woods most nights without cover, every little hoot or squawk from nocturnal animals would wake me up. It was irritating sure, but it was part and parcel with being out there bonding with nature. So this one night, I wake up pretty sure that I'd heard something rustling in the leaves close by. I shift in my hammock, peering over my shoulder and then feel my blood run cold as I see this big, dark shape looming over me.

I froze for a moment, feeling my eyes adjust to the darkness and I could tell that it was a person, just standing there, statue still, staring at me. In one fluid motion I rolled out of my hammock and hit the ground running, bolting off into the trees. I didn't care who it was standing over me, whoever does that kind of thing definitely did not have the best intentions and I wasn't about to stick around to make small talk either. I ran a safe distance into the woods, caught my breath, circled around and then started to sneak back towards my camp. My intention was to make sure it was clear before gathering up my stuff and moving on to a safer spot. I took it slowly, scanning the darkness for any sign of the shadowy figure, eventually finding my way back to my camp to discover it was completely deserted, with all my gear apparently untouched. I had this horrible feeling in my gut that whoever had been standing over me had just backed off to watch from a distance

and would wait for me to come back and get my stuff before ambushing me. If they weren't there to steal from me, it was obviously something else they wanted and I dreaded to think exactly what that was. But regardless, I managed to grab my stuff and get out of the area without anyone managing to sneak up on me. The next few days, I walked hard and fast, exhausting myself in my attempt to get as far away from the area as possible. After that, I figured I was safe. No one had bothered me during the previous few days hiking, so I figured I'd be okay from there on out. But I was wrong. Hideously wrong. Every single night since that incident had me struggling to get to sleep. I kept picturing that person standing over me, just staring down at me in the darkness.

I had no idea how long they'd been there or what they had in mind for me, and I was just glad that I'd gotten out of the area. But still, I didn't start to be able to feel safe again until I bought some fishing line from a sporting goods store in one of the small towns I'd passed through on my way down the trail, which I could then use to make tripwires that ran between the trees close to where I was camping. Then a couple of empty cans of beans strung together and whoever snagged their foot on the wire would make the cans clank together, alerting me to their presence. I had one big scare when a fox snagged the line and I rolled out of my hammock with a knife in hand ready to take on whoever was about to creep up on me Only to see the furry little guy scurrying away into the moonlight I did end up laughing to myself about that one and after that I stopped sleeping with my knife in hand because all it would have taken was one little slip and I'd be in a whole world of trouble.

About a week went by and I'd just about gotten over the whole shadowy figure in the night incident. I had to be almost a hundred miles away from where it had taken place and I'd had no trouble at all on any of the other nights, save the incident with the fantastic Mr. Fox that had just scared the life out of me. So, with the help of my little tripwire alert device, I just started being able to get to sleep without any trouble again. But that night, I woke up suddenly to find that I couldn't move properly. I couldn't bring up my arms up from my sides at all, and the material from the hammock seemed to be pushed up right into my face.

I was cocooned by it, like the fabric was wrapped around my entire body. This is only just registered in my half-awake brain when I heard the sound of fabric snapping. Then boom, I hit the dirt, completely knocking the wind out of me. I had no idea what was going on, struggling to break out of the hammock, only I couldn't. That's when I felt the hammock being dragged across the forest floor. Then it hit me. Whoever was dragging me across the ground had bundled me up in my own hammock with some kind of cord, cut the ropes tying me to the tree and was proceeding to drag me off to god knows where. I screamed at the very top of my lungs forever it was to let me out of there, but no one responded. All I could hear was the sound of the hammock's fabric rustling against the forest floor. I knew I had to think

fast or whatever was going on wouldn't end well at all. Like I said, I had stopped sleeping with my knife in my hand or nearby me in my hammock because that was just an accident waiting to happen so I had absolutely nothing handy to cut through the material and make my escape. Or so I thought. In a flash, I had an idea. A few years back, my dad had gifted his old wristwatch to me. It was a reliable old thing, but I had just one complaint about it. The little latch that kept it tied to my wrist was worn with age and was actually a little sharp from the years of use. I'd managed to accidentally poke myself a few times with it in the process of picking it up or putting it on, and one time it actually drew blood. I knew what I had to do. I unbuckled the watch as quickly

as I could which wasn't easy considering I was getting dragged along the ground in the pitch darkness and managing to pinch the sharp clasp between my thumb and index finger was even harder but still I managed it and when did, I began to rake it against the fabric of the hammock. It was just as effective as cutting canvas as it was at cutting skin, and although it took a good few tries, it didn't take long until I could see the subtle glow of the silvery moonlight from the other side. I kept cutting, as quickly and quietly as I could, until there were so many cuts that I could rip myself out of the canvas cocoon like some terrified newborn bursting out of a womb. You have to excuse the analogy, but in retrospect, that's exactly what it seems like

happened. I was born again that night. I got a second chance at living. Escaping that hammock meant life because I know that staying in it would have meant death. For the second time in about ten days I found myself bounding through the dark woods only that second time the terror in me dwarfed what I had felt the first time around. I don't even know how I managed to escape. Assuming it was the same figure standing over me the first night, they had somehow managed to track me for more than a hundred miles and sneak past my tripwires. They were a far better woodsman than me, probably physically fitter too. I just know by the time I reached a house with its lights on, I turned to look behind me as I was banging on the door, there was no one else

around. The family who lived there were kind enough to put me up for the night after I called the local sheriff who came out in the morning to help me retrace my steps through the woods. We found my camp, but not the hammock, and although I told him everything in excruciating detail, I could tell he was skeptical of my story. He even suggested that I'd gotten lost and frightened in the dark and had just ended up jumping at shadows, maybe even had a bad dream that seemed a little too vivid because of the lack of proper rest, but I knew it was real. Just in the way my palms are sweating writing this back, I'm certain that night really did happen the way I remember it.

I never did finish that dream hike. The next day I caught a bus back towards Harpers Ferry, then took the train all the way back to Providence and I only ever told a handful of people who happened out in the trails. I figured not many would really believe me, they'd just think I was telling a campfire tale or something. I didn't tell my hiking uncle for the longest time, I thought that he'd just gloat or whatever, tell me that I didn't have it in me to do something that tough. But when I finally did share my story, I got a reaction that I definitely wasn't expecting. He just nodded, and told me that there were some nights that he didn't think that he'd make it out alive either. That there are people who live up in those mountains who have been outlaws for generations, who live outside of society, outside of the natural order of things.

He'd have some pretty close calls himself at times, bumping into people who weren't nearly as friendly as the majority of West Virginians, and sometimes seeing things that he knew well he wasn't supposed to see. But just what those things were, he didn't seem to want to say. I always told myself that I'd try my little Appalachian adventure another time, maybe when I'm a little older, a little wiser, and when I've got something a little bigger to defend myself with. The trail will still be there, waiting for me. But then again, so might be whoever tried to drag me off that night. To be continued... Geraldine Largay kept a detailed record of her journey along the Appalachian Trail during the summer of 2013 in a small black notebook. Due to her pace, she had adopted the trail name Inchworm, but for a slow walker she had still managed to cover an immense distance, hiking almost a thousand miles from Harper's Ferry in West Virginia with a close friend of hers named Jane Lee.

George Largay, Geraldine's husband of 42 years, was driving ahead of them, arranging care packages and supply pickups for them, occasionally ferrying them to motels for the relief of a hot shower or a night in a soft bed. But on June 30th, as Jane and Geraldine reached New Hampshire, Jane was forced into an early end for an adventure due to a family emergency. But Geraldine insisted on continuing the hike. The trail was almost at an end and she would not give up so easily. Jane would later say that Geraldine had a poor sense of direction, had taken a wrong turn on the trail more than once, and would become flustered

whenever she made such mistakes. Then, while she was all alone, Geraldine ended up taking another wrong turn up in Maine, wandering into terrain so wild that it was used by the state's National Guard for military training. She kept riding after she lost her way. Even as her food supply dwindled along with her hopes of being found, she ended up waiting nearly a month in the main woods for help that would never come. Geraldine had left the trail in one of its most rugged sections, with thick underbrush and fir trees packed so tightly that the landscape became a maze of greenery. You step off the trail a little, then turn around and it's very difficult to see where the path is, reported a volunteer who spends time doing trail maintenance in the area.

If you didn't know which way the trail was, you could easily walk in circles for hours. Knowing she was hopelessly lost, Geraldine sought high ground in the hopes of getting a signal on her cell phone. Lost since yesterday, she texted her husband, off trail three or four miles. Call police for what to do, please. She tried over and over to send messages but none went through. In some trouble, another text George read. Got off trail to go to the bathroom, now lost. She asked him to call the Appalachian Mountain Club to see if a trail maintainer could help her but again, the message was never received.

Around July 23rd, she set up her tent atop sticks and pine needles under a canopy of hemlock trees so thick that they obscured her from rescuers searching from the air. She tied a shiny silver blanket between two trees, possibly to attract attention, but the foliage was simply too dense for the blanket to be seen from the air. Geraldine was scheduled to meet her husband on July 23rd in Wyman Township, but she never showed. The following day, George reported her missing. Multiple agencies and volunteers would take part in the search for her, using horses and helicopters to traverse the tough terrain. Agonizingly, it would turn out that Geraldine was less than a mile from the trail itself,

close enough that, in all likelihood, searchers had probably passed by her campsite without actually realizing it. Infuriatingly, the rescuers were bombarded with a number of false tips regarding the missing woman's whereabouts. Some purported that she had been murdered and strung up in the trees, saying that they'd seen her with sketchy looking men who might have intended her harm, with others suggesting that she had fallen in a river and drowned. A number of psychics called to report visions of her, including one who incorrectly insisted that she had broken her ankle. Other psychics injected that they were contending that Geraldine had been spotted at

a woman's shelter in Tennessee. This actually diverted valuable resources away from the search with accusations that her husband was a batterer, when in reality he had never laid a finger on her for the entirety of their marriage. Her last entry reflected a strikingly graceful acceptance of what was coming. When you find my body, please call my husband George and my daughter Carrie, she wrote. It will be the greatest kindness for them to know that I am dead and where you found me, no matter how many years from now. It would be two years before a logging company surveyor stumbled upon her campsite and remains, solving a mystery that had tormented her family and defied teams of experienced searchers.

Miss Largay, a retired nurse from Tennessee, had survived a month on her own longer than many old backwoods hands thought possible before dying of exposure and starvation. Her dead body was found on October 14th, 2015 still inside her sleeping bag in a campsite that she had kept tidy until the day she passed away. Around her lay her final belongings, including a blue and white bandana, a rosary, birthday candles, lighters, dental floss, a sewing kit, and two water bottles, one still containing water. Two weeks after she was found, Geraldine's family visited the area

in which she tragically lost her life. They left a white wooden cross, decorated with messages etched in black marker, one written in a child's handwriting saying, I wish you were here. It is quite simply terror-inducing that even in a country as populated and settled as the United States, a person can still go missing on a simple mountain trail and vanish almost without a trace, only to be found months later having starved to death in a country where there is such abundance of sustenance and civilization. Humankind has tamed more and more of America since the nation's founding, but it seems I was a member of the Boy Scouts of America. I know it might seem corny, but my time in the Boy Scouts honestly made for some of the fondest memories of my childhood. And as much as my friends these days like to make jokes about the deviant proclivities of my former scoutmasters,

nothing remotely weird or unsavory ever happened with any of them. There was a lot of fishing, camping, fieldcraft, and community service. Just some good old-fashioned wholesomeness that gave my parents a break from me from time to time. Well, all except for this one time. So one summer, my scout troop goes on this big camping trip up into the Smokies. For those unfamiliar with the term, the Smokies, or Great Smoky Mountains, are a part of the Greater Appalachian Mountains, and are also home to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, one of the most highly visited national parks in the country.

The name Smokies comes from the natural fog that often hangs over the mountaintops, appearing as large smoke plumes from a distance and originate from organic compounds that are exhaled by the local vegetation. But excuse the high school science lesson, I'll get on with it. So we're up in the Smokies having a good old time when one night, while sitting around the campfire after dinner, one of our scoutmasters decides to tell us a creepy campfire tale. He starts telling us the story of Utlunta, which is the Cherokee name meaning spearfinger, or one with the pointed spear. Spear fingers supposedly live in the western part of North Carolina, right up in the Smoky Mountains where we were camped at the time,

and her name referred to the long, slender, sharp finger on her right hand which she used to slice up her child victims, whose livers she ate raw. As legend has it, she apparently clutched the stony skin on her right hand tightly because her heart was actually hidden in her palm there. Our scoutmaster goes on to tell us how, because Spearfinger's skin was made of stone, she was invulnerable to the arrows of the Cherokee, and her footsteps sounded like thunder as she walked along the mountainside. Whenever her deep voice rumbled around the hillsides, it would scare all of the birds away, a warning sign to those she was hunting as she sang her favorite song,

Uwe la, totsiku, or liver I eat. Spearfinger was also said to be able to take on the appearance of her child victim's family members, often taking the form of a kindly old woman to trick her victims into feeling safe around her. She would then lull the child to sleep, running her fingers through their hair to calm them before stabbing her pointed finger through the back of the neck or through the heart. She would then rip out the livers of her victims before feasting on them, leaving her mouth ringed with fresh blood. Needless to say, by the time our scoutmaster had finished telling us the story, we are all completely and utterly terrified and only managed

to stop freaking out once he got not his old guitar and sang us a few songs. But that night, while back in my tent with a buddy of mine, I found myself totally unable to sleep. I kept imagining that if I did, Spearfinger would come, rip my tent open, and stab me in the heart with her long, sharp, stony finger, all before tearing out my liver and eating it. Then, right as I was about to drift off to sleep, a bright light lit up one side of our tent. I was completely frozen in fear for a moment, whispering for my sleeping buddy to wake up and I was totally unable to rouse him. I carried on staring at the side of the tent wondering where the bright light was coming from as it seemed way too intense to be from someone's

torch and then I just about let out a whimper of fear when I heard a hissing sound and saw a shadow passing over the fabric of our tent. I called out to them asking who was there but no one said a thing in response and there was just another faint hissing sound as the figure seemed to creep closer and closer to our tent. Then I saw the figure raise a hand, and almost choked in terror when I saw a single long pointed finger in a hissing voice whisper, Wayla Sicko. I screamed, ripping my way through the front flap of my tent and tearing it around the campsite, screaming, it's Spearfinger, it's Spearfinger, she's come to eat my liver, please god don't let her eat my liver. I expected the rest of the camp to start screaming too,

to burst out of the tents in terror or to maybe just stay inside them in the hopes that Spearfinger might pass over them. And don't get me wrong, there were a couple of other cries of fear that accompanied my own, but the sound that made me slow to a stop and peer around in confusion was the sound of laughter. When I looked I saw another one of the scouts, this kid named Devin, and he was just about bent over in hysterics with a long slender twig tied to one finger. I must have been boiling with rage at that point, but Devin just thought that that was extra funny, waving the long wooden twig at me and making that same hissing sound again before bursting into laughter. I swear that was probably the most scared and embarrassed I ever was during my entire childhood,

and all because that little idiot Devin decided to pull a prank on me. Ever since then, I've never been able to hear the words Smoky Mountains without remembering that Boy Scout camping trip, even if it does make me kind of smile these days. But what doesn't make me smile is seeing liver in the deli section of a grocery store, because all I think about sometimes is the idea of Spearfinger hushing a child to sleep, stroking their hair, singing them a little lullaby with the voice of their grandma or favorite aunt,

all before ripping out their liver and feasting on it with their stony-skinned lips ringed with dark, fresh blood. Back in February when this all started I was working two jobs, living with my best friend Lexi and enjoying the high life. Then we got thrown into lockdown and I swear, Lexi changed immediately. She was so serious about all the virus restrictions that even when I was in the house I had to wear a mask. I'm not even trying to downplay this by any means but she was taking it to religious extremes here. Anyway, after one particular argument about washing my clothes three times, one for normal wash, one on heavy and once a third time just to be safe, I had enough and told her I was going to move out. That was dumb

move number one. I was already out of work, waiting and hoping for unemployment and really didn't have a place to go. My parents are elderly and live two states away so I wasn't going to risk that. Then I got the brilliant idea to post an ad that I needed a room to rent on Craigslist. Yes, that still exists and is still just a sleazy. Lexi forced me to move out that same day though, calling me all sorts of bad names as she tossed my stuff on her front lawn. I didn't even get a chance to argue. So yeah, desperate times called for desperate measures and I put an ad on Facebook too with a revealing picture of myself. Call me what you will, but it worked. This older gentleman responded to the ad and contacted me via email. This short message provided me with a small

allowance for my gas and instructions on how to get into his apartment when I got there. I didn't ask any questions, although looking back on it, I really should have. You know that saying about too good to be true? Anyway, I grabbed a bite to eat and made it there around 5.30 on foot to save a taxi fee. Place looked nice enough and I followed his instructions to get buzzed in. He lived on the 6th floor and explained that because of some medical condition he couldn't meet me in the lobby. Again, stupid me, I didn't ask questions. As he told me in the email, there was a key waiting for me under his doormat. Inside the place looked nice, well put together. Nothing that made me paranoid or feel the need

to run. Then I saw this guy standing in the kitchen wearing, I kid you not, a kabuki mask. At first I laughed because of how bizarre it was. He said his name was Hano and he wanted to keep the mask on because of the quarantine and provided me with one as well with a dragon design on it. He even claimed it was far safer than those other N95 masks and hey, I was getting a place to sleep so I figured why not. Next few minutes were him rambling about different things in the apartment and he showed me to the room. This is where things got a little creepy. I saw that he had some mannequins on display that were wearing traditional Japanese kimono dresses with other kabuki and they were all lined perfectly on the side of the bed. He insisted I pick one out and get changed.

Again, his reasoning was my clothing had the virus on it. Once he excused himself, I sat down on the bed and tried to convince myself that this was normal. So, he was a little eccentric. It's not like he was trying to do something worse than that, right? I went over to one of the mannequins. I think it was wearing a scarlet kimono and took off the clothing, figuring that I needed to suck it up and appreciate the kindness of strangers. Then the mask it was wearing accidentally fell off and I noticed that

there was a hand painted face on the other side. It looked very realistic. Once I got finished changing, I went back to the main room where he was now cooking up a fresh meal and he complimented me on how well the dress fit. I thanked him and casually mentioned the hand painting. Would you like me to do one for you? He asked. But you only saw me when I first came in. I pointed out gesturing to the mask I was wearing. It's alright, I've already memorized you, he said. I told him no and we ate in awkward silence as my eyes glanced around the room. I think the first thing that really made me concerned was when I realized I didn't see

an open window in the place and that the door had a deadbolt on it. Do you get a lot of break-ins? I asked him and again in a deadpan voice he said, more often than not it's the other way around. Then a few seconds later he laughed and I laughed back nervously. He told me that he was going to bed and thanked me for staying with him but I really didn't feel like I wanted to now. Hey, I forgot to go grab my phone charger in the car. Where's the spare key? I remember asking. I was just going for an excuse to get out of there honestly. This dude had an answer for everything and this time used my own words against me. Crime is bad and it's getting late. You can borrow one of mine and go in the morning. Now I may not be smart, but I knew that staying

probably would mean something bad. I got a sixth sense about it, you know. I have an iPhone. I think you've got Samsung, I said, hoping that my feeling was wrong and that he wasn't being overly creepy. Again, a dead stare and serious voice. You're not leaving. He said something in Japanese a second after that and clapped his hands. I don't know why I never noticed that he had some of those sensor lights and it got dark in the room a second later. My instinct was to scream, but he placed something over my mouth and I felt immediately faint. But somehow I managed to not black out and I elbowed him right in the gut.

Everything happened so fast after that. I turned around and grabbed what I think was his head and demanded that he tell me where the key was. I felt something smash against my side. I think I kicked him and managed to hit the wall where the light switch was. I flipped it back on and saw that he had fallen over the couch and one of his ornate antiques had smashed. To my thanks, it was also where the spare key was hiding. I grabbed it up and ran to the door as I heard him cuss something in his native tongue again but I never looked back. When I got downstairs I told the lobby I needed an uber stat. I didn't care about money, I just wanted to leave. I saw the elevator moving downward as I raced out the door and maybe it was my mind playing tricks on me but I heard Hano ask the receptionist where I went.

When I got far enough away from his apartment I texted Lexi and begged her to let me back with her. I promised I would never complain about all her quarantine rules again. I told Lexi the whole thing when she did a little digging and the icing on top of this creep cake is that the guy apparently had been doing this for some time. Apparently he would target young women that were either trying to get out of a bad relationship or family situation and promise free rent, but then turned out to be a total creep, watching them night and day when they stayed with him. Two of the women Lexi said had gone completely missing. It made me think of those weird mannequins and I wondered if maybe the paintings he did were tributes to victims of his sick mind.

I didn't want to think about how he had likely researched about me in the same way and how easily I could have wound up on that missing persons list. I've been told to share this story online a dozen times and just never had the guts. I think that's probably because no matter how safe I feel, I get the feeling that I'm being watched. This happened back in 2013. I just graduated from high school and got my first job working retail at a local neighborhood Walmart. My manager was a guy named Billy. At the time I was hired, he originally had me running the self-checkouts, but I'll admit I wasn't exactly enjoying the idea of having to be on my feet all day, so I asked if I could work at the money center or the cigarette counter.

Money center was only allowed for employees who had been there for six months or longer, eat all day so I asked if I could work at the money center or the cigarette counter. Money center was only allowed for employees who had been there for 6 months or longer but he did say there was an opening over for cigarettes and tobacco. For some reason nobody seemed to want it and of course because I was the new fish they didn't explain to me. It didn't take long before I figured it out though. There was this underage kid that came in frequently and tried to buy some marble lights. Of course I always asked for ID and that scared him away. Well, at first he did. Then he started showing up later in the day when it was near the end of my shift and he was becoming a lot more insistent about cigarettes.

Finally I got his name. He claimed that it was Matt. Honestly I don't have a clue and still don't to this day. First I tried to be firm but friendly. Matt, I like you but this stuff can ruin your health. Matt, I don't think you realize how addictive these things are. Sometimes he would just stop by and chat and I got the impression that he was starting to flirt. That was when I decided to switch from being nice to laying down the law. Matt, if I report you to the cops for coming in here and pestering him about smokes,

you could get thrown in juvie. I remember warning him. I figured that would end the conversation when he highted it out of there. That evening on my way to my car though, Matt approached me in the parking lot. Honestly, it felt like he had been waiting for me to clock out. I hurried to my car to leave, but he was right there behind me. I'd reached for my keys where I normally keep a small can of mace, but he moved faster, grabbing my purse and running off across the lot and jumping over a nearby fence. Of course I reported the whole thing to the police and they got permission to check the cameras. Somehow Matt seemed to be aware of where the cameras were positioned because none of the angles showed his face. The cops told me to call again if I got

bothered again and my manager said they would get security to walk me to my car each night. A week passed by without incident, then another. Honestly, I kind of forgot about Matt and figured that he'd just grab my spare cash to go get his fix somewhere else. A month or so later, I was on Facebook when I got a friend request from someone named Leon Carroll. No profile pic, no info besides just generic stuff that looked fake, and then a message. You're really pretty. I ignored it then I got three similar messages from other dummy accounts. Again I ignored them all and reported it to Facebook. Been around the block enough times

to not respond to those scams and I didn't put two and two together until another message came in with a picture of my house. Stop ignoring me, the message said. Something in my brain clicked that this had to be the kid from Walmart so I called the cops then and there. Living in a small town, we don't have a cyber unit so again I felt like I was wasting my breath. Sounds like it's just an admirer to me was what one officer even dared to tell me. When I got off of work that night I found that my admirer had also decided to vandalize my car. Stop ignoring me was sketched out in bold letters on my front door that night. I felt like I just couldn't make a move without this weird kid knowing.

Every day on my break he would send a different anonymous message, usually something really perverted and expect a response. It was unnerving but I tried to act like it didn't bother me. Again a week passed and it seemed like he had given up. It was nearly the holidays by this time so I decided to go to a nearby sprint store and get a new phone and make new social media so that Matt would stop bothering me. The next two weeks felt like a godsend. I didn't have any more threats or weird texts from dummy accounts. I felt brave enough to even create a dating profile again. I matched with a guy named Richard who asked if I could meet up that night at a local outdoor restaurant.

I was feeling confident and didn't see any reason not to. When I got there I was dressed up, thinking I was going to meet a 20 something guy. Instead when I got there I saw who else but this kid sitting there. I think the creepiest thing was how well-dressed he was, not the scruffy little guy I had encountered a few weeks back. Instead, he was dressed to impress and when he saw me, his eyes sparkled and he ran to meet me. I was starting to think he wouldn't show, he said. Matt, what are you doing here? I asked. He started rambling about how he had misjudged me, started apologizing about all the weird messages and explaining he was having a difficult time talking to girls. I just want to be

normal. Can't we just have that? But my red flags were brighter than ever. This kid was not stable. He was trying to say all the right things to me, but I didn't want to spend more than even a minute there with him. Somehow I managed to convince him that I was going to freshen up in the bathroom and when I got there, I dialed 911. They got there about six minutes later and I remember hearing Matt screaming and trying to fight them when they told him that he had to come with them. Later on I found out that he actually had brought a knife with him because one of the officers said that he had tried to pull it and they tased him. He was sent to juvie just like I predicted.

I later found out that he was staying at the local homeless shelter and apparently kept a whole binder full of photos that he had taken of me. Some of them had weird love notes attached as well. Honestly, I feel sorry for the kid. He started out awkward and I thought maybe being friendly would have been the answer to make him get on the right course. But after that, I stopped working the cigarettes counter and got a new job at the hardware store across town. Sometimes I forget about him altogether,

and then sometimes, I still get anonymous messages, and it truly triggers me. To be continued... My family decided to take a road trip in the summer. Restrictions were lightening up in our state and we really were sick and tired of being cooped up. So my wife suggested we surprise her folks upstate and drive to see them. We were about an hour into our trip when we ran into some highway construction outside of Galveston and had to take a detour. Traffic was bad, I was angry, the kids were whiny, and I remember pushing my foot down on the pedal and flooring it to go around a couple of cars at one merge to get going. Daniel, my wife, chastised me about it right after it happened.

Split second impulse temper I guess. Anyways as we went down the highway I pointed out that a black Ford pickup truck had decided to cut by and was coming up behind us. Oh so if they jump off a bridge you would too? She questioned me. I rolled my eyes and just focused on the road while she decided to take a short nap. I guess it was 20 miles later I noticed that the pickup was still behind us and I thought that was a little strange. There had been enough gaps and highway merges that at least a little distance should have been made but no, this driver had somehow managed to maintain closeness to us. I kept my eye on them for another 40, some sense of danger softly ringing in the back of my head I guess. But then I had to pull over and get gas so I figured that they would just drive on and

they did and I chalked it up to me being just a little paranoid. As I got out to fill up, I asked my wife and kids if they wanted a snack and went in to grab something. When I came back, I think I felt like I was doing one of those classic double takes from the movies. This black truck was right behind us at the pumps, and not only that, a gentleman had hopped out of his cab and was apparently chatting with my wife. I walked over the snacks and smiled cordially at them,

trying to figure out if I was just seeing things, but it was definitely the same truck. Howdy, name's Mitch. I was just getting friendly with the missus here. Said y'all are headed towards Galveston? He asked with a strong southern twang. Yeah. Family road trip. You?

Oh, just about the same. Nice. I figured that was the case since you've been behind us a while i was hoping to catch him off guard but the man just gave a short laugh didn't mean to but i guess that's what happens we've been on each other's tails since you decided to cut everyone off for that last interstate turn off huh that sounds like an accusation. I blurted out. My wife later chided me for antagonizing the man and maybe I shouldn't have but he was definitely giving off some very strange vibes. And this was before things got crazy.

He didn't take the bait when I said that. Instead just tipped his hat and waltzed back to his truck and I got an earful from Brittany. I mean he scared me at first but I think he's just a little lonely, she offered. Right, well he can go make friends somewhere else, I said as we drove down the highway again. I felt like I couldn't get away from the truck fast enough. About another hour passed by and my wife was checking her social media when I noticed she got this frown on her face. Something up? I asked. I had all but forgotten about this strange encounter. Uh, it's just kind of weird.

Remember that driver we met a while back? He just sent me a friend request on Facebook. Uh, well, delete it, I said bluntly. She chastised me again, but I was serious. Something didn't feel right. I checked to see if he was following us and Brittany got on to me for being a worrywart. He's not a serial killer, she teased, but she listened to me and blocked him on Facebook. We were halfway to our destination and decided to stop and get a bite to eat when he showed up again. It was this Waffle House right off the interstate. Honestly, I hadn't seen him in about 40 miles so I was surprised that he had caught up.

He just came in, ordered his food and sat down. Brittany said something about it and I told her to ignore it. I kept getting this feeling that he was watching us as we ate. Finally she had gotten tired of my paranoia and walked over to this guy's booth. My husband wants to know if you're following us, she said. The guy just laughed so loud I think the whole diner heard him. He rattled off some flimsy excuse I didn't buy and then asked if she got his friend request. I was furious and got up and grabbed her hand. Look, I don't know what your problem is, I said. Then this guy stood up and looked me dead in the eye like he was going to

fight me then and there. One of the waitresses told us to take it outside but I chose to leave before things got serious. When we got on the road again, Brittany realized that she had lost her phone at the diner. Let me use yours so I can google where it's at, she told me. Using that find my iPhone feature, she soon saw that it wasn't at the diner. It was moving down the highway, towards us. I knew it had to be the other driver who found it and took it. Oh my god, is this guy seriously stalking us? I asked. My wife panicked and tried to call the phone but it went straight to voicemail. Then she started checking her social media.

Daniel, this is scaring me. She said as she showed me that he had taken multiple pictures of our car as he had followed us for the last several hours. Call the cops, I told her as I tried to check my mirror and see where he was. About five cars behind us. Okay, there's a rest stop ahead. Tell them that we'll meet them there, I said as she got on the phone with someone. They're saying it could be another 45 minutes since we're so far out, she said frantically as I pulled over. Right on cue, the other driver did too. Right. Stay in the car then, I said when he pulled up behind us. Honestly, I was prepared to defend my family then and there, but this guy took it to another level. He pulls out a sawed

off shotgun from his passenger side and aimed it toward me, blasting straight at my tires. I fell to the ground and shouted for my wife to do the same. He did so again on the driver's side and drove off. When the cops came I did my best to offer a description of him and his vehicle and they gave us phone numbers for a tow to the next town. We made it there a little after dinner and honestly I was so shaken and rattled by the encounter I just wanted to go home. We even added the additional social media profile hoping that it could help them find the person and a few days later they told us that they had found the vehicle. It had been abandoned somewhere and apparently it was registered as stolen, so we had no clue who this guy was. Worst part about this whole story is that it's not really over. Every so often my wife will

see pictures of our car on social media and know for a fact it's gotta be the same guy. So this happened when I was in high school and still trying to figure out my orientation. I wasn't straight, I wasn't gay, but it was also the early 90s and I was smart enough to know not to mention anything beyond the norm to my classmates. Most of them accepted that I was just not into dating, but this one chick would not take no for an answer. Let's call her Becky. Becky was on the cheer squad, extremely popular and very bubbly. At least that's how she made sure she appeared to anyone who saw her. I saw the other side of Becky. Her darker side where she would taunt me in the cafeteria, calling me belittling names and shame me on any chance she got. Being the queen bee, Becky never got in trouble for

what she did. It even got so bad that I told the school counselor but that didn't help any. You just need to man up, they said. Then they gave me a cheesy brochure about learning how to be a better Christian or some nonsense like that. I threw it in the trash the second I left his office. But that little incident didn't make me furious enough to fight back the next time she tried to pull a prank. It was lunch and she and her friends were making sounds and pretending I was a pig so I went over and spilled my food all over their table. It felt pretty good doing that to be honest. Later after 6th period Becky confronted me in the hallway. I was pretty gutsy back there Steve. She said. I thought she was going to pull another prank or

maybe even try to start a fight since I had nowhere to run. Instead, to my surprise, she leaned in and kissed me right on the lips. I remember being confused and shocked. Then she started chatting about how she found it hot, that I played hard to get and wanted to know if maybe I wanted to go on a date. That was a complete 180 behavior from before so I was suspicious. Besides, which I really wasn't interested. I cautiously told her I would think about it and she gave me her phone number but I still felt it had to be a prank. She refused to leave until I gave her my home phone number too though and including my online screen name.

That evening back home I started getting messages. She was sending messages that were provocative and it made me uncomfortable. I told her to stop and she even sent a picture. My brother is in the room with me and surprised when he saw that and even started whistling. Wait until mom sees this, she's gonna hear about it, he teased. It's not like that, this girl is taunting me. You know, I'm not into girls like that. Well, send her my way, she's hot, he said. I remember rolling my eyes and shooting messages back to Becky, thinking it would possibly end this whole charade if she

found out that I told my family. To my surprise, she agreed to start chatting with my brother. Things kind of escalated quickly after that. Becky became my brother's girlfriend in less than a week and was over to our house two or three times during the week for study sessions. My parents weren't the brightest bunch but insisted that I chaperone them. Often that still led to them making out with each other and every time they did I got this really creepy sensation that Becky was putting on a show, like she was just pretending to like my brother to make me jealous. Sometimes I saw her look at me as she would grind on him. I would tell them to stop and they would both giggle and tell me I didn't like it

I could just leave the room. I warned them I would tell mom and dad which of course infuriated my brother and he shoved me out after that. I held true to that though and ratted them out. Becky could only come over once a week after that.

At school she kept up the acting. She was interested in me though, sending me dirty messages over instant messenger telling me to not show anyone, especially not my brother. She also warned me if I did say something, she was going to tell the whole school that I was coming out as trans. No, this was the deep south by the way, and at that time, coming out like that would be a death sentence, and I felt trapped. I couldn't tell my brother, my parents and the school wouldn't listen, and Becky just kept making things worse.

This went on for about two months. She would try to make out with me every day at school, and I would manage to get away or hide in the restroom till next period, and then when she came to see my brother she would flaunt herself at me. I tried to tell my brother that she was obviously obsessed with me but he said I was imagining things. Things came to a head at around Halloween. There was a dance that the whole school was attending and my parents were also going to be out of town. I got sick before the dance and stayed home and my brother went to go pick Becky up while I laid down. Now the next part I can only say happened per what my brother told me.

But apparently Becky started acting weird at the dance and said that she felt sick. Then she slipped away to the restroom. Well he got impatient and went to find her and discovered that she had left. Like left the school entirely. He told me he drove back home not thinking much of it. Maybe she was really sick. Then when he got home he saw that our front door was wide open. He woke me up after that and told me that we had a break in. We called her mother and father and they told us to check their home security system. I remember my brother was pacing the room as he was on the

telephone with her mom and dad and his face went white as a sheet. What is it? I asked. It was Becky, he explained. I didn't understand at first why she would break in but he explained it according to mom and dad. She had brought a camera and came up to my room where I was sleeping and just took pictures of me, like for about 20 minutes until my brother got home. After that, my brother broke up with her and my parents refused to let either one of us have anyone over to the house for like 6 months and we filed a restraining order against Becky and even used the security footage as evidence. She left me alone thankfully but she sometimes would smile and wink every blue moon.

To this day I have no idea what she did with those pictures and the cops said unless she posted them somewhere or potentially did something worse that she really didn't break any sort of privacy laws. A year later she moved away but I still think about all the grief she gave me and wonder why she was so obsessed. I don't think I really want to know the answer though. All those posts on my Facebook feed about New Year's resolutions have had me thinking about an experience I had a few years back that I still have a hard time dealing with emotionally. Anytime I think about it I actually feel like my stomach gets in knots and I need to vomit. It was that bad.

This isn't actually my first experience with a stalker but it's the one that comes fresh to my mind this time of year. It was February and I had just gotten my tax refund so my best friend convinced me to join her local legends gym. I told myself this was the year I was going to make a change and get healthy. I think everyone says that. Anyway what I really liked about this gym was that they would give all members a passcode and you could come at weird hours to work out. Since I usually have to work a split shift as a CNA, having the chance to swing by the gym super early when I clocked out was a blessing. Usually I'll get off around 2 in the morning so of course there weren't very many people using

the equipment. It was like a literal ghost town, a little creepy though, especially since they had obnoxious 80s music constantly on repeat throughout the entire building. I settled into routine with that gym, first a short shower and then heading over to the ladies only section. That was another thing I thought was nice about the place. Fellas, don't get me wrong, but I am a bit self-conscious and I prefer to do my workouts in private. In that separate part of the building, I was usually the only one there. It was even quieter back there because the music was muffled and I'll admit that there were a few times that I thought it was a bit eerie. Sometimes you hear something and at that time of the morning it gives you the jitters, you know? Somehow I convinced myself to stick to the routine,

even when my bestie dropped off the wagon in March. I was determined, and honestly the membership fee was one of those locked-in contracts, so you know what a hassle it is to get out of that. And despite the emptiness of the gym, I convinced myself that it was okay, since no one was there, I couldn't possibly be bothered, right? Well, a few weeks passed, and I was getting on one of the exercise bikes when I noticed something strange attached to the monitor. I paused in my workout and took it off, trying to figure out what it was supposed to be. It was smaller than my finger. Then I noticed a reflective surface, and

I realized that it was some kind of camera. I stopped working out immediately and went home, a little freaked out. I told my bestie about it the next day, asking if she had ever seen anything like that while she was at the gym. Oh yeah girl, they do that all the time, it's in the contract he signed. She said nonchalantly. I tried again to explain to her why it bothered me. She has never really understood my experience previously with stalkers, but that is another story. If some guy is giving me that much attention, I would jump on him then and there.

If it really bothers you though, she said, just talk to Mike, the general manager, and I'm sure he can calm you down. I did that the next day, leaving for work early so I could meet this Mike guy beforehand. He was a lanky man in his mid-twenties and seemed nice enough, and when I told him about the camera, he did actually show genuine concern. Huh, that is weird. And you found it over where? I guided him over to the bike and showed him where it was attached. It's definitely not one of ours, he told me.

He promised that he would look into it and figure out if someone was tampering with the machines, but just the confirmation that it was apparently a hidden camera made me feel extremely on edge. I stopped going to that gym after that and my mind constantly was conjuring up crazy scenarios about maybe one of my exes having found out that I worked there. I'd managed to break away from two obsessive ex-boyfriends before and it literally made me panic to think that one of them might be back in my life. I was trying to get my life right and I didn't need this drama at all. I think a day or two passed and Mike contacted me. Hey, I think we figured out who was messing with the equipment, but there's a problem, he said.

And that didn't sound good. I remember my heart dropped when I asked why. Well, on camera I can see them coming into the gym when another member enters. They go work out casually for a few hours until the building is kind of empty, and then I spotted them slip the camera on the machine and leave. But when they leave and enter, they don't scan a membership card. I'm pretty sure whoever this is, they actually aren't supposed to be here. That made me even more freaked out. I asked if I could

come by the next day to check the cameras and see if I recognized the person. I was completely convinced that it had to be one of my exes. When I got there the next day I even insisted that my bestie come with me. I felt that paranoid going into that gym again. We watched the security tape together with Mike and I kept waiting for him to identify who the guy was. But much to my surprise, he told me it was a girl. Some tall blonde fit chick that came in odd hours, always waiting until a member entered or left. I didn't recognize her at all. I checked the times, it's probably just a coincidence that they chose that machine. They weren't targeting you.

Anyways, we put up a warning to anyone else. We don't want any pervs in this facility, obviously. Mike told me. I did feel a sense of relief after that, and Mike did post a grainy picture of the perpetrator near the front desk, so I actually convinced myself to start working out again. of relief after that and Mike did post a grainy picture of the perpetrator near the front desk so I actually convinced myself to start working out again. It didn't take but two days before I saw this blonde at the gym though and I swear seeing her in the flesh made my blood run cold. Like Mike said that she waited until someone came into the building and slipped in. Then she would go work

out in the ladies room. When I was there it was just me and her and I got this really weird feeling that she was just watching me. I mean was it her? And was I the one being targeted by her? It was just really confusing. I thought maybe I should confront her figuring out if it was her and what she wanted. She left before I mustered up enough courage. When I left though, I found out that someone had taken my clothes from my locker and I panicked again. I knew it had to be the mystery stalker. I cancelled my gym membership after that. Despite the fees, I told myself it wasn't worth dealing with this crazy woman or any legal process that I would have had to go through with him.

My friend rejoined a few months later and, get this, the blonde girl apparently had even gotten a job there. My bestie always said that the blonde would ask about me if I was coming back to the gym. Dear God, I don't plan to. I bought a stationary bike and started working out at home. I think she quit a little after that when she realized that I wasn't coming back, and it was so hard to pin it on her. I still wonder what she was doing, why she was constantly filming me,

and whether I should still be on edge. When I was in college, I met this guy that became absolutely obsessed with me. Didn't matter that I was dating someone else. Didn't matter that I told him to leave me alone. It got so bad that I actually had to fail some of my classes and leave campus. He was getting his associate's degree in cosmetology and we met after class one spring morning. I was friendly to him, introduced him to my boyfriend at the time, Craig, and we went our separate ways. I remember telling him I thought it was neat that he was going to become a hairstylist. Not many guys I knew got

into the field. He was a little awkward and shy, clearly still didn't know how to talk to girls but he thanked me and said he hoped to see me in class soon. That night he sent me a friend request on Facebook and honestly I didn't see the harm in responding. His profile said that he was from the same neighborhood as me growing up and I decided to be friendly and ask about his family. He responded almost right away, teasing that I had stalked his profile and said that he grew up almost a block from where my parents lived. Yes, crazy we never met before, I told him. He admitted that he didn't know me or remember ever seeing me, but he did say that he thought my name sounded familiar. Nothing about the conversation

would have led me to think that he was going to go completely bonkers in less than 24 hours. I told him that I hoped to get to know him better in class and logged out. I always turn my phone off at night so I can get a good night's sleep. Even my folks know that. If it's an emergency, I can't help anyway, I always say. The next day, this dude has sent me at least 300 messages, probably more. My phone blew up with all these notifications and it took me a minute to figure out what was happening. I read them through as fast as I could and honestly I don't remember much about it except that he went off the rails very quickly. First apologizing about not knowing me, then making up some experience where he

thought maybe he did know me. Then he was rambling about his life, his problems and how no one understood him. I was beginning to feel he was mentally unstable, if the plethora of messages wasn't already evidence enough. Late in the wave of texts, he was becoming angry that I wasn't responding. He was so mad that he started threatening me, my boyfriend, and even my parents. Rambling about how he knew that I was a pathetic excuse for a daughter, that I would never amount to anything, and that I should just give up and die. It freaked me out so bad, so I just deleted and blocked him immediately. I told Craig about it, and he told me not to get too worried.

I'll stay with you when you go from class to class. We have the same schedule so if this weirdo does try something crazy, I'll be right there. He told me. That sounded good and all but the next day Craig had to go see about his car. He was never good at keeping his words so when I went to class, this dude followed me the whole way. He kept his distance and didn't say anything but I knew he was following me. He sat behind me in the seminars we attended to. I mentioned to the teacher, not wanting to cause any problems, just that I was freaked

out. The teacher actually had the audacity to call him out right there in class in front of everyone and tell him to say that he would stop bothering. I felt humiliated and frustrated because I knew this guy was borderline sociopathic from the texts I had gotten and immediately after class he confronted me asking why I ratted him out. Thought we were friends, he told me. I tried to make him leave me alone, told him that his messages scared me a little and he just became more irritated. He even tried to follow me into the ladies restroom. I remember he was cursing and getting angry, banging on the door and telling me he just

wanted to talk. I got on my phone and called security. The college made a big fuss about it because when the officer did come, this dude lied his way out of stalking me, claiming that I had stolen something from him. He had pictures of this necklace that he said he had given to me as a gift, said that we were dating and I decided to break it off and flush the necklace down the toilet. I tried to tell college security that was all a lie, but this guy was really convincing, so they punished me instead. I had to miss two days of class due to a disciplinary suspension.

That actually went on for a few months. Craig would always have something to do the days that this guy would follow me around campus, and he knew how to lie his way out of any situation. It was unnerving because no matter where I went, he was there too. He was smart enough to not ever bother me when anyone else was around but when I was alone he would always try to get close to me. One time he grabbed me and pinned me to a wall. I think he expected I was going to scream or something because he smiled and said he liked when I played hard to get. Only thanks to two girls walking by did he let me go. I usually would

have to go hide in the bathroom until it was time for my next course and even then he was just standing there waiting outside. Eventually it got really bad because he had convinced a lot of people at the campus that we were sleeping with each other. Like I said, this guy was cunning. He was a good student, never got in trouble, and he was very convincing. Even Craig almost believed that story because somehow the guy was photoshopping me into pictures with him on Instagram. It was almost the end of semester by this point and I had enough so I found an excuse to use some sick time and stay at home until time for finals. But this guy actually came to my dorm and tried to get in. And this was the

last straw for me because even after I managed to prove to officers that he was the culprit, he managed to smooth talk his way out of trouble again. Craig was the one who suggested I should drop out and finish fall classes so that's what I did. I changed my number and moved back in with my parents. I think sometimes after that night, this guy would try to sneak over and see if my window was open because I caught a figure on the streets a few times late at night. But eventually, after my dad bought a home security system, he stopped. It still rattles me to this day to think that I was this close to getting really, really hurt. My mom owned a truck diner and when I was little I helped out by waiting tables.

All the drivers that would come through would always call me a little lady and it made me feel like I was being responsible and mom seemed to appreciate it. There was this one driver though that really bothered me. I was only 10 or 11 at the time but even at that age this guy gave me a predator vibe. My mom had always taught me to be careful with strangers and not overly friendly and I think I usually followed that advice. But thinking about this driver I'm honestly not sure I was too friendly or what exactly made him decide to be obsessed with me. Anytime he came in he would always get really chatty with

my mom and with me. Asking about our life, my pets, my favorite toys, anything really. I thought at first he was just really a big talker. Lonely. A lot of truckers were, even at that age and I knew it had to be hard constantly traveling. When he left though, mom warned me that I shouldn't talk to him much if he ever came back in something about him was off and even she could sense that he did come by often to our diner at least two or three times a month I remember he said that he worked long hauls in the area and this was the only place that served good pumpkin pie your mom is amazing cook shame your daddy left her, huh? He told me one day. I don't really know

if I responded, but I distinctly remember him asking, don't you sometimes wish you had a new daddy? It freaked me out and I went to hide in the kitchen until he left. I didn't tell mom, honestly don't know why. She did ask me, but I just said I was sick. Next time he came in mom actually had to take care of business and I was alone for like maybe an hour. I really was actually surprised when I saw him but I couldn't just ignore a customer. So I offered him a tray and I remember that he apologized for before. I blamed myself for second guessing because I accepted it and then he asked me where my mom was. Without thinking I told him she wasn't there.

She left you here alone? He asked in surprise. You know how sometimes people say things and they sound like pleasant about them? That's how this guy sounded. He was happy to hear my mom wasn't there. He asked when she was coming back. I told him I didn't know. Then he said something out of the blue.

Do you like dogs? I was 10. Of course I did. I have a puppy on my truck. Wanna go see? I thank my lucky stars my mom taught me not to be so gullible. I was uneased by the offer and told him that I couldn't leave the diner unattended especially since mom wasn't there. I even suggested he could show me the dog next time.

Oh, it's for my little girl. She's about your age. Next time I come through she won't be with me. Come on, it'll only take a second. I regret that I didn't say no. I think honestly I was scared he would do something if I did say no. He insisted that his truck was right outside and I followed, but I really did feel scared out of my mind. I saw his big truck and stopped about ten feet away.

You gotta get up in the cab, he told me, and I shook my head no. Ah, come on, I have a toy in there too. He said he liked Barbies, right? I was surprised that he remembered, and then he really surprised me when I saw he wasn't lying. He reached into his truck and took out this brand new in-the-box Barbie doll, and I saw the dog too. It was a small boxer boxer wagging its tail. For a split second I let my guard down and took a few more steps toward him. Somehow before I reached his truck my mom appeared out of nowhere. I don't know if she had telepathy

or what but she chewed the driver out and dragged me back inside. What were you thinking? She screamed at me later. After that incident, she refused to let him inside the diner. Honestly, I think that made things worse. He would start sending gifts to the diner, addressed to me. And I don't mean ordinary things. I'm talking about like clothes, fancy dresses. My mom was at her wits end for about a month. When the stuff came in, she would toss it in the trash. She tried to call her sister to come watch me during the day, but the diner was pretty off the road and my aunt always claimed she was too busy. Put her back in public school, Tammy said.

But mom said the schools were too far away and she liked me close, especially now that I had a stalker. I think someone later contacted a state trooper about the trucker, gave the officer a description and let them take all of the gifts that she had chosen not to throw away. Maybe get some fingerprints or something, I don't know. I don't really know if they ever found anything because about two months after that, mom decided to move out of town. I asked her about it a few years back. Some memory had clicked it back into my brain and she got very quiet. That man was going to take you. I think he probably would have killed you

had I not been there that day, she said with a shudder. She told me that the cops had never found out who it was, despite all the things that he had sent me. And creepiest of all, she told me that he had sent me love letters. She had held on to one of them, thinking maybe one day she would contact the FBI or something, but after we moved I guess the stalker had decided to move on. The letter said that he wanted to raise me, that I was a beautiful girl and I deserved a good father It sounded sweet on the surface Typed out of course So no way to trace it really

I'm convinced after reading the letter that This guy was going to kidnap me and Probably a lot worse. Considering its origins are rooted in a hot-or- rip-off that was dreamed up in a Harvard University dorm room, it's all the more astounding that Facebook has become one of the most powerful information and communication tools in the history of mankind. Millions upon millions of people around the world use Facebook to keep in touch with one another. They use it to organize social events, wish each other happy birthday, and have pointless arguments about everything from politics to whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza. Yet there are those that use Facebook for considerably more nefarious purposes. Not simply park runs or bake sales and such uses

have raised some serious questions over the past few years that have actually ended up with the head of the company being questioned in front of the United States Senate. What follows is just one of many cases in which Facebook has been used in direct contravention of its founding purpose, to break down the social networks that make up our society, instead of enriching them. 32-year-old Stephen Carrillo first met 30-year-old Robert Justice in the flesh when he picked him up from the San Leandro train station in California on May 29th of last year. It was their first meeting, yet the two were already very familiar with one another, having talked back and forth online for quite a

while. They had met in a Facebook group that catered towards those that identified as being members of the so-called Boogaloo Movement, a group of anti-government meme lords who loathe the federal government. Some members of this movement toy with the idea of starting a second American civil war, others seem deeply committed to doing so. Using Facebook as a means of communication and organization, Stephen and Robert formulated a sinister plan to drive out to a BLM protest in Oakland, where they would seek to launch an attack on federal law enforcement officers using the unrest as cover for their actions. And in a swift and brutal strike, a federal security guard named Dave Underwood would be shot dead,

with another of his colleagues being severely injured in an incident that marked a summer of violence across the entire United States. The murder was planned to coincide with massive national protests against the death of George Floyd, the African-American man whose tragic death whilst in the custody of Minnesota police caused worldwide outrage. Stephen Carrillo and Robert Justice saw the protests as a perfect cover for their sinister plot. Protests they could use to camouflage their own twisted agenda, which sought to further split an already divided country. A short while after some of the more violent protests erupted, Carrillo took to the Boogalove Facebook group he was a member of to post, go to the riots and support our own cause.

Their cause being the desire to spark a second civil conflict. Use their anger to fuel our fire. Think outside the box. We have mobs of angry people to use to our advantage. Over the past six years or so, Facebook has increasingly become the place where extremist fringe groups of all creeds come together and plan events. Be they demonstrations or outright violent attacks. It's one of the handful of platforms on which anti-government, pro-gun protesters coordinated demonstrations over quarantines. It's also a platform on which leftist and anarchist groups organized themselves, for example during the establishment of the so-called Capitol Hill

Autonomous Zone. But more pertinent to this case, it's where the many discordant Boogaloo groups sought to organize their own fractured movements into something more refined and efficient. What's become known as the Boogaloo Movement is a loosely knit coalition of groups comprising left-wingers, right-wingers, and anarchists, but the one thing they all have in common is that they're strongly opposed to law enforcement and either centralized government control or capitalism. Bizarrely enough, the name seems to originate from the 1984 cult breakdancing movie Break-In 2, Electric Boogaloo but has evolved to become a jokey reference to either violent activity in general

or in some specific cases, what many see as the inevitable Second American Civil War. While some groups have remained focused purely on anti-federal government talking points and activities, others verge on anarchism, white supremacism, or even actual neo-Nazism. When I say Nazism, I'm not talking about anything right of center, which some more cynical members of the left wing might call Nazism. I'm talking about legitimate, dyed-in-the-wool, Hitler-idolizing National Socialists, who don't bother using cryptic references, but straight-up fuhr worship. And over the past few months, several self-identifying Boogaloo members have put their ideologies into action, resulting in their arrests for actual felonies such as building pipe bombs or conspiracy to commit acts of terrorism.

Terrifyingly enough, Facebook alone is apparently now home to at least 125 of those so-called Boogaloo groups, totaling around 73,000 members. Research has shown that more than half of the groups were formed between February and April, a time frame that matches the implementation of certain lockdowns. The Institute for Strategic Dialogue, a global research organization that focuses on political extremism, agrees that the growth of Boogaloo Group's online activity is intrinsically linked to the pandemic. During the months in which lockdowns were imposed on citizens and private businesses, the institute's report that more than 200,000 posts across social media

included the term boogaloo, a sharp rise of 52% on Twitter and 22% on Reddit. Brian Levin, the director of the Center for the Study of Hate and Extremism at a major California university, was quoted as saying, Despite Facebook allowing these boogaloo groups to be active on its platform, the company has recently pledged that it would stop recommending them to users through its sidebar algorithm. Facebook also promised to remove any content that shared statements or images that depict, glorify, or promote any kind of armed violence. On top of that, the company said that anyone self-identifying as a Boogaloo enthusiast,

who has also attempted to commit mass violence, will have their account pulled under its Dangerous Individuals Policy, a system that originally came out to do to Islamic state violence in Iraq and Syria. It was only recently that Facebook revealed that it has a team of around 300 experts with backgrounds in law enforcement, counter-terrorism, or radicalization who are dedicated to studying violent or extremist behavior on the site. It is the job of this team to analyze new trends in speech, as well as how various groups use Facebook's socialization capacity to evolve over time. However, given that Facebook has over 2.5 billion users active every single month, a lot of extremists or violent

activity can pass these experts by without being detected. And this is exactly what happened with Stephen Carrillo and Robert Justice's scheme to mount an attack on law enforcement officers in Oakland. Facebook released a statement in the aftermath of the two men putting their plan into action, saying that they simply did not have the manpower to be able to pick up on every single one of its users' messages or planned events. However, once news had spread that the attack had been planned on their platform, Facebook pulled the two men's accounts, citing the aforementioned dangerous individuals policy. A spokesperson for Facebook released a statement saying that

we designated these attacks as violating our policies and removed the accounts for the two perpetrators along with several other groups. We will remove content that supports these attacks and continue to work with law enforcement in their investigation. But to many media commentators, this was simply not a robust enough response. Several publications gave Facebook, its CEO, and its chief operating officer a serious dressing down, claiming that Mark Zuckerberg and his colleagues were only interested in protecting their vast incomes and were not remotely interested in the safety or security of the general public. But who exactly were these two boogaloo boys that took their views to such extremes? Very little is known about Robert Justice right now,

but we can confirm that Stephen Carrillo was an active duty sergeant in the United States Air Force when he met Robert at the train station in his white Ford van. When Robert climbed in, Stephen apparently offered him a pistol and some body armor. Despite having planned for violence, Robert Justice apparently declined his friend's offer, so Stephen told him to drive the van instead while he would take a position as the shooter earlier that day Stephen had quickly laid out his plan in the boogaloo Facebook group the pair were members of we know this because the federal Bureau of Investigation managed to obtain those conversations from Facebook once they were

presented with a search warrant Stephen had apparently written that it's a great opportunity to target the specialty soup boys, using a bizarre term that supposedly refers to federal law enforcement agents. Stephen also added two fire emojis to his message, then shared a YouTube video showing a large crowd viciously attacking California Highway Patrol vehicles. Robert Justice then simply replied with, let's boogie. The two men then drove to downtown Oakland where the George Floyd protests were growing in intensity and size. At around 9.30 that evening, Robert parked up his friend's van in front of a federal courthouse that was just three blocks from the protest itself.

Then after a brief discussion that lasted around 15 minutes, he started up the engine again and drove up to an occupied guard post outside the courthouse. Stephen Carrillo then slid open the rear passenger side door and unleashed several gunshots at the two unsuspecting security guards that were manning the guard post, hitting them both several times. In the aftermath of the attack, the FBI worked at reconstructing the incident using footage taken from surrounding surveillance cameras and by tracking both men's phone records. But neither were arrested that night, and both men managed to get away, with Robert Justice heading back home and not seeing Steven Carillo again. Just a matter of hours after the shooting, the slain security guard's name began to trend on numerous social media apps, with a very vocal minority of people blaming the BLM protesters for his killing.

The then US President Donald Trump even mentioned it during a speech on June 1st, stating that, These are not tactics of peaceful protest. These are acts of domestic terror. Carrillo's plan had worked almost perfectly. He had totally disguised the murder as the work of another organization entirely, but for him, the shooting was to be just the beginning of a grand operation that he'd hoped would spark off another civil war. Merely eight days later on June 6th, he is believed to have shot dead Santa Cruz County Sheriff's Deputy Damon Gutswiller before wounding another

police officer. As the FBI pieced together the evidence of Carrillo's crimes, agents said they recovered a number of items linking him to the Boogaloo movement. In his white van, federal agents claimed to have found a bulletproof vest with an igloo patch attached, along with a Hawaiian t-shirt, which are apparently both popular symbols with those who consider themselves as Boogaloo Boys. And after the attack on the security guards, Carrillo is said to have used his own blood to write Boogaloo-inspired phrases on the hood of a car, including the word boog in the phrase, stop the duopoly, which apparently refers to America's two-party political system.

Since his arrest by FBI agents, Stephen Carrillo has been charged with both murder and attempted murder, and if he's found guilty, could face the death penalty. Robert Justice has been charged with aiding and abetting murder and attempted murder. Carrillo's lawyers said that beyond the federal complaint, he hasn't actually seen any independent evidence whatsoever linking either man to the Boogaloo movement. He also said that advocating violence is obviously extremely immoral, but that everything remains just an accusation until solid evidence is presented. We're looking into what extent the supposed Boogaloo movement may have influenced Mr. Carrillo, his defense attorney said. He certainly reported to express a great love for this country and a great love for what this country stands for. But if we can seriously

link Carrillo to a movement that wishes to cause a massive civil conflict, can he seriously be described as having a great love for the United States? Who in their right mind loves their country, but would want to see so much of its people and property killed or destroyed. When pressed for a statement, a spokesperson for Travis Air Force Base, the California airbase where Carrillo was serving, told reporters that its members were cooperating with police in their investigation, and that their thoughts and prayers were with anyone affected by the attacks. Facebook then followed up its original statement by showing that it had removed the groups Carrillo and Justice were members of, promising that it would continue to review other Boogaloo groups while removing any content that glorifies what the two men did. But the director of the Center for the Study of Hate and Extremism said simply banning a few Facebook groups likely won't have much of an effect. The Boogaloo movement, much like any other

fringe political group, will simply continue to evolve and adapt to an ever-restrictive internet. These so-called Boogaloo boys show the potency of a well-timed message with the dry kindling that is the internet. Director Levin was quoted as saying, going to see a lot of hornets making a lot of smaller nests. Is it just an unfortunate part of the age we live in that something like Facebook has been used to promote violence and extremism? Or is it simply a sad fact that people will always find a way to take innocuous things like social media and then use them to do each other harm? Perhaps we're too quick to label social media such as Facebook a problem When it might simply be a mirror that reflects the darker aspects of our nature

Maybe Facebook isn't the problem at all Maybe we are On the morning of April 12th, 2018, 27-year-old Renita Williams of Shreveport, Louisiana was at home, minding her own business. She lived at home with her mother, Anita, and had just broken up with her long-term boyfriend, Jonathan Robinson. Like many relationships, the breakup had been a messy one, and a great deal of drama had unfolded on social media websites, mainly the most popular of them, Facebook. Apparently, Jonathan had moved on rather quickly from Renita and had recently started dating a woman from Houston, Texas named Sharika Taylor. And although it's not entirely clear what the ins and outs of the social media drama were,

there had definitely been some exchange between the two women that had seriously enraged Jonathan Robinson. As foolish as it often is, men sometimes attempt to defend the honor of the women in their lives, but no one could have expected Jonathan to take such extreme measures in what amounted to little more than an exchange of harsh words. Because before Jonathan pulled up to Renita's place on the morning of April 12th, he had just driven by his aunt's house to retrieve something he'd previously hidden in the basement of her home, a high caliber semi-automatic rifle. He was so delirious with anger that he didn't even bother to turn off the engine of the vehicle he'd driven up in. He simply grabbed the rifle from the passenger seat, kicked in the deadbolted front door to the house, and then started shooting.

It seems those first few shots were merely to terrify those in the home, because no one was actually hurt during the first few minutes of the attack. Whilst her mother and younger brother escaped from the rear of the home, Jonathan quickly located a terrified Renita, who believed she was about to be immediately executed. But apparently her ex-boyfriend had other plans for her first. Keeping her at gunpoint, he told her to grab her cell phone and begin a Facebook live broadcast. At first, Renita had no idea why she would need to do something like that. But all slowly became clear when Jonathan began to demand she apologize to Taylor,

his new girlfriend. In a terrifying public display of humiliation, Jonathan could be seen pointing the barrel of his rifle at the mother of three's head while he made her apologize over and over again for the perceived offense. She was terrified, voice quivering as she complied. Meanwhile, Renita's mother was hiding in the backyard, having had the foresight to grab her cell phone before fleeing from the gunshots. With shaking hands, she hammered 911 onto her phone's touchscreen, then begged the dispatcher to send help in a hushed but terrified tone. Yet the police were far closer than she could have imagined, because Officer Brittany Mackey was actually within earshot of

the gunfire. As soon as she heard the shots, she rolled up to St. Vincent Avenue at Natalie Street and got out of her vehicle with her pistol drawn. Jonathan Robinson looked up to see the cops arrive mere minutes after he'd burst into the home and he was seething with rage. He immediately executed Renita as she kneeled on the floor below him, then walked out of the busted front door and began shooting at Officer Mackey. Using trees and parked vehicles as cover, Jonathan sent round after round of high caliber rifle fire into the officer's patrol car, forcing her into cover. Mackey immediately got onto her radio and began calling in backup, with her colleagues actually hearing the sound of gunfire over the airwaves.

She then got as low behind the back wheel of her patrol car as she possibly could, and prayed for swift reinforcements. Just two minutes later, that backup arrived in the form of Corporals Joshua Pettigrew and Greg Walker. They screeched up the street, coming to a stop just short of Officer Mackey's patrol car. The officers then jumped out of the vehicle, took cover behind the open doors, and sent a torrent of.45 caliber pistol bullets at Jonathan's firing position. The overwhelming firepower pushed him back into the house and the two corporals lost track of their target. The next two cops on the scene were two special response team members, Corporals Landry Ducto and Michael Gerbein. The pair took

off running for the other side of the street, but Jonathan opened fire once again, this time from a vantage point on the second floor of the house he was occupying. The air around them cracked and whizzed with 7.62 bullets, ricocheting off the concrete as they narrowly missed their targets, but luckily, neither officer was wounded. He's in a sniper position, he's in a sniper position another officer can be heard screaming on a police cruiser's dash cam. Get down. Robinson had the supreme advantage of a concealed elevated position coupled with high caliber weaponry, and for almost an hour, he kept every officer pinned down and unable to approach his position. They were so heavily outgunned that the only two shots that managed to fire were to disable the car

Robinson left running in the driveway when he barged into the Williams' home. Plus, the police had no idea where he was even shooting from and couldn't risk civilian casualties by peppering the entire home with bullets. To the officers pinned down at the scene, waiting for a full special response team to arrive seemed like an eternity. Eventually, a full police SWAT team was pushing up towards the house, preparing to breach and clear the entire structure to locate and eliminate the active shooter. Yet just as the team was cleared to breach, Jonathan indicates to those on scene that he wished to surrender. They hesitated and fell right into his trap. He

opened fire on them first and sent a bullet smashing through SRT operative Robert Entrykin's right wrist. I've been hit, Entrykin cried over his radio. Officer hit. Another torrent of bullets are exchanged for a few moments before a sudden lull in the volume of fire. Then, to the surprise of the attending officers, Jonathan appeared to walk out of the busted front door again, only this time, he was unarmed and he proceeded to lie down on the front lawn of the house in a show of surrender. The SR team rushed in, putting cuffs on the shooter before dragging him away. Renita's mother and brother are led away from the scene

safely, but heartbreakingly, Renita had succumbed to her wounds before the EMTs could get to her. At his murder trial, Jonathan Robinson pled guilty to first-degree murder and admitted to investigators that he fired on police officers because he wanted to die. He narrowly escaped the death penalty by agreeing to a plea deal presented to him by prosecutors and was later sentenced to life in prison A hundred years ago a person would have to drag another into a busy street to perform a public execution But nowadays all it takes is a few button clicks on a cell phone

to have all your family and friends watching as you're executed in cold blood by some deranged killer. And such incidents can happen so fast that there's simply no way of pre-emptively or actively censoring them, no matter how hard Facebook might try. As long as there's a technology available that allows us to share all the intimate details of our lives, humanity seems to relish in sharing not just the good and positive, but also the darker, more terrifying things too. Stephen Nicholson's arrest as the main suspect in a violent, indecent assault and murder sparked off one of the UK's biggest evidence searches, which involved a trawl of thousands of hours of CCTV footage. He was the prime suspect in the murder of Lucy McHugh, and actually rented a room in her parents' home at the time of her murder. At one point, it looked like the British police might actually have to

let him go due to lack of evidence, but in the end, it was a Facebook password that proved to be his ultimate undoing. After he was arrested, the police had just 96 hours to charge him with the murder, or he would have to be released. And given that it would take four weeks to get a key piece of DNA evidence analyzed and sent back to them, the clock was ticking to find something concrete that they could use to charge him with murder. The police subjected Stephen to vigorous questioning and managed to get him to admit that Lucy had sent him a Facebook message on the night before she was killed. When pressed as to what that message said, he said she told him she was pregnant with his child. He intended this to

be evidence that it couldn't possibly have been him that killed her, but when police asked him to hand over his Facebook password so that they could verify his claims, he refused to give it to them. This was his one big mistake. When asked why he refused to share the password with them, Stephen told officers that he was involved quite heavily with some narcotics dealers around his hometown and that revealing his messages would compromise them, possibly even causing them to take reprisals against him. But this didn't wash with investigating officers, who became convinced that the information contained within the account could be used against him. It also presented them with a

marvelous opportunity. There were two options available to them, one being to seek the compliance of US federal courts to get Facebook to hand over Stephen's passwords to them, but that would have taken way longer than just 96 hours, and by that time Stephen would be freed. But the other was to make use of some terrorism legislation, what is known as Section 53 of the Regulation of Investigatory Powers Act, colloquially called RIPA among police officers. This means that anyone who seeks to withhold information, such as computer passwords, during a serious crime investigation,

can basically be charged with obstruction of justice. Right when it looked like Stephen was going to be bailed, he was re-arrested and after pleading guilty to withholding evidence at Southampton Crown Court, he was jailed for 14 months. With that, the police managed to buy themselves more time to find evidence of his involvement in Lucy McHugh's murder. However, while there was plenty of circumstantial evidence that Stephen had killed Lucy, there was nothing to physically link the spot where Lucy's body was found at Nicholson. Whatever weapon he used to kill her remained unaccounted for, and police officers were unable to find any of his DNA at the scene.

Once again, investigators were forced to focus on Stephen's so-called online footprint, this time seeking help from an experienced cloud data analyst to try to link Stephen to the scene of the crime. A cloud data analyst's job is to study various pieces of digital information sent from Nicholson's phone to data servers, which are owned by companies such as Google and Facebook. While tracing the phone's route on the day of Lucy's murder, the analysts happened to notice a small blip in an area of Southampton that the police had not yet searched. It suggested that Nicholson had, for whatever reason, deviated from his most direct route home. The diversion took him to a place known as

Tanner's Brook, a stream which meanders through Southampton, weaving its way through some pretty dense woodland in the western portion of the city. Detective Superintendent Paul Barton later said to journalists, With the help of the analyst, what we discovered was a slight deviation on his telephone, which didn't match the story he'd given us. You could say I had jumped the mast, so to speak, and therefore put Stephen at the place where we discovered some bloody discarded clothing. It was a great bit of work from the analyst who pointed it out. The subtle shift in the narrative given by the killer was enough for police to launch one of

the largest ever fingertip searches, which involved almost 200 officers from 12 other police forces. By that point, it had been four weeks since Lucy's dead body was found, but on the first day of the search, police got the exact kind of breakthrough that they had been hoping for. They found a discarded plastic bag containing a blue bloodstained hoodie, along with a number of other items that were described in court as Nicholson's murder kit. The blue hoodie contained Nicholson's DNA as well as Lucy's blood, with Stephen being thought to have dumped the clothing, some of which had been partially burnt, near the brook after getting changed on his return from the murder scene on July 25th. Prior to the discovery of the clothing, police had no other direct evidence

of Nichols' involvement in her killing. They had tested fibers from every bloodstained jacket and Stephen's clothes, which suggested direct contact with the hoodie, but that simply wasn't enough to actually charge him with a crime. Homicide detectives had already established that hoodies of the same type were sold to two people in the Southampton area, and that one of them was given a present to a man who knew a friend of Stephen's. The DNA evidence was the final nail in the coffin for Nicholson, according to Detective Superintendent Barton. During the course of the investigation, police officers had studied 11,000 hours of CCTV footage, examined over 2,000 pieces of physical evidence, and taken more than 300 written reports. A Herculean amount of work had given them a strong

circumstantial case, but in the end, genetic evidence was what the police really needed to prove that Stephen was Lucy's killer. But had Stephen not been jailed over refusing to hand over his Facebook password, the outcome could have been very, very different. The 14-month jail sentence not only bought the police a great deal of time, but it also potentially stopped Stephen from going back to Tanner's Brook to move the evidence he had dumped there. And it's frankly astounding that the killer of a child might well be walking the streets right now if it wasn't for something as simple as a Facebook password. Public prosecutors were eventually granted access to Stephen's Facebook account

on the first day of his murder trial, but found that he had deleted most of his messages before he was arrested. As it turned out, it didn't matter in the least bit if Stephen gave them the password. He still wouldn't be able to be charged based on the absence of the messages. If he'd only gone and given police the password, he might still be free to walk the streets. One of the prosecutors, a Mr. Montague, criticized the protracted process, saying that for him, the personal side, the human side, is we have a 13-year-old child that has been murdered under ferocious circumstances. And, for me, it's somewhat

frustrating that Facebook seems so unwilling to help with our investigation by recovering deleted messages. Facebook said it had worked closely with the investigating officers, but that they agree that this legal process can be far too slow. We have actually lobbied for reforms to EU, US and UK laws to allow us case against an extremely narcissistic, self-centered, violent predator, who had torn apart a family kind enough to put a roof over his head when they could have easily turned him away. He preyed on their underage daughter and when it looked like she might actually tell on him, he killed her, but at no point could he have expected that something as seemingly insignificant as his Facebook password would actually be the thing to put him behind bars. To be continued... 16th, 2019, 49-year-old road sweeper Mark Branford proposed to his 32-year-old girlfriend, Kaylee Dunning. The couple had been through some extremely rough times together, with

Kaylee being subjected to some horrendous abuse online that had left her dependent on antidepressants. In October of the previous year, Kaylee's phone had been stolen, a phone that had contained a number of intimate selfies of her, lewds and nudes that some might call them. On discovering them, the sick individual who stole her phone then sent these images to Kaylee's father, brother, and employer. The same person then set up a Facebook account using some of the illicit photos of Kaylee as display and cover photos. The whole ordeal was obviously extremely damaging to her mental health and she increasingly sought comfort from Mark. As much as it was a horrible

time for her, the trauma only strengthened their relationship, with Mark being able to prove that he could make her feel better after being subjected to such a dreadful abuse. They both tried to push back against those that were doing it, with Kaylee going to the police numerous times, while Mark also claimed to be receiving multiple abusive messages. He even claimed to have at one point called the phone number that was connected to the Facebook account and said he had heard scarily familiar voices on the other end. But despite their best efforts, the police simply couldn't do anything about it and the couple were forced to basically endure the abuse together. This all led to the night he proposed to her, or at least this is what we're led to believe because a night that began

with him asking for her hand in marriage ended with Kaylee being beaten to death with a crowbar. What we know for certain is that Mark Branford, the very same man with whom Kaylee being beaten to death with a crowbar. What we know for certain is that Mark Branford, the very same man with whom Kaylee sought refuge from the anonymous online abuse, was actually the very same man who was sending her the abusive messages in the first place. He was the one who had stolen Kaylee's phone, using it to set the fake Facebook account while sending her nudes to her friends, family, and colleagues. But what's not clear is what led up to the killing, and that there are only two main theories that we can fall back on to explain the sequence of events. The first theory is that

the murder wasn't planned, that somehow in the course of proposing marriage, Mark had felt so guilty that he admitted to being the one behind the abuse. Maybe he'd only done it to drive Kaylee away from her family and friends to ensure he was the only one she could trust or the only one she loved. And in the end, he simply couldn't bear to keep the secrets going. She might have freaked out, threatened to tell everyone, threatened to have her family teach him a rather violent lesson. That might well have been the reason why Mark had made the spur of the moment decision to take her life, but there is a considerably more disturbing theory, one that says Mark had been planning to kill Kaylee for a long, long time, and has used the whole Facebook abuse thing to get the idea out there that Kaylee had stalkers, or at least people so fixated on her

that her death could be blamed on them. We know from his own admissions in court that Mark was an extremely jealous man who sought to use the fake Facebook accounts and the anonymous abuse to control Kaylee. He denies murdering her, but the more information and evidence that comes out regarding the killing, the more it's becoming clear that no one else could have possibly killed her. She was found dead in his home at Kingston Crescent, and there were no signs of any break-in to support the idea that she was killed by anyone else other than Mark. This is just another bizarre and terrifying example of how people have managed to use something like Facebook, a thing which was designed to bring human beings together and strengthen social bonds, for something unspeakably

divisive and evil. Mark used Facebook to break his girlfriend down, to the point that she needed medication to continue her daily existence, and when she was at her lowest point, he brutally murdered her with a crowbar. It's frankly horrifying how people see the potential for death and destruction in even the most benign places, that people can be so creatively evil that they see the potential for ruination in something as seemingly normal as a social media app. app I'm kind of weird about social media these days. I used to be really into Facebook when I first moved to college. It kept me in touch with family and friends back home and it was a nice feeling like I wasn't so far away from them.

Building up a collection of photos, checking into places, sharing every little detail of my life so that everyone could see how great I was doing, my entire world was online for all to see. And because I'm dumb, I was pretty liberal about my privacy setting too. So one day I get this message request from someone that I'd never heard of before. It just said, hey. I checked their profile to see if they were in the same class as me or something, but it turned out we had no mutuals, and they lived on the other side of the country. So as you can imagine, I'm pretty confused as to why they're

messaging me, but I'm also curious. So I just reply, hey man, do we know each other? I don't know what I was expecting him to say when I saw that he was typing a reply. And I remember thinking that maybe he was looking for someone with the same name as me or something. But then his response pops up and all it said was, I'm going to kill you, with a cowboy emoji on the end. I stare at the message for a few seconds, not scared at all, just like, what? I mean, the cowboy emoji was what made me take another look at this dude's profile, seeing a bunch more pictures of him shooting guns and wielding knives in the woods somewhere. I mean, that was at least a little intimidating, but what got me were all these rants that he'd

posted about how much life sucked, how unfair things were and how he'd love to take it out on someone who deserved it. And then the videos that were unplayable because they'd been removed by Facebook admins, but still had captions like, that chainsaw goes through his neck like butter, and a crying laughing face emoji. That's when I started to worry. It didn't seem like this guy was just having fun, playing a prank on a stranger by trying to scare them. He seemed legit crazy

and seriously angry. That nutcase could have been studying every one of my statuses, picture posts and check-ins for weeks before he decided to message me. He could have screenshotted all of my stuff too so it didn't matter if I blocked him or not. He had my name, my school, where I hung out, the names of my family and friends, everything. I thought maybe I was just making a big deal out of nothing at the time but later on I could barely sleep thinking about it. How horrifying a thought it was that he could have been driving across the country as I lay there in bed, having just picked a person at random to kill and being crazy or angry enough to actually do it. You can call me paranoid all you like, but I just couldn't get

this guy out of my head. Like the idea of him hunting me down or whatever was unnerving enough. I mean he had enough info on me to be able to ambush me at a dozen different places that I just couldn't avoid because they were school or grocery shopping or just my dorm. But what had me freaked out is that creep might have been able to learn so much about me and I was dumb or vain enough to let it happen in the first place. I knew the internet was full of crazies, I just didn't expect it to reach and touch me in the way that it did. If I didn't make it clear already, I did actually block the guy, but some weird grim curiosity had me unblocking his account one day so I could sort of check up

on him and make sure he wasn't about to do something too nuts. There were no rants, no threatening statuses, just a long series of photo posts that made me think that he'd taken up photography or something. I'm scrolling through them when I start to get this familiar feeling from looking at the scenery. I couldn't be 100% sure, but I'd swear a lot of the pictures he'd taken were of things that were around the town I was living in. There were no street signs or anything, nothing that actually confirmed he'd actually driven across the country but if he wasn't taking pictures in a town that looked remarkably similar to mine then I could have been in a whole lot of trouble. I expected that guy to jump me for weeks after like I was a complete nervous wreck.

It messed with my sleep, I lost a bunch of weight, being in an almost constant state of anxiety for the better part of a month. He didn't find me, nothing happened as a result, thank god, but just knowing he could pretty much come and get me anytime he liked, got to me in ways I never even imagined it ever could. We put ourselves on front street in a big way with social media and it could literally be anyone out there just lurking on our profiles. So like I said, now I'm kind of weird and cautious about social media, I don't put too much out there and I don't use any real name, I run the strictest privacy settings possible and I really recommend you do too. I live here in a place called Mountain City down here in Tennessee.

So this is going back about 10 years after I graduated high school when this really messed up story started going around about one of the other kids that I graduated with. It starts in the worst possible way too, because first I heard of it was a buddy of mine texting me saying, did you hear about Billy Payne? I text back saying no, and he then calls me all serious sounding to say that Billy and his baby mom got shot just a few days before. Like someone rolled up to their house, bust opened the door and just shot them both right there in front of the television. They were legit executed, some of the papers said it was a single shot to the head that killed both victims

and how Billy's throat had been slashed. We got to wondering why someone might do something like that, if it was a random psycho killer or if he was moving weight and managed to step on someone's toes. I did remember hearing about Billy messing around with drugs a few times so it wasn't totally out of the question but he must have done something serious to have whoever it was shoot his baby mama right there too. Like that's real cold blooded you know. But even saying that he just didn't seem like the kind of guy to get involved with serious gangbangers. Anyway, the cops catch the two guys who committed the murder. One of them is this Vietnam vet who said in court that he was ex-CIA too.

Anyway, they get charged, go up in front of a judge, and you know why they said they did it? Because the CIA had told them that the two murder victims were part of some evil group that was planning on killing their daughter. But in reality, Billy Payne and his baby mom were shot dead because they unfriended one of the killer's daughters on Facebook. Can you actually believe that? That someone would take social media that seriously and actually kill somebody because of a friend request? I mean, I didn't. I was convinced that there was more to it than that, and as much as it made me feel like a gore hound, I stayed interested in the trial to find out why they'd done something so horrendous. Like the cops found Billy's baby alive in his mom's arms. Poor kid is going to grow up without a mother and a father.

But then yeah, that's the only reason or motive established and the prosecutor brings up Facebook messages detailing intense arguments between Billy, his girlfriend, and the girl who got unfriended. They'd argue about it back and forth for hours with some pretty harsh language exchange too and then the girl says that she's going to tell her dad. I don't know if the girl just didn't expect her dad to actually go kill them or that she knew he'd overreact but if it's the latter then she has blood on her hands too as far as I'm concerned. Like it's the way she told her dad too, she just didn't tell him direct. She invented some fake CIA agent that

got in touch with her dad over Facebook to tell them all this messed up stuff about how their daughter was in grave danger. I suppose it just scares me that people could take something like Facebook that seriously. But it's obvious that some people out there put so much belief in social media that they're willing to kill over perceived insults or whatever. And that's why I keep my social media presence pretty small these days. Aside from all the ratchety drama that goes on in our timelines every so often, it's just not a healthy place for some people. And it kind of blows my mind that Facebook could be the reason that anyone got shot. So first of all, I have to apologize for my English because it's not my first language. But this is definitely one of the scariest and most horrible things I've ever heard.

A few years ago we had this big incident here in the Philippines involving Facebook. This guy's wife was over in Canada for her job and she got into an argument with the husband involving Facebook. This guy's wife was over in Canada for her job and she got into an argument with the husband via Facebook. I think he wanted her to come home to Quezon early because he missed her or something and she refuses because her contract isn't finished yet. I'm guessing the husband was being really nasty and unreasonable because for some reason the wife stops replying to his messages altogether. Now this couple had a 7 year old daughter together, one whose picture the media showed a lot in the days after the incident. She was so cute and it breaks my heart that anything happened to her. But it also makes my blood go cold that anyone could lay a finger on her,

especially the girl's own father. Because in response to his wife ignoring him on Facebook, maybe even threatening to leave him, I don't know, he actually kills their daughter. He stabbed her in the neck and chest, then took pictures of the body and uploaded them to Facebook while tagging his wife in the pictures. Can you imagine how horrific that must have been? To get a notification on your phone or laptop or whatever device, seeing you'd been tagged in a picture, only to then see it was your own dead child. Not only that, but your husband, the kid's dad, the one other person in the world whose one job above all else is to protect them,

is the one that actually murdered them. That's true horror to me, like I can't even wrap my head around it. There was video released of him in custody, I think his name was Mark, and the police were showing him pictures of what he'd done to his daughter, and this guy is just screaming and screaming, not being able to believe he'd killed his own child. I think he'd just gone temporarily insane or however you say it, but the idea that human beings are capable of such horrific things, like when they see red and just black out, and then are able to kill someone so precious to them, that's about the worst thing I can possibly think of.

And it just makes it even more sick that something as supposedly harmless as Facebook was involved, that social media can enable us to make horrific things even worse. I always think about this case whenever I hear about Facebook. I know the majority of the site is just candy crush invites and baby photos, but it's tainted my opinion of the site forever. I know Facebook has people that remove all the bad content but they can't be everywhere all the time and I wonder how many people saw the pictures of that dead girl before they actually got taken down. Even one is too many if you ask me. The End

The End Sometimes Facebook just seems like a powder keg of trouble. It had this weird ability to help exacerbate drama to the point where someone gets hurt. A really good example of this is what happened back in 2012 in the town I live in here in Holland. So there were these two friends of about 15 or 16 years old who went to a New Year's Eve house party together. They ended up getting pretty drunk and having an argument because one of the girls was like making out with guys and her friend didn't like it. So the next day, one friend basically calls the other a sleaze on Facebook. So the friend who got

called sleazy complained to one of the guys she'd been making out with at the party who said if she wanted to, he could teach the judgmental friend a lesson. I think it says a lot about how petty and spiteful teenage girls can be to each other but the girl who got accused of being sleazy says yes to this, that she wanted her friend to regret saying mean things to her. So instead of just sending over some rude messages or whatever, this guy gets in touch with another friend of his who agrees to actually go over to this girl's house to beat her up or something. Yeah, actual violence because of a few comments on freaking Facebook.

Only he doesn't just slap her around or whatever. He takes a knife over to the girl's house, rings on her door, and then stabs her repeatedly with it. That's when this girl's dad appears to try and defend her. The kid then stabs him too. The girl ended up dying a week or so later in the hospital, and it was a huge news story here in Holland. But I think the really horrible thing is that the kid who did the actual stabbing only spent a year in juvenile detention with a few years of probation afterward. The two kids who organized the killing ended up getting more time in prison than the actual murderer, but even then it was only two years. I know the prosecutor tried to get them more time

in jail, but that didn't work in the end and these kids basically got off super lightly for legit murdering someone and all because of an argument that unfolded over Facebook. That was the hardest part to swallow. The Dutch media even christened the whole thing Facebook Mord as like a nickname which basically just meant the Facebook murder in Dutch. I'm not saying the whole murder wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for Facebook but honestly there's no doubt that it made it easier to organize. Like I know for a fact that the older guy managed to get in touch with the guy who actually carried out the attack via Facebook and maybe he wouldn't have been able to organize that without it. Stuff like Facebook is supposedly there to bring us together, right?

So it's just a terrible thought that people can then use it to rip each other's families apart. To be continued... If you got a story, be sure to submit them to my subreddit, r slash let's read official, and get and receive feedback from the community, and maybe even hear your story featured on the next video. 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 description below. Thanks so much, friends.

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