The Lets Read Podcast - 154: I GOT STUNG DATING ON BUMBLE | 18 True Scary Horror Stories | EP 142

Episode Date: September 27, 2022

This episode includes narrations of true creepy encounters submitted by normal folks just like yourself. Today you'll experience horrifying stories about Bumble, Stalkers, & Construction Sites... 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: INEKT https://www.instagram.com/_inekt/ PATREON for EARLY ACCESS!►http://patreon.com/LetsRead Update Description

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From tires to auto repair, we're always there. Tread experts.ca you Thank you. Back when I was in college, I used to work evening shifts in an independent coffee shop that happened to be right next door to this little bagel place. I think there must have been some degree of collusion between the two owners, as the bagel place was geared to be like a health nut place, whereas all the baked goods the coffee shop produced had like diabetes-inducing levels of sugar in them. So naturally, I'd often call into the bagel place to grab a bite to eat before clocking in for my shift, since the sugar crash that followed one of our cinnamon buns was about as debilitating as they come. But that's how I met Tom. Tom worked full-time at the bagel place, and he was there to take my order like 9 out of 10 times that I stopped by. It wasn't long before he knew my orders off by heart. Shortly after that, we were on first name terms, and the more familiar we got,

the more a little gentle flirting entered into our daily exchanges. I wasn't mad about it. He was kinda cute, and it certainly didn't sting that he started giving me discounts. After about a month or so, he asked if I have a boyfriend. I say no, so he asked me if I'd like to grab a drink or something after our shift ends. The bagel place and the coffee shop closed within a half hour of each other. I said sure, because why not, right? But oh my god, if I'd have known what kind of guy Tom was, I'd have just resigned myself to getting fat from the danishes at work. A few extra pounds would be easy to shake,

but a full-blown stalker, not so much. Okay, so I didn't meet Tom after work that day, as I was way too busy with an upcoming deadline. However, we did arrange to meet over the weekend so we could see if we clicked. It definitely wasn't the greatest date I'd ever been on. Like I don't think whatever chemistry we had really translated into a social conversational setting, but I didn't write him off altogether and we agreed to go out next time we were both free. It's so weird to think that he actually gave me space at first. Like we went 48 hours at a time without talking sometimes. He really did seem chill. But then came the day when I walked into the bagel place and the manager was working the evening shift.

This was highly out of the ordinary so I asked her if Tom was sick or something. It's then she hits me with, Tom isn't employed here anymore. We decided it was best that we parted ways. I'm shocked. So while I'm waiting for my order, I text Tom to ask him what the heck happened with this parting ways business. He replies pretty quickly, telling me that the manager had caught him giving me a discount and had fired him as a result. Immediately I felt terribly guilty and I get the idea that if I pay off the difference for what was owed I could maybe talk her into giving him his job back. So right when I collect my bagel, I politely offer to pay back the discount if she'd consider offering Tom his job back.

I kind of embellish a little, make out that I'm the one who manipulated him into doing it and the whole time the manager has this wow expression on her face. Right as I think I'm making a solid point, she comes back with, oh, is that what he told you? According to her, Tom hadn't been fired for giving discounts. It was her own policy that employees of local businesses get money off their food. He'd been fired because she'd received a number of complaints from female customers regarding his behavior towards them. His M.O. was to flirt a little, offer discounts, then eventually ask for their number. Those who handed it over didn't have a problem. Those that refused got cussed out before he refused service altogether.

She claimed she actually had security footage of him going off on a customer, and some of the language he used was absolutely abhorrent. She'd plan on giving him a final warning over the incidents, as she prefers to work with and mentor junior staff instead of just kicking them to the curb. But the one thing she can't deal with is liars. And not realizing the footage came with audio too, Tom tried to lie his way out of the predicament by claiming the disagreement was because the lady had tried to give him a fake $10 bill. That's like a pathological level of dishonesty right there, still insisting on the lies when confronted with overwhelming evidence to the contrary.

I just remembered apologizing for the intrusion and thanked her for setting me straight before I headed over to work to clock in. Tom was still expecting a reply at that point but I just had no idea what to say to him. I wasn't even sure if I was ever going to talk to him again. I mean, that could have been me getting cussed out if I had the gall to turn him down. When I finished my shift, I got my phone out of my purse to find that I had a grand total of 12 different notifications, all with Tom's name attached. They started off all gentle at first, have a good shift, text me when you finish, etc. But around 8pm, there was obviously a point where he'd learn

of the interaction between me and his former manager, and he was not happy about that, not one bit. Oh, so you're just going to believe the exploitative employer over the person she's just taken advantage of. This is exactly what's wrong with the American labor market. Even the workers are bootlickers. Was the general tone of his messages. I'm not even saying I entirely disagree, but the whole thing left such a bad taste in my mouth that I wasn't interested in seeing him at all. When I got home from work, I blocked Tom's number, deleted my contact details,

and figured that that would be that. But oh, how wrong I was. A few days later, I'm working the evening shift, crouched down stocking the mini fridge. I finish up, close the fridge, then when I stand up and turn around, Tom stood at the register. I try to be as warm and friendly as possible, asking how he's been and stuff, but I completely avoid the fact that we haven't spoken since his little text tirade. At first, I think I've dodged a bullet, as he's perfectly civil and goes on to order a drink. But like, right as I'm handing him his drink, he decides to make it super, super awkward. So, I guess you're pretty much done with me, huh? He didn't say it in a particularly aggressive way, but it was loud and jarring enough to attract the

attention of almost everyone in the store. I feel like I'm about to cringe out of existence, but somehow I maintain my corporeal form and say in as low a voice as possible, this isn't the time or the place, please drop it. He just smiles, nods and starts walking away, but instead of actually walking out of the door like I thought he was going to, he just takes a seat right in the middle of the store and proceeds to just stare at the register area in between baby sips of his coffee. And that's basically how it started. Tom would show up for coffee almost every time I was working, and every time he'd just sit there for like an hour, staring me down whenever I was at the register. He was never rude or awkward about it,

not after the initial incident anyway, so despite the fact that my boss had assured me that any funny business would result in a lifetime ban, he was reluctant to kick him out for being a little weird as he phrased it. There got to be a kind of running joke about it too. Everyone called him Vicky's stalker, and I have to admit that the one about upselling him Portuguese custard tarts until he was too fat to chase me, that one really did make me smile. But boy did that stop being funny after the first time he followed me home. After that, things got serious. I called the cops, got some advice from their fixated persons unit, and they actually paid Tom a visit to warn him off stalking me. But apparently he was only deterred for about a week and what followed was a painfully slow escalation of intensity that

culminated in the following. Out of the two dozen times he'd followed me up till that point, Tom had either stayed on the street corner and watched me walk into my building, or stood outside the building and looked up at the windows like he was trying to work out exactly which unit I was in. But on the day in question, I was so used to him keeping his distance that I didn't even notice that he was almost right behind me by the time I got to my door. Seeing him so close actually elicited a kind of squeal from me, one I'm definitely not proud of, but Jesus Christ, seeing him right there just about scared the poop out of me. I absolutely bolted inside, never being so grateful that the

lock was operated by a key fob instead of an actual key. Tom just stayed at the door, banging on it and telling me to get my butt out there, that I had to be an adult and talk to him about it, whatever it was. Since he was banging on the door and screaming in the street, I was totally freaking out and naturally my first move was to call the cops. But I think he was banging so hard, acting like I was the only one inside, because the building I live in at the time looked exactly like all the other family homes in the block. To him, I could have quite easily been the only person living there, only that wasn't quite the case. I had the top floor of the house while the bottom floor was occupied entirely by this Puerto Rican guy who

worked night shifts. Keep in mind that this whole thing is going on on a Saturday afternoon, smack bang in the middle of this guy's sleeping time. So while I'm praying for the cops to show up in time, an unlikely savior is about to come to my rescue. So, imagine you're me. All you can hear is, Vicky, if you think you can just punk guys like me and not face the consequences, you're dumber than you look. Bang, bang, bang. Then out of nowhere, an even deeper, louder voice starts booming over the first like, Hey, are you crazy? I'm trying to sleep here.

My neighbor from downstairs, whose name actually turned out to be Louis, is wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and he's screaming in Tom's face as he backs up down the steps of our building. Tom starts saying something back to him but Louis keeps shouting over him, telling him to get lost yet it doesn't seem like he's interested in backing down just yet. Then again, out of nowhere I hear Louis say, Oh, you gonna tase me bro? Before the confrontation gets physical. Everyone else in the street is fixated on the fist fight that's now going down but all I can focus on is what Louis said.

Tase me. Tom had brought a taser, presumably to use on me. Now by that point, because the cops were getting calls about the fight on top of my stalking complaint, a marked patrol car rolls onto the scene, with a by now bloodied Tom trying to walk away from the scene. The cops initially go for Louis, drawing their guns and demanding a show of hands but he responds with, Hey, I'm the victim here. This guy just tried to tase me. The cops and I watch as Tom starts to walk faster away from the scene, which obviously prompts the

cops to chase him down and arrest him for carrying a concealed weapon or whatever they had in mind. Finally, my stalker was in police custody, only wouldn't catch charges for the actual stalking. He ended up going to jail for the one thing cops could stick to him, the contents of his backpack. On the one day that Tom had decided to act on his little fixation and move in to take me or whatever, he'd come with a pre-prepared kidnap kit along with a few other choice items. According to the detective I spoke to after the fact, Tom had chosen to confront me that day while carrying duct tape, a length of electrical cord, a kind of retractable baton, and a box of a hundred different contraceptives. For some reason it's that last part that particularly creeped me out. Not so much their inclusion, but the sheer freaking number of them.

At his trial for conspiracy to commit kidnapping, Tom's attorney argued the state was trying to wrongfully prosecute a man who's been unfortunate enough to be assaulted by an unhinged parolee whilst carrying nothing more malicious than home supplies. The prosecution had a different story. Not only had they obtained CCTV images of Tom showing up at my job on a total of 31 separate occasions over the course of two months, but a search of his home had turned up some extremely disturbing discoveries. What Tom had in his backpack that day was just a fraction of the kidnap kit that he'd assembled.

He had all kinds of handcuffs, ankle cuffs, ring gags, and latex masks, but by far the most disturbing were the surgical tools and the Sivo-Floraine canister face mask combo. Yeah, I had to ask what Sivo-Floraine was too, and turns out it's similar to chloroform, that knock-you-out stuff that you put on rags. He had tons of creepy stuff on his hard drive, including guides to kidnapping, hiding, and eventually breaking his perspective victims through a combination of brainwashing and beating. He also had a bunch of foreign language comic books that seemed to focus heavily on carnal torture, I suppose you could say. The prosecution just piled on all this evidence until it was quite

clear to both the judge and jury that Tom was an extremely dangerous individual. I was terrified he'd escape justice via some loophole or something. Maybe he'd have rich parents who could pay for some smart lawyer, but no. Not even his clean rap sheet saved him from getting a solid 22 year sentence for conspiracy to commit kidnapping. As you can imagine, it was quite an ordeal, and I had to make a number of court appearances to confirm that I was one of the subjects of his many fixations. It was the most stressful experience of my life, without a shadow of a a doubt and a part of me wonders just how many of those 22 years he'll really end up doing and when he does get out, will he really have changed?

Or am I going to be walking up my driveway one day when I feel a hand on my shoulder? Am I going to turn around and see the face of a man who wants to finish what he started. I only write this because I think it might give people an idea of the kind of thinking that goes on inside the head of a stalker. So, although I've never been stalked, my past is littered with behavior that people might call obsessive and controlling. There are many different kinds of stalking you see, and in professional terms, not all obsessive or fixated behavior really qualifies as stalking. I suppose what I'm really trying to say with this opening is, I used to be a stalker, and this is my story. I first began to experience feelings of fixation in my first year of old

sixth form college. There was this girl named Emma who sat opposite me in English class. All the desks were arranged in a kind of horseshoe shape and I used to stare at her from across the room, sometimes so deeply that I'd disassociate and be unable to remember a thing the teacher had said. I always tried to avoid getting caught of course. The last thing I wanted was to scare her. I thought it was in love you see and I suppose in my mind I was just gearing up to ask her out. But it wasn't about sharing her company for a few hours on a date somewhere. No. I wanted to own her. I needed her to be mine. I played it cool enough to get her number during spring term and I called her one night after school to try to arrange a date.

She didn't answer her phone so I just kept calling and calling. Thinking if she wanted to arrange a date, she'd answer eventually, right? This is back when I was still using my parents' landline to call people, so I'm hitting the redial button over and over again whenever the line went dead. I didn't see anything wrong with it. I didn't think for a moment that seeing the missed call count tick over into double digits would freak her out. And what's more, I just couldn't help myself either. Like I sort of knew I was being a bit impatient and that maybe I should chill but still, I just couldn't stop calling. As you can imagine, my pursuit of Emma came to absolutely nothing. But I think I was too fresh to really do anything about it

other than remain a doting admirer from afar. And besides, it wasn't all that long before I was off to university which brought a whole campus's worth of new girls to obsess over. The next girl, Jay, lived in the same halls of residence as me, just a few doors down from my room. She was the sweetest, most beautiful creature I'd ever laid my eyes on, and I got those exactly same feelings of wanting to own her as I did from Emma from English class. Only this time, they were considerably more intense. Not so much because I liked her any more or less than Emma, but being at university gave me this almost subconscious sense that I could do anything I wanted. There were no teachers watching us, no camera in our dorm rooms to watch us while we slept. She was mine for the taking. And it's that kind of predatory behavior that I've learned

to recognize in myself, and I have to work very hard to see it sometimes, as it's just second nature to think that way. That's why I'm so different from other people I suppose. They have this little angel on their shoulder to counter the devil on the other, whereas I just have two devils that are disguised as their more celestial cousins. I figured the best way to win her over was to find out as much as I could about her, then employ that knowledge in a way that would impress her. So when I added her on Facebook and proceeded to pore over her posts and picture histories, I told myself it was a noble pursuit. I was putting in work that would eventually result

in her being extremely, extremely happy. I mean, if someone took the time to get to know what I loved most and got me a present based on that, I'd be over the moon. My therapist has said this is somewhat true but then asked if I could see where I went wrong picking Jay's present. At first I couldn't but now I can. Let me see if you can too. So like I said I spent hours at a time obsessing over her social media. Every single thing she posted, shared, retweeted, or liked going back years on a variety of different accounts. I saw it all and I made notes of every pertinent piece of information. But above all, I recognized how close she'd been with a grandma who'd passed away in her early teens. Every year on a particular date, Jay would post something about her nana.

It usually came with an old picture of her, sometimes with a baby Jay included too. This is how I noticed that Jay's grandmother kept a large variety of stuffed animals in her home, and one in particular seemed to be Jay's favorite. It was an old, scabby-looking handmade woolen doll, one with raggedy red dress and a missing eye. But perhaps its most defining feature were the tumbles of white woolen hair that came spilling from the top of the doll's head. This was probably why it was Jay's favorite, and one of the pictures was a collage of photos showing her tying a baby blue ribbon into the doll's hair. The caption read something like, Rest in peace Nana, GBNF. Still wish I had

my Molly doll. It reminds me of you so much. XXXX. Bingo. The perfect gift idea, I thought. Surely if someone managed to get her a similar looking doll, complete with the blue ribbon, she'd fall head over heels for them. I mean, how could you not? It had to be the most thoughtful gift in the history of gifts. Since I had some money left over from Christmas, I got to work looking for someone who could make me a similar kind of doll. Giving online vendors an idea of what I wanted was easy enough, after all. I think I had about 6 or 7 quite clear photographs of it. You'd be shocked at how easy it was honestly. There are lots of little artists

out there who are more than happy to work commissions, especially when there's such a rich digital record to work with. I had my replica Molly doll within a month of me first inquiring about it and my god it was perfect. It looked very new, obviously, not nearly as aged and time-worn as the original, and the artist had done a very good job of it otherwise. Then once the baby blue ribbon was tied in its hair, the transformation was complete. It looked so much like the original, it was frightening. Emphasis on frightening, though, and you'll see what I mean in a minute. Since me and Jay were on quite friendly terms, I didn't think anything would

mind if I snuck into her room to drop off her present. If anyone confronted me, I could just show them the bag, explain it was a surprise present, something from her youth she'd really love, and hey, presto, who's going to stop a thing like that from happening. Not a soul saw me as I walked down the hall and knocked on her door. We very rarely locked those doors back then and it was a real community way of living so even when we went out we'd leave the mofum for people to pop in, borrow something, drop off a DVD they'd borrowed, whatever. In short, I'm practically buzzing with excitement because she's going to walk into her room and see Molly doll sat on her bed, looking right up at her. I had to wait an entire afternoon before

Jay came back from lectures and I was practically shaking with excitement by the time I heard her walking down the hall. But when she opened up her door, I didn't hear any happy, surprised sounds. I just heard screaming. Screaming and crying. By the time I had the guts to emerge from my room, Jay was crying her eyes out in her friend's room. I mean, she was utterly inconsolable. I didn't know what I'd done wrong at the time and my

therapist says that realizing what I did wrong is a huge part of my treatment plan. There's just one thing I don't tell him though. One thing I keep quiet about out of pure shame. Jay had been so freaked out by the molly doll not because it reminded her of her nana, not because it was such a sudden surprise to see something she'd thought was forever lost. It was the fact that even though Jay was just 11 years old when her nana passed, she requested that she be buried with the Molly doll. Her logic being that it could keep nana company until she could join her in heaven. Just about the sweetest thing my therapist had ever heard. I think it's kind of

dumb, but I also understand that that's a problem with me, and not a problem with her, or anyone else who harbors sentimental feelings. Eventually, I told Jay the truth about who bought the doll. She was so angry that she punched me in the nose, which made me so angry that I wanted to kill her. I don't mean that in some abstract metaphorical way. I mean, I was out buying a plastic tarp to wrap her body in when I had a kind of come-to-Jesus moment, as the Americans say. The rest is history, I suppose, and here I am, on a plethora of different prescription antipsychotics just trying to mimic the life of a normal human being. It's not been easy, coming to terms with who or what I am, but it's been worth it. I don't want to live like that anymore. I can't.

Because if I allow myself to, I know it'll only be a matter of time before I hurt someone in a way that can never, ever be fixed. I met my first serious boyfriend in my final year of college and the first few months of our relationship were some of the happiest times of my life. Little did I know that our breakup the following year would result in him basically stalking me for four years afterwards. He made my life absolute torture for almost five times as long as we were actually a couple. And over time, someone I loved most in the world became someone I hated and feared with all my heart. A few months into our relationship, he started to display some increasingly possessive and controlling behavior.

It was subtle at first. He'd ask if I'd done my workouts, then gently chide me if I'd been too busy to do them. He'd insist on knowing exactly what I was doing on any given day, and he repeatedly made comments on whatever I was eating, exclusively positive reinforcement, but that somehow made the whole thing even creepier. The fact that he was treating me more like a child or a pet than a girlfriend. I didn't just want to jump ship, I was really, really into him, and practically every young adult novel I'd read involving romance recommended honesty and communication. So, that's what I tried to do, just warn him off that kind of controlling or patronizing behavior because it was super off-putting. At first, he seemed like he was completely incapable of taking

any criticism regarding his behavior, which was yet another red flag. Yet when I assured him I'd be packing my bags if he didn't start treating me like an adult, he relented and promised to be better, but not without what was essentially a miniature temper tantrum. I just put it down to the shock of me threatening to leave. Like it had upset me just to think about too but still, if I'd have been as wise and world wary as I am now, I'd have left him as soon as he began to beg. For about a month after he was true to his word, he stopped being so possessive and let me live my life unhindered. Yet slowly but surely he started acting in the same old way, and that's when it became clear that it wasn't so much that he couldn't change. He just didn't want to. I knew the only way to proceed was to just be brave

and break up with him so I could move on with my life. The breakup in itself was pathetic in the extreme. He cried and screamed and begged to the point where I wondered where the man I fell in love with had disappeared to. It took a while, but in the end he accepted. A full week went by without us talking and I honestly thought that was the end of it, but as it turned out, it was only the beginning. At first when we got back in contact, his behavior and demeanor seemed like nothing more than the regular pining of a spurned lover. He'd tell me he missed me, get angry when I didn't reply and send a wall of abusive text, then follow up by sending gifts to my job, like embarrassing me in front of my co-workers was somehow going to suddenly win me over.

I thought this might last for a week or two at most. If I'd just maintain my policy of no contact, then he'd eventually lose interest and move on. But he didn't. Every time his texts and calls died down long enough for me to start hoping, they'd start right back up again as frantic as ever. It was a real pain to change my phone number but in the end I had no choice. For a while that brought a measure apiece but instead of giving up my ex just upped his game. It started when I just so happened to bump into

him at the Publix near my apartment. I put the first encounter down to chance but he didn't make a scene or anything, we just exchanged looks and moved on. But then I started bumping into him on the way home from work too and whenever I took my dog for a walk and whenever I went for a run and I realized it was never just us bumping into one another, he was actually stalking me. Confronting him about it did nothing, and the restraining order I filed was rejected until I returned with photo evidence of us bumping into one another at a multitude of different locations. But even when I got it approved by a judge, he kept the minimum distance of 100 feet, just watching me from afar. He basically was saying to me, I could do anything I want,

I'm right here and you're right there. And when that message finally came through, I knew I had to just pack my life up and move across the city. I even managed to get a transfer to a different branch of the company I worked for, but still he somehow managed to track me down. I repeated the entire process a couple of months later, only this time I moved entire cities. Granted the other city was only like 50 miles away so I could easily visit friends and family on weekends, but it was still a big move. Honestly though, I was willing to do whatever it took at that point to be rid of my ex, and that meant purging my online presence too. Yet somehow he kept getting a hold of my number and my address, like it got to the point where I became intensely paranoid, getting it into my head that a close friend or family member was passing on my information, maybe for money,

maybe out of fear for their safety. I actually threatened to sue the company that prints out state phone books and they insisted that they delisted me, but still I kept getting calls from my ex. Towards the end of the fourth year, I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat, I couldn't concentrate at work. I was a shadow of my former self, and it all crept up so slowly that I didn't realize how bad things had gotten until I fainted at work. I was offered long-term sick leave, but since the sick pay wouldn't be nearly enough to actually cover my expenses, I had no choice but to carry on with my life, even though I feared it might end at any moment as a result of my own poor health. Just then, two months shy of his stalking having lasted a full

five years, a friend of mine forwarded me a news story involving misuse of resources at the National Tax Office. Staff members were using insider knowledge to find themselves and their immediate families, enough tax loopholes to pay a trifling amount each year, which was obviously highly illegal. But one of the names listed in the story was one I was very, very familiar with. It was my ex, and although there was every chance he was committing the same tax fraud as the others, I knew he was abusing his position for another reason entirely. That's how, no matter how hard I tried to move on with my life, he was always able to get a hold of my updated contact details by looking up my freaking tax returns and other such

paperwork. He and his co-workers were looking at lengthy prison sentences for what they'd done and it seemed like finally I'd get the peace I'd been craving for for so long. It might only be for a number of years until he could get out and find me again, but at least it would provide some measure of relief. Little did I know that this peace would turn out to be permanent, as my ex obviously couldn't face the time. He took his own life before his sentencing hearing I'm not ashamed to say that I wept with utter relief once I heard the news I know that sounds cruel but you have to put yourself in my shoes That man made my life the worst it's ever been for the longest time it's ever been that way He made any kind of romantic relationship impossible

And those were the best dating years of my life, just burned away because he couldn't handle seeing me with anyone else. He wasn't sad at the losses he'd caused me, so I won't be sad about the losses he'd caused himself. It was throughout his own pathological stubborn and possessiveness that he came to find himself in such a situation. And if you ask me, he got everything he deserved. Everything. Back when I was a junior in high school, this guy transferred in from out of state who developed a serious obsession with me. It started out kind of harmless at first. He would try talking to me, but only ever about the weirdest stuff.

Like if he'd been all sweet about asking me out, I definitely would have felt guilty turning him down, but because he was so obnoxious, I had zero qualms with telling him to get lost. A good example would be the first time I rejected him. Most guys might just take it in their stride, maybe think I was playing hard to get but this kid heard my no and immediately just punched a locker right next to me. The sound of it had me jumping out of my skin and the few doubts I had about rejecting him completely evaporated the moment he acted out like that. He didn't just punch the locker either, because he'd caused such a scene, he literally ran away from the lockers at full speed. It was seriously the most embarrassing and terrifying thing that had ever happened to me at that point, well, at the hands of another human being anyway.

He did seem to take a few steps back following this little outburst but he soon redoubled his efforts, joining every after school club I was a member of. When they were done, he'd follow me home at a distance. One time my dad caught him doing it and chased him up the street after that. It became this huge family issue. I just found the whole thing thoroughly mortifying, I guess because I just didn't get how serious it was. It was annoying, kind of scary even, but I didn't think he had what it took to actually hurt me. But as it turned out, that wasn't really the issue. After a few months of my turning down dates, he told me if I didn't want to go out with him, that he would take his own life. I still said no. I've found stuff like that, that sort of emotional blackmail, to be frankly disgusting, and instead of having its intended effect to garner my sympathy, I hated this kid more than ever.

The whole feeling was grounded in the idea that he just wouldn't do anything, that he didn't have the guts, the balls. He was all empty threats and grand theatrical displays, or so I thought. The next few days, he was missing from school. Rumors were around that he actually did take his own life, and I'd be lying if I said it didn't freak me out to think he actually had gone through and done it. I mean, that'd be something that'd stay with me for the rest of my life. A kid told me he'd end himself if I didn't date him. I didn't, so he did. But god, if I didn't feel like punching him in the face as soon as he showed up again, I figured he'd just skip school for a

few days to scare me a little bit. Mission accomplished, and this confirmed that he didn't have the balls to do it. He was wearing bandages when he showed up again and actually cornered me at lunch to say, you made me do this. I just ignored him. I didn't want to actually ask to see the cuts, but a part of me is still so effing sure that they were covering up nothing at all. But the next big incident was at the end of our senior year. After a club meeting, I stayed behind to help clean up, my friend had stepped out to go grab something from their locker so I didn't see my stalker walk back into the room. He must have just saw his opportunity, came up behind me, and grabbed my chest. I don't remember what he said

but I was so freaked out that I actually squealed. That's the point I got the cops involved. As the room's security camera captured the whole thing, the whole ordeal ended up in court. He got a conviction, and I think his handsiness actually cost him his place at his preferred college too. It was a little piece of revenge that I cherished, but it turned out it just gave him a whole bunch of free time that he could use to stalk me. I became absolutely paranoid with him hanging around my college campus and by that stage he was exhibiting every possible behavior of a controlling manipulative sociopath. I just remember being terrified that he'd eventually try something worse. I finally transferred schools and

about a year later, I started getting emails from him, most of which were apologies for how mean he was to me and asking if I forgave him. But the emails quickly turned into him begging for my Facebook info. I had him blocked on Facebook since high school and I absolutely didn't want him to know where I was going to school, so I ended up blocking him on my email too. Since then, I have not heard from him again and I have also moved across the country for another reason entirely, but the move honestly brought me a lot of relief that I wouldn't accidentally run into him sometime and the whole cycle might start again. I had a stalker in secondary school. Well, not quite the follow you everywhere and make a shrine out of your hair kind of stalker,

but enough to make me feel afraid for my safety on an almost daily basis. It made for a fairly terrifying two years before my mom got married and we moved to the complete other side of London. He was this huge rugby player, very handsome and extremely popular, so of course there were absolutely no social repercussions for him and people basically refused to believe that he'd pay any attention to me at all, let alone anything remotely abusive. When he started obsessing over me, most everyone brushed it off or made excuses for him, but it quickly became an absolute nightmare. He was always making comments towards me,

pinching or pulling my hair when no one else was looking. It was creepy because he obviously didn't want anyone to really know what he was doing. He knew it was disturbed, and he knew it would make him look bad if it all came to light. Sometimes he'd say things like, I can smell you, you're about to be on your period, or nice and clean. Always in the creepiest, pervious way imaginable, as if it couldn't get more obvious that he was enjoying it. One of the scariest moments I can recall is when I was scanning the vending machine one morning before class trying to figure out what to have for breakfast. He came up behind me, placed his hands on my waist, pushed me right up against the machine and said very clearly in my ear, one day I'm going to kidnap you, take you to the

forest, tie you up, and screw you until you want it. That was three weeks before our move date, and the only thing that stopped me from going to the head teacher was the fact that it wouldn't be long until I never had to deal with this guy ever again. But I now know that that was the complete wrong approach. Even if you manage to escape someone like that, they just pick a new victim, and another, and another. They only stop victimizing women when they're actually confronted by authority figures, and even then they might be psycho enough to just carry on. So please, if anything like this happens to you, report it to the relevant authorities. Even school staff take stuff like that really, really seriously,

and won't hesitate to get the police involved if they think that's the right course of action. Yes, I've actually had a stalker, and I'm one of the rare and unfortunate male victims of what legally is known as a fixated person. It all began when I first started my career as a radio DJ whilst in my early 20s. It was only for a local radio station that covered my home city and the surrounding area, so the show I ran wasn't nearly as widely received as national or digital stations, but we still got a couple of hundred thousand listeners a day. And let me tell you, that was still a rush knowing so many people could hear my voice. Like most radio stations, we ran a lot of phone-in style segments and competitions for our listeners. And it was through interacting with the public

that I came to earn myself a few regular callers. Not quite people I'll call fans, since saying that about myself is way too cringey, but they were definitely people we relished talking to since they generated such excellent content. For example, there was this one older black lady Phyllis. She had to be in her 60s or 70s. We got talking about how she was never married, a little playful flirting ensued, and before I know it, the segment is going viral on local social media and beyond. I have to admit, the segments were hilarious and for the most part, I enjoyed my interactions with our callers. But there was one girl who reminded me that being in the public eye, or ear in my case, can have some serious drawbacks. The girl only ever called in to try and talk to me, interrupting competitions or call-in events

and generally making a nuisance of herself. We started screening her calls, but she just found ways to call from different numbers, using a different name and sometimes a different voice so she'd be able to get through undetected. It got to the stage where our producer actually took over on one of the calls off-air, warning her that we'd have her charged with harassment if she didn't stop calling. That kinda worked, but it also kinda really didn't too. She stopped calling alright, but instead, she just started showing up in the parking lot and trying to talk to me after I got off work. She tracked me down at public appearances, caused all kinds of beef on our social media pages, and even picketed the

entrance to the station, telling everyone who passed what a-holes we were. Over time, her behavior went from innocent but irritating to outright vicious. She was not happy that we'd banned her from calling in, but instead of blaming the producer, everything involving the show was his call and his alone, she blamed me. She was so mad about it too, I'm talking frighteningly irate, and as soon as my producer heard about it, he pretty much marched me down to the police department to file a complaint. He had 30 years of experience, he'd dealt with people stalking his DJs before and it was honestly chilling when he said something along the lines of, look, either you deal with this now or it gets worse and worse until she eventually murders you. And since I don't have the time or the

emotional capacity for that, we're going to the cops. I figured it'd be a relatively short and simple process of filing a report, maybe a court date to file a restraining order or something. But as soon as we mentioned who the stalker was, the cops taking our statements looked up as if the name was familiar to him. My producer straight up asked him if she was involved with stalking prior to myself, and although he didn't give us a concrete answer, telling us that he'd put us in touch with a couple of detectives ASAP. That spoke volumes. The next day, I get a call from a detective telling me he was from something called the FTA or the Fixated Threat Assessment Department. Basically, they're the

cops who deal with stalkers before they work themselves up to actually hurting their victim, and these guys had dealt with my stalker on a number of previous occasions. In fact, she was something of a regular customer of theirs, and they had some very, very bad news for me. Some stalkers remain a benign irritation for their victims, too obsessive to not let go but too shy to actually act on their fixation. My stalker was not one of those. She had a distinct pattern to her behavior and that consisted of her getting very violent very quickly. She'd managed to avoid outright incarceration because most of the crimes she committed were low-level property damage or theft. But she definitely had a potential for actual bodily harm. One of her victims was subject to an attack in which she tried to spray industrial

strength solvent into the guy's eyes. I'm not sure how much permanent damage that would have done, but there was a clear intention to take his sight away from him for good. That's when I actually started to get scared. She was smaller than me, weaker than me, probably slower than me, but she still presented an actual risk. I couldn't remain vigilant and protect myself 24-7, and if I wanted to remain working on a public platform, I was just going to have to man up and accept that certain risks came with that. I came to the decision that I wasn't going to squander my radio career just because of one crazy. It had been my absolute dream since I was old enough to work the dials on my dad's car stereo. It was a hill worth dying on, even if the metaphor might someday turn literal.

At that point I got back in touch with the FTA cop to find out what came next. The one thing she didn't know about me was where I lived and I intended to keep it that way. And what came next was like something out of a spy novel. A plain clothed cop came over to my apartment to teach me what amounted to counter surveillance. It was all stuff you might imagine. Varying my routines home from work, making random turns and doubling back on myself, varying my schedule so a person wouldn't be able

to track me by my schedule. Basically, I had to break up any kind of patterns in my life. I know that doesn't sound like much, but trust me, try planning your entire life around a violent stalker for three months. you'll see what it does. The lack of actual control over everything, feeling like everything I said or did might be compromised, or how the toxicity of it seeped into my interpersonal relationships, how it made having any kind of romantic life completely impossible. It doesn't feel so bad at first. The problem is, it creeps up on you. You don't even know the stress is there until one day you wake up to an extremely painful rash on your ribcage,

one so painful you need actual opioid painkillers to deal with. Stress-induced shingles, my doctor called it, and asked me if I had anything weighing on my mind. The question was so on the nose that I actually laughed a bit before I answered. Thankfully, she never did figure out where I lived. Then one day, it just kind of stopped. No more following, no more phone calls, no more anything. Apparently a radio station across town had hired a new guy and she became fixated on him. Once I found that out, I called and gave him a friendly heads up, basically giving him the same advice my producer gave me. Look, either you deal with this now, or it gets worse and worse until she eventually

murders you. And since I don't have the time or the emotional capacity for that, we're going to the cops. Until Bird took me under his wing, I'd never been good at anything. School was a long string of average grades and fleeting friendships. My sad attempt at becoming a football hero was just that, sad. I'd hoped I could better myself by attending a nearby junior college only to fail out within two years. Somehow I was introduced to Bird and things only improved. Bird was a well-known carpenter specializing in ornate carving and design. I was just a young 20-something with no real direction in life. My job was nothing more glamorous than cleaning up after a bunch of

half-stone builders around the worksite. Out of the blue, my boss came to me and said that I was being promoted. I was all excited, thinking I'd get a little cushy job like his assistant or something. Instead, I was told to report to Bird, actual name Bert, and do what I was told. Story goes, Bird got his name because his British accent was so thick everyone thought he was saying Bird instead. He didn't seem to mind. He took it in stride much like he did everything else in life and I introduced myself to him and just got a grunt in return. He handed me a work belt weighted down with some of the finest looking tools I'd ever seen and said, these are yours now. You can pay me back whenever. Take care of them. I only give them to you once. You got any questions? Good. He cut me off before I could catch my breath. I was too intimidated to

speak a word after that. For the rest of the day, I followed him around, soaking in every little morsel of information I could. That was how my apprenticeship began. Day after day, I watched Bird create some of the most amazing and beautiful works of art. It was almost a month before I was given my opportunity to actually touch a piece of wood. Looking back, it was an unsightly first attempt, but something in that grotesque image told Bird that he'd be able to make me into something resembling a craftsman. It also sparked a competitiveness inside me I'd never experienced before. I couldn't stand by while Bird created such wonderful things while my work was nothing even nearing poor. Almost all my free time was spent practicing my new art,

and this quickly began to bear fruit. I could see in Bird's face that he was pleased with my progress, and a few short years my work became almost indistinguishable from his own. The day eventually arrived when it was my time to move on. Bird smiled at me like a proud father and wished me good luck. My next few years went well. I received several major commissions, the most notable the creation of a great staircase in our governor's family home. Speaking of family, soon after leaving Bird's Toodlage, I met a beautiful girl and later married. It wasn't long until our son arrived and everything appeared golden on the surface. What I didn't know then was my wife had continued her relationship with her first husband

all the way up to the arrival of our son. This little fact would eventually cast doubt on who the boy's father actually was. Fortunately, later tests would prove it to be me. Even with the arrival of this great news, it did little to calm my mind. The collapse of my marriage weighed heavy on me and I wasn't completely focused on my work. At the time, I was building a staircase in a city away. Instead of putting all my talents towards my work, I was often elsewhere. My second to last morning at the site, I had had an argument over the phone with my wife. We had agreed that I would be allowed to take my son for the night. However, she had changed her mind at the last

minute. I did finally convince her, but the damage had been done. My mood had been ruined by her fickle power play. The only thing that would help would be seeing my son. I dry fitted the last section of railing and ran out of the door. The rest of that evening was spent playing video games and watching movies with him. I went to bed that night happier than I'd been in a long time. The next day I dropped my son off at his mother's and went to complete my last bit of work. The house was pandemonium when I arrived. I was unable to get any reason as to why until I spoke to the grandmother of the family. She said the night before her youngest grandson was playing with her older brother. At some point he leaned against the landing railing and it gave way.

The boy was in serious condition and, at least presently, paralyzed from the neck down. Her every word stabbed deeper and deeper into me. She was well aware of who I was and her frown told me all I needed to know about how she felt toward me. I wasn't sure what to say so I just stared until she stomped off. I rushed to the spot I'd worked last. Just as I feared, a big hole sat in the railing, open but unbroken. The remnants laid on the floor at my feet. Something didn't make sense. When I inspected the broken pieces, the true horror of what I'd done rushed into focus. I was unable to fight the sick feeling churning up in my stomach any longer. After retching for a minute or two I looked again.

It was still the same. No glue residue, or nails, or even screws. How in the world could I have made such a foolish error? A small glimmer of hope remained though. As I ran up the stairs, purposefully grabbing at each length of rail, looking for any weaknesses, I hoped a sign or note would greet me somewhere nearby, despite my fervent search. It wasn't to be. In a matter of few quick moments I'd ruined all I'd built, not to mention possibly crippled a young man for life. Looking back, I probably did everything wrong. In my defense, I was incredibly broken for my mistake. I was desperate to let the parents know this. They were less than pleased to see me when they did. Although they had yet to realize just how negligent I'd been, my very image must have represented the thing that had caused their child's present condition. I left before the hospital security arrived to remove me,

and even then, I knew it would be the last time I'd hear from these clients. In the short span of time it would take for the news to spread, I took as much work as possible. Jobs that should have taken days took far longer My confidence had taken a big hit The double, no, triple checking of every move I made slowed me down But I was determined I'd never make such a terrible mistake again At least in the little time I had left The day I dreaded finally came just three months later The family's demand was an unbelievable 7.5 million dollars

An amount not even someone as celebrated as Byrd himself would ever be able to pay. Although my lawyer assured me the courts rarely awarded the initial amount, even $1 million would be enough to break me. If my insurance company did settle, I'd surely lose my coverage. It didn't matter. Work had dried up just as I'd feared it would from word of mouth. And then the years passed. It's been almost 13 years since that terrible day. With no new custom work coming in, I was forced to go back to regular residential carpentry.

The drop in pay was hard to deal with at first, but I got by. My insurance company did just as I feared and they managed to get the family to settle for $375,000. A paltry amount if you ask me. My policy was cancelled the next day and since then I've kept my head down. Working six, sometimes seven days a week. My divorce became final just a week after the settlement. I've swallowed a huge amount of my pride in the preceding years. I agreed to let my son stay with his mother despite my personal feelings in the matter. Maybe the differential behavior has been some form of unconscious penance for what I did, or didn't do, rather.

Now that he's become his own man, I've been seeing more of my son as of late. He's shown some interest in Finnish carpentry, carving in particular. I was leery of taking him down that road at first, maybe because of my own unresolved feelings more than anything. He shows a natural aptitude for the trade that not even I had in the beginning. I wish Bird was still around to teach him. I've been away from that specialty for longer than I choose to admit. I fear he may not benefit the way he would had he not been taught by a more seasoned professional. Although I voice this to him, he insists that I be the one who teach him. I suppose I owe it to him in some way.

That said, I intend on moving much slower with the boy than Bird did with me. Long before he's ever allowed to have his hand at a carving, there's one important aspect of the work that I wish I paid closer attention to. A man is never infallible. No matter his talents, he is open to lapses of thought. Focus and detail are the most important skills a finished carpenter must have. In a trade where your clients may use your work thousands of times in a lifetime, it is even more important to remember this. I put myself first before my client and because of this,

not one, but two young men were robbed of a promising future. I was a fresh-faced graduate from high school. The summer before I left for UT, I took a construction job. I had a full scholarship for my first two years but having a full wallet would help pay for the small things. Most of the other guys were friendly and entertaining. A day didn't pass where we weren't doubled over in laughter because of something someone did or said. Two of the guys were exceptionally funny. Mark and Daniel had been working on separate sites or together for the past 15 years. They were both grade A practical jokers, but sometimes Mark would take things a little too far. Daniel was more than often the

target of his humor. This would become a source of tension between the two, but they always made up by the end of the work day. As you may expect, eventually Mark's joking would go too far for Daniel to overlook. That day just happened to be on my final week on the job. For some time, everyone on the site had noticed Daniel wasn't himself. He spent long periods of time somewhere talking on his phone. When he wasn't gone, he seemed constantly agitated. His usual happy-go-lucky manner had disappeared. We'd all tried our best to make him

laugh, but nothing had worked. Not even Mark could do it. As time went on, we all began to believe his troubles were about his girlfriend. When Mark heard about this, he couldn't stop himself from poking at the sore spot. On this day, Daniel had gone on the phone, and when he came back, Mark started joking around. What's wrong, Danny boy? Are you having troubles at home? Is your old lady getting the bone from the mailman? The verbal jabs only served to annoy Daniel even further. He said nothing. Instead, he just stared at Mark like he was going to burn through him with his eyes. Mark wasn't going to

let his bad mood get in the way of getting a laugh. After lunch and throughout the rest of the day, Mark continued on with his jokes. Daniel, a guy who usually said something when he was fed up, held his tongue the whole day. I knew if he didn't put a stop to Mark's poking, he would take things too far and cause a problem. Maybe even a fight, I thought. Daniel was clearly not in any mood to let the remarks roll off his back. And as quitting time arrived, I relaxed. I was almost sure Mark would let up. Unfortunately, things only got worse. A lot worse. It was quitting time. We were going around the site picking up our tools and cleaning any trash we'd left behind. Everyone was focused on the task at hand. I was off in my own little world,

thinking about any last minute things I needed to do before I left for school. When everything was complete, we were all standing around discussing our plans for the forthcoming weekend. It had been a while since Mark had made any jokes and I assumed he'd stop for the day. When his turn came, he looked very serious and said, well, I think since old Danny's going fishing, I'll go over to his place and give his old lady some boning. The joke had come by complete surprise to all of us, and we all fell over ourselves laughing. All but Daniel, of course. I saw a snarl appear across his face. His teeth were gritted so tightly it looked like they'd crumble any second.

I'm so sick of your stupid jokes. No sooner had he said this, Daniel stepped forward with his hammer drawn back. I was precariously close to Mark at the time. I stumbled back so quickly I fell onto my butt. I looked up just as Daniel brought the claw end of the hammer into Mark's skull. Mark immediately fell over seizing. Writhing around the floor I was in shock. And I froze where I was. I watched Daniel for his next move.

He stood over Mark's convulsing body for a moment, surveying his handiwork, I suppose. I was relieved when he calmly walked over to a bench and just sat down. I don't think I could have moved had he come at me. Just like me, the other guys were frozen in place watching as Mark's body slowly came to a limp halt and we all looked at each other, too terrified to speak. Daniel broke the silence for us. I guess, I guess y'all should call the cops. I'm not gonna run off or anything, I'm just, just a little fed up.

The resignation in his voice showed just how far gone he was. The old Daniel I knew wouldn't have done anything like this. We did like he asked and he didn't give the cops any trouble when it came time to take him away. I thought the shock was affecting me at that moment but even now I don't feel anything but sorry for Daniel. It would come out later

just how bad things had been going on at home. His girlfriend at the time had cheated on him more than once. She had blamed it all on him and he had been working two, sometimes three jobs just to keep her happy and keep up with expenses. He was neck deep in love and too blind to realize what was happening until it already had happened. After all he did to give her what she wanted, she had the nerve to complain about him being gone so much. When he was at work, all he could think about was, is she with another guy right now? He was too private to share any of this with us. I don't think Mark had any idea what was truly occurring. He took a shot, and when he saw that he'd hit a nerve, he wrote it into the ground.

And he did that a lot, and I suppose this turned out to be one too many. I'm sometimes still in shock when I sit back and think about how quickly his life left his body, even in those last few convulsing moments. All of us offered to serve as character witnesses, but it turned out not to be necessary. A deal was struck and Daniel agreed to serve 15 years. He has been offered parole in the intervening years, but declined it. With his release date soon approaching, I hope he is able to get his life back together and move beyond the shadow of this crime of passion, I suppose you could say. I've saved the most important person in the story for last. Mark's story obviously ended on that job site.

Some readers may wonder why Daniel had received so much sympathy in Mark so little. Well, the truth is, although he was a really funny guy, that was about all he had going for him. I said already how far he would push Daniel with his joking. Heck, some folks may call it bullying these days, and I'd say they'd be right. He didn't do that to just Daniel. Not one of us evaded his comedic jabs, and that was far from his worst trait though. Even around a bunch of East Texas rednecks, Mark's racism was off-putting. Like with his jokes, not a single culture was off-limits, and he wasn't afraid to say it. I won't even get into his views on women.

I'll just sum it up by saying Mark was not a good person. Funny people tend to get away with things us other folks can't. However, even when you're making people laugh, there's a line and unfortunately for Mark, he crossed it. One time, too many. I know I'm not the only person to suffer from the financial collapse of 2008. It was far from a 1929 crash, but it did plenty of damage nonetheless. I've been working in the housing finance sector for almost 15 years when it happened. Once it became clear that there were going to be a lot of changes in the regulations, I was one of the first in my company to be let go. I don't blame the bosses. In a time so beset with uncertainty, your corporation's finances

should be a primary consideration. I figured finding a job wouldn't take long. Week after week I sent out resumes and contacted friends in the industry. I kept getting the same answer. Sorry, we can't take on new people until we know where things are headed. It wasn't the reply I was hoping for, but I understood. After a few months passed, I realized I was going to have to find a new line of work. I took a chance and called an old boss I'd had in college. Just after high school and all an old boss I'd had in college. Just after high school and all through college I'd supported myself in the building trades. It had been a long time and I wasn't even sure if he'd remember me.

He told me if I ever needed a job he'd hire me back. The gamble paid off. He did remember me and promised to keep me on as long as I needed the work. It came just in time too. Although my wife and I were still renting, I knew she had her heart set on buying her own place. Oh yeah, we also had a child on the way. So, I guess you can see the urgency. It took a few weeks to get the hang of things again. The industry had evolved greatly in the time I'd been away, but I eventually caught up. Things were going well until the morning myself and another guy were sent to repair the siding of a huge three-story house in the historical district. A massive renovation

was underway, and the painters couldn't start working on the outside until we finished our part. The scaffolding was already up when we arrived. I could tell from my first step the thing was thrown together fast. I gave it a quick shake and nothing fell off so I gave it a pass. I'd been on some rickety setups before and this was solid by comparison. There was no time to be timid. We were on the clock and it had to be done yesterday. I ignored my concerns and we got to work. We started at the very top and had been there about 20 minutes when everything went to chaos. First came a high-pitched

ping followed by two quick snaps. As I looked to my left, I watched my co-worker drop the roughly 40 feet to earth. As he fell, planks of wood and poles fell upon him. It all seemed to go in slow motion from then on, and I knew that I was next. For some stupid reason I reached out and tried to grab the siding before me, and I watched long scratches appear on the cedar as the scaffolding dropped below. I tensed up and prepared for my landing. When it did finally come, I believed that I had lost consciousness for a few seconds. I felt like I'd been hit by a truck, and I can only imagine the other guy felt even worse. The whole rig, including myself,

ended up crashing down upon him. We'd been taken away in separate ambulances and understandably, I was focused on my own condition. My back turned out to be the worst of my injuries. I'll be brief and just say it had been broken in several places, very badly. If you think I got off the worse, you'd be dead wrong. My co-worker had major internal injuries to go along with his broken bones. While both of us would spend another week in the hospital, I'm of the opinion he will suffer the most in the long term. Our boss had been there along with our families the whole time. He'd made it crystal clear that everything would be handled by him. It was a relief to hear, but the least he could do.

The oddest part to that week was the near panic he was in. This was a man who'd seen it all. He'd fought in Vietnam, neck deep in some of the heaviest fighting. Nothing would ever shake him. Once he watched a guy shoot himself in the hand with a pneumatic nail gun and didn't even blink. Almost every time I saw him that week he came across more shaken than even my wife. And believe me, my wife was a blubbering mess. I assumed he was overly upset because he'd known me for so long. Only later did the whole truth come out.

I just happened to be speaking with my injured co-worker and he revealed a very important detail. The topic of suing our boss came up. I had no reason to file suit against the man. He'd been a good friend and a boss for many years, not to mention he'd taken care of anything we'd needed. My co-worker brought up something I've never even considered. Who had set up the scaffold? I was the one who decided to climb the junkie thing after all. I wasn't looking to blame anyone, and it turned out that he had spoken to one of the men responsible just days prior. The guy had said that scaffolding had been missing several bolts.

When he offered to go back to the warehouse and get some to replace them, our boss blew him off. In fact, he looked at the thing and said, it's fine, we don't have the time to worry about a few screws, I've seen worse before. Everything, the way he'd been acting, his instance in paying for everything before it had even been mentioned, it all made so much more sense. It had been four years since the accident and I was getting disability checks from the government. While not a lot of money, our family was able to get by. Had I known he'd been so negligent back then, both of us could have sued him into bankruptcy. And that was exactly why he was so panicked. He knew he'd screwed up, and big time. The revelation hurt me more than angered me. Some friend. He knew I would be on that scaffold.

Just to save a little time and make a little more money, he neglected his worker's safety. In light of this information, I cut ties with the man. My life has been changed, definitely for the worse because of his carelessness. Just thinking of him in this moment makes me sick to my stomach. While I wouldn't call it an opportunity, I did find a place online where I can complete my education and get my accounting degree. Darn near 30 years ago, I'd been a hair away from getting it, but I took the home financing job. The money was too good to turn down. And when you're young, we don't tend to think about things in the long term. Unable to take in work from home and the extra income has been a blessing. This past year, I was finally able to make my wife's dream come true and buy her first home.

My only regret is that I'm too busted up to carry across the threshold. All of this happened because of the negligence of one man. A man I once called a friend. This was 2015, a much simpler and happier time. No one foresaw the god awful mess ahead of us. I'd been working for myself five years and my company was just beginning to make a real profit. My first son was on the way and we were just months away from closing on our house. Life was the best it had ever been. That morning a call came in for some repair work on a section of plumbing in a basement. The details were a tad sketchy but the client was a retired widow.

I wasn't even expecting her to know the intricacies of her home's plumbing. After my apprentice and I finished our first job that morning, we had enough time before lunch to see what the exact problem was. The homeowner led us down the stairs and pointed out a big puddle on the floor. We poked around for a minute and found the source of the trouble. It was a doozy. Not only was there a leaking sink next to the washer dryer which in itself is no major problem. The water had nowhere to go because the drain in the floor had a blockage. The two of us took an early lunch and returned to the home afterwards.

I decided to tackle the drain problem first. It would require a lot of work. However, before we did any of this, we'd have to move the buttload of boxes filling the basement. Normally, I would have told the client to move their own stuff, but there was no way this old frail woman was going to be able to move all that stuff herself. According to her, her husband had been a major collector of World War I and World War II era military items. After his death, much of the collection had been sold. The remainder had been boxed up and moved down there by her daughter. A few hours of walking up and down the stairs followed until we got to the last dozen boxes.

All that remained was a small stack against the wall. I could see the end in sight and began moving them as fast as I was able. Only two remained and I could finally start the real work. My apprentice grabbed the top box so I took the last for myself. Without a second thought I snatched it up and began to head for the stairs. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed some movement. When I looked back, I got the shock of my life. A small snake was coiled up in the basement floor ready to strike. A horrifying realization set in. With a heavy heart, I slowly looked down to my arm, and just above my left wrist, saw two tiny spots of blood. I knew what it meant,

but I was too scared to move. When my apprentice returned, he asked what was wrong. I didn't answer. I was doing everything I could not to feel the bite. It unfortunately wasn't working. He looked down and noticed a snake. Oh man, that's a Timber Rattler. Without another word, he ran upstairs to return 20 seconds later. He had a machete which I can only guess came from one of the boxes and I watched with disbelief as he jumped to one side and brought the blade down behind the snake's head. And with the threat out of the way, he contently looked back at me and said, There we go, now he can't bite anyone. I calmly looked at him and told him he was too late.

The smug look slowly melted and he led me up the stairs to the truck. I was still in so much shock I followed him obediently like a well-trained dog. During the course of the drive he kept telling me to be calm, but I think he was more terrified than I was. like a well-trained dog. During the course of the drive, he kept telling me to be calm, but I think he was more terrified than I was. We were fortunate enough to know the species of the snake, and this allowed the hospital to be able to start the anti-venom process right away. By now, my arm was swelling and the pain was considerable. You can probably guess I survived the bite. However, in some ways, I wish I hadn't. After several days and just as many shots, I received a bill of $115,000.

Even after the insurance paid their part, I was neck deep in debt. When I was able to return to work, every cent we made went to the hospital. As a result, the company and our family's financial state have been teetering on the edge of bankruptcy ever since. I'm only thankful we managed to get out of the deal with the house. We would have been in foreclosure before the year was out. The company has been downsized to just the three of us. My wife handles the calls and appointments while myself and Chris, my loyal apprentice, do all we can to keep the ship afloat.

Being deemed a necessary business, we've been allowed to continue working while so many have not. I feel terrible for those who haven't. At least half of them will never return once this mess has all ended. If it ever ends, really. Even after all our hard work, we may join them in their fate. If you're religious, put in a good word for us. You may see it as a paltry act in view of how serious our situation is, but as I have discovered, the smallest of acts in the overall flow of things can make the biggest difference. I've heard some crazy things during my time in the trade.

The following is a recounting of the most terrible and heartbreaking thing I'd ever encountered with my own eyes. This took place in 2017. I'd only been apprenticing as a carpenter for a few years. Our company had just won a big contract from the city. The job was to demolish a small neighborhood of abandoned homes, some going back to the 30s, and rebuild a low-income housing project in its place. My job didn't begin until all the demolition was completed and the area cleared. With nothing better to do, I drove out to the site to watch the leveling and prepping of the ground. For most of the day, my boss and I hung around and BS with the guys doing

the work. I'd become good friends with several of the dudes working with me. A group of us would go out on Saturday nights to drink and have a good time. Moses, a Latino fellow about my age, turned out to have grown up not two blocks from me. For some reason, we'd never met before I got on at the company. The two of us would share stories of our childhood in the old neighborhood and we soon became good friends. Just a few weeks prior to this incident, he and his girl had asked me to move into their apartment. Their prior roommates had lost their job and had to move back home. I agreed and was in the process of packing up when this happened.

Anyway, my boss and I returned after lunch. We were in the on-site office talking to the big boss. He was going over some plans with us when a loud crash came from outside and a bunch of yelling started. I looked out the window and saw several of the guys running towards something. Of course, I was curious. The three of us walked over to join the others. We were still unsure of what was going on until we got about ten yards away. Slowly, the edges of a giant hole grew larger with every step. Not until I had reached the very precipice did I realize the full horror of what was unfolding. This huge hole was now much more. I'd heard of sinkholes, but never fully understood what they were. That was until now.

The very size of the thing had me in awe. An easy 30 yards across and at least 20 feet deep, the monstrosity had swallowed a full-sized bulldozer and its driver with plenty of room to spare. And about that driver, I was afraid to ask who it was. They were nowhere to be seen and surely hadn't survived. Almost as if the others could read my mind, Moses' name began to fill the air around me. Even before the emergency services arrived, we were yelling down into the dark chasm hoping for some sign of life, no matter how small it may be. Our efforts were met by nothing but silence

and the occasional crumbling sound of further collapse. There was nothing left for us to do but wait while rescue did their jobs. I'm not ashamed to say I had my fingers crossed. Up to the moment his body was lifted from the hole, I held a shred of hope. There was no way to avoid the truth now. My best friend, and a very great man, was gone. The detectives allowed me to be the only one to notify Veronica of his death. When I arrived at the apartment alone, she broke down immediately. My face surely betrayed my feelings to the entire world. Despite all my attempts at being stoic, seeing her tears burst the dam. We held each other and cried for several minutes until she eventually summoned the courage to hear my story. The repair of the sinkhole began the day after the funeral and

took well over a week to complete. Returning to the site was difficult and I could tell I wasn't the only one having a hard go of it. Time passed and with it, work became easier. When the guys did begin talking again, most of what was said was about Moses. You really don't know how loved a person is until they die. At least that's how I saw it. A day didn't pass where one of us didn't have a great story to recall to the others. It helped ease the sadness. I realized then just how lucky I was to call him a friend. In tragedy, something beautiful sometimes comes of it. What none of us knew at the time, including Veronica herself, was that she was pregnant. At first, all we could think of was how terrible it was that Moses wouldn't be around to see his child born.

However, as I thought more about it, I realized this was truly a miracle. Had he passed a week sooner, his bloodline would have died with him. When the day arrived, I was lucky enough to be the first notified of the birth of little Moses Ramirez Jr. My greatest hope now is to live long enough to see him grow into adulthood. If he becomes half the man his father was, the world would be better for having him. He has some pretty big shoes to fill and something tells me he'll do just fine. Thank you for sharing my story and remember to hold your loved ones close. Life is far too short. To be continued... I probably don't have to tell you that kids aren't always the kindest of people. When you're growing up, you are learning wrong and right in real time.

Kids often do and say things grown-ups would scoff at. Some things you could call cruel. And none of us reached adulthood without being guilty of these misdemeanors either. Not even me. Some may reach the end of the story and find me guilty of being one of the worst, and I'm willing to suffer that fate. I may even agree with you. After all, when I was 12, I helped kill a man. Once I reached the age of 14, I passed in the world of latchkey kid, a phenomenon I'm not even sure exists anymore. However, for a few years prior to that, I was forced to spend my time out of school at a local large-scale daycare center. I know my folks had no other choice at the time, but the experience was bristling, especially in the summers. I had been free to run unattended since

birth. I still don't look back favorably on that time, and my feelings about being stuck in daycare is another story for another time. You're here to hear about my crime. Well, during the summers, the daycare had to find a way to keep hundreds of kids, some almost as old as 16, busy. Since the center happened to be located near the downtown area, they used this to their advantage. Several attractions were within walking distance. The most often visited and my favorite was the city library. At least once a month we'd be grouped together and marched the quarter of a mile or so to the place. On the walk there, the group would pass places like the old post office and several large churches. One of these churches had a spire that was easily 50 to 75 feet in the air.

I'm not sure the exact height, but to the child's eyes, it might as well have been a thousand feet. Suffice to say, you wouldn't want to fall from the top of it. One particular day, our group was marching to the library and had stopped across from the church. Someone had noticed a man working at the very top of the spire. I couldn't tell you what he was doing, but to us, he was a prime target for our harassment. I have no idea who said it first, but once the initial call for fall down, fall down was heard, most of the other boys joined in. It's not a thing I say with any pride, but it's what happened. The ghoulish chant went on for another few seconds until our monitor told us to shut up.

Unfortunately, her demands came too late. No more had the yells ceased than a snapping was heard. The snapping was quickly followed by the horrible sight of the following man. Everyone had seen it happen. Fortunately, his body landed on the opposite side of the building and our young eyes were prevented from seeing his ultimate demise. As you can guess, the incident caused quite a stir. Several of the girls began screaming, crying. I was in total shock for my part. The lady did all she could do and rushed us back to the daycare. I don't recall much discussion upon our return. The girls were comforted and

us boys. We may have mumbled a bit about it to our friends, but no one seemed to want to relive it. These days, I'm sure droves of psychologists and counselors would have been called in to make us talk about it incessantly. This was the 80s, though. People dealt with trauma in much different ways. Whether you agree or not, that was the way things were. Around the center, the incident was quickly forgotten. Although a kid would bring it up from time to time, most of us, especially those who witness it, just wanted to forget. I still have no idea if my parents were notified about it. The last thing I wanted to do was bring it up to them. I like to act as if terrible things never happened, and it's worked for me so far, and let's hope it continues to.

The poor man who died that day, I have no idea what unfolded afterwards. I assumed that he was some sort of construction worker looking back, seeing that he was sort of on some type of scaffolding at the time and was probably just doing some basic maintenance. The adults shielded us from any severe details beyond that, and I can't say I blame them. I've tried to find as much information in the intervening years, but didn't find much. It's probably for the best. I'm sure his loved ones don't want to remember him by his manner of death. This may be the first time I've actually mentioned

it to anybody who wasn't there that day, and I'm sure you're wondering the same thing I am. Did our yelling actually cause that poor man's death? That question will never be answered. I remember the sound of a snapping rope, but that may be a coving mechanism. It's probably our jeering that caused him to become distracted and led to his horrible fall. A mistake on sight. I like to think that he never even hurt us, and circumstances were what they were. Does that remove that last bit of nagging doubt from my mind? I'll let you figure that last one out for yourself. I'll open up with a small bit of backstory. When I was 15 years old, my dad was transferred to a small city in Florida. It boasted a grand total of 15,000 citizens and I'll bet not a one had ever left the place.

While I have grown to see the beauty of the area, a small place like that for a teenager was like waking up in a bad dream. Even before my first semester of college had begun, I was packing everything I could fit into my car and heading back across the country. It didn't take long for my old man to befriend one of our neighbors. He and Neil had both been ham radio operators when they were younger, and this new friendship had rekindled a love for the hobby in both of them. Until Neil's recent passing, the two spend most of their free time talking to one another across the airwaves. The subject of amateur radio brings us to the point of the story. At some point in the early

90s, Neil was having trouble with his coax. It's the cable that connects the outdoor antenna to your radio. Without it, you're not reaching very far. Other than a very short length outside, most of it was running through the attic down into his office. He crawled inch by inch through the attic until he discovered his problem. It appeared that a small animal had been gnawing on the cable, and Neil was livid. This variety of cable wasn't cheap. In order to prevent any future problems, he meticulously tracked down any small hole or crack in the facade of his house and sealed them up tight. As he hoped, no further problems were had He and my dad continued sharing their interest for the hobby until Neil's death in 2016

Upon his passing, Neil's home had been left to his son He decided to put it up on the market Before he could, a few repairs had to be done He found a couple of companies able to do the work and agreed on a price He set them to the job and waited. Within a few days, he'd received a call from one of these contractors with a shocking story. While undertaking the demolition of the deck, they had discovered a square piece of wood nailed to the house. Their curiosity took over and they pried it from the facade.

The board had been covering an opening to the crawlspace that led under the old house. These are common on older houses without basements. When they flashed their lights under the house, they were horrified to discover the mummified body of a human. Of course, they called the cops right away, and naturally, the authorities had some questions for him. He was just as baffled as they were. The corpse had to have been there for many years, which meant the only person who may have known the truth was dead too. An in-depth investigation was launched and after one more discussion with Neil's son, a final theory was formed. This theory would mean the unfortunate victims suffered a prolonged and

miserable death not many could even imagine in their darkest of nightmares. During a second discussion, one of the detectives asked Neil's son to think back on that time, to recall any strange event no matter how insignificant. Although difficult at first, something was triggered in his mind, a small but important piece of the puzzle. It was mere days after Neil had underwent his exhaustive shoring up of his home. He and his then teenage son had left for a long-awaited skiing trip in Colorado. A week later they returned home to a foul smell seeping in from their screened porch. Neil had attributed it to a

dead squirrel or rat, perhaps trapped there after the shoring up. When he asked what he planned to do about the stench, Neil said nothing. I'm not crawling back under there. It'll fade away eventually and we don't use that rickety old porch anyways. Forget about it. And they did just that. Neither man would ever open the door again and the smell would fade away just as Neil had predicted. This last little fact was all the detectives needed. From what they could tell, the victim had been living in the crawlspace for some time. Once Neil had sealed his exit shut, his unknown tenant was doomed. With no one around to hear his pleas for help, he quickly succumbed to dehydration. A truly horrible way to die for any man.

And perhaps it was better that Neil wasn't around for the ghoulish discovery. The guilt surely would have been overwhelming. Despite the large amount of press surrounding the death, Neil's son was eventually able to sell the house and disappear quickly back into anonymity. To be continued... Any of you given that Bumble app ago? I know it seems massively counterintuitive to download an app which requires the girl to make the first move when they're notoriously not the ones to make the first move. But I can assure you, it's definitely worth it. But at the same time, I think the single worst thing that happened to me in 2020 took place just as a result of a Bumble date. So, it all started when I matched with a Welsh girl named Lima. After a day or two of talking, we agreed to meet at a little cafe for a few coffees. We hit it off talking about

this and that and before you know it, we're chatting like we'd known each other for years. One hour turned to two, two to three, and still neither of us was ready to call time on the date. Neither of us drank alcohol that evening, her for religious reasons, me because I'm something of a fitness freak. But while she was drinking mocktails, I was on the coffee and I was on it big time. There came a point where I needed to wheeze so badly that I was practically doing the entire river dance routine waiting for the one person toilet to become available. This happens every half an hour without fail almost all night. I have to interrupt her, apologize and leg it off to the little bathroom to relieve myself.

I felt like an absolute idiot having to nip off to the lav so often, but every time I emerged, she'd look up and smile, waving away my apologies with some light mockery of how I have the bladder of a four-year-old. But one time, I emerged from the toilets to see that she's no longer sitting alone, and that someone is sitting in my seat. At first, I thought she'd just bumped into a guy she knew. She certainly looked quite comfortable talking to him, but it turned out to be the complete opposite. I walked up behind him, playfully put my hands on his shoulders and say, I think he might be in my seat there, mate. It wasn't confrontational or aggressive, just pure banter. I expected the guy to jump up,

maybe warmly apologize, maybe give a little introduction, something like that. But he didn't. He looked back at me with this look on his face that said, get your effing hands off of me. And as he's staring up at me, Lima shoots me this look as if to say, help. Only then am I like, wait, do you two know each other? Turns out this bloke had been sitting alone enjoying some food and wine and had been making eyes at Lima every so often. Then, when I'd gone off for a wee, he'd taken his opportunity, sat in my seat, and began to, as Lima put it, flirt so outrageously forward that I thought I was going to puke up my nojito. Now, I actually had to ask this guy to leave us alone before he got up and finally gave me my chair back, but not before he tried to stare

me out. I had a few inches on him, that's in height, you oversized children, and I could tell he didn't put half the gym time in that I did, so it's not like I was in the least bit intimidated. It just seemed like he was trying really, really hard to be some comic book idea of what women want and it was honestly a little bit pathetic. He looked completely and utterly harmless, like a chocolate pistol. He looked like he'd melt at the first sign of trouble. But as I found out later that night, looks can be dangerously deceiving. So, after the little confrontation at the table, Lima and I laugh it off and carry on with our night. Now Lima can see over my shoulder and therefore also see the creepy guy, but all I can

see in front of me is her and one of the cafe's walls, so I have to rely on her to let me know if the guy is still there. I honestly expected him to just leave after such a confrontation. Everyone in the cafe was watching, it was pretty mortifying, but he didn't. He stayed put and continued to make eyes at Lima which, to her credit, she just ignored. But then when it came to me walking her home, he gets up and pays his bill too. Then yep, you guessed it. I look over my shoulder and as we're passing through Chinatown and guess who I see? Tiny Mr. Stareout, still keeping up the intimidation game by staring out from under his brow,

obviously too drunk to realize he looked far more comical than scary. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't exactly scared at that point, but we were being followed. It made for something of a tense situation, but nothing I thought I couldn't handle. As we approached her apartment block, I asked Lina if she was comfortable going inside while the guy could see where she lived. She admitted to being uncomfortable about it, but the block had like 50-60 flats in it and unless he got in the door behind her, there was little chance of him working out which unit she lived in. But as it turned out, Lina was way more concerned about me and actually invited me inside for

a nightcap. I didn't assume that I was getting lucky, but I wasn't about to turn her down. So I went inside for a cup of this weird ginger tea in the comfort that our little stalker friend would soon get bored and wander off. I was in her flat for no less than an hour and by that time, each of us was confident that our new friend had departed. We even checked out of her bathroom window which looked down into the street and he was nowhere to be seen. So I thanked her for a good night, we had a little smooch and I started

my walk home with that lighter than air feeling you get after a successful date. It's around that time that I started thinking something along the lines of, God, imagine if that loser was somehow still following me, which prompts me to look over my shoulder. Lo and behold, there's a single figure following me, maybe 50 or 60 meters behind, with a remarkably similar silhouette to the lad who tried following us. I have to admit to being in a state of disbelief for a moment as I stopped and studied the figure as they approached. Then, after passing under a streetlight, I got a clear look at the person. It was him. You gotta be screwing with me, mate. I said out loud and immediately they stopped. I knew it was him, so him playing at being a statue didn't make a

blind bit of difference. I just told him to keep his distance and there'd be no problems, then just carried on with the 20 minute walk back to my place. Every so often I'm checking over my shoulder and this lad is still behind me. Granted he's some way away, but he's definitely following me and the closer we get to my apartment, the more it becomes obvious that he's making a considerable effort to close the distance. Now, unlike Lima, the apartment I lived in was just one of two in this big old Edwardian. I have the top floors while the other tenant had the ground floor in the basement, complete with his entrance. So, if this lad sees what door I go into, he's got my flat. He doesn't have to guess which one of the 60 I'm in. He knows where I live. Obviously, I'm not in the least bit comfortable

with that so I decide on a little show of force to deter my new follower. I turn around and just march right at him. Then when I'm within about spitting distance, I gave him what for about being a creep and a loser, promising I'll kick his head in if he carries on following me. It seemed to have the desired effect as he started walking off in the complete opposite direction. It was really strange, but I carry on walking, checking over my shoulder one more time and he's gone. Problem solved, right? Well, not quite. About a minute or two goes by and I reach the entrance to a fairly small park. My flat is literally just on the other side of it, so I'm in this blissful ignorance of thinking that not only had I scared the creepy guy off, but that I was so close to home that nothing could possibly hurt me now.

I mean, I was on home base, right in my big old backyard. Besides, I'd had a great night. I had drinks with this gorgeous anesthesiologist, definitely securing myself a second date in the process, and I had myself a little tough guy moment with that absolute bam. Everything flashed bright for a second and I felt my knees just buckling under me, almost as if though my brain had switched off power to them. I honestly don't know if I was knocked out for a second or two but I do know that the next thing I can feel is this sharp hot pain in the back left side of my head. I knew that I'd been hit by something, I just didn't know what or by who. I was so dazed that it didn't even occur to me that it could have been him. I honestly thought

I was just being mugged or something, in which case it wouldn't have been my first rodeo. I'd been mugged at knife point in London back when I was a student and I needed to just keep my mouth shut, hand over the valuables and get away with nothing but damaged pride and a lump on my head. So the only thing I'd do before trying to find my feet is to toss up my wallet and phone onto the concrete and just be like, just take it and f off. I heard someone wheeze a laugh, probably at how pathetic I looked, but when they spoke, I knew exactly who it was. I thought you were going to kick my head in. Now look at you. Whack. They kicked me so hard in the side of the head that

I thought my orbital socket might be broken, and in between worrying that I'd end up losing my eye if they kicked me again, it dawned on me the little toe rag who'd been following me had somehow found a way to cut me off and ambush me. And it became quite obvious that I was in much, much more trouble than I'd first anticipated. The phone and wallet weren't going to cut it. I needed to get on my feet, and fast. It didn't matter that I was taller and stronger, maybe even faster than this guy. He had the upper hand, and let me tell you, that was not a nice feeling. The force of the kick set me off balance, but I tried to use the momentum to find my feet. If I was drunk, I'd have been utterly screwed, but since I was

sober, I did actually manage to get both feet on the ground before trying to bring myself upright. But nope, another kick hits me right in the corner of the mouth, and I was sent flying backwards again. This time, not only is my mouth filling up with blood, but I can feel the teeth on the left-hand side of my mouth grinding together where the kick had chipped a few of them. It sent my skin crawling as I spat the blood out. I put my hand out and felt something cold and metallic, a fence on which I was once again trying to pull myself up. But again, right as I was about to find my feet, the guy attacked. Only this time, he didn't strike me. He wrapped one arm around my neck and held something cold and sharp over my right eye.

I'm not sure if it was a knife or a piece of glass or whatever, but I think that was the single most terrifying moment of my life, thinking, well, I'm going to be blind now, and hoping I'll be able to buck him off before he goes for my throat or something. Only he didn't cut me, instead he hissed something right into my ear. Let's just say brevity wasn't his strong suit, and I'd rather not type out the actual exchange, but it was as gloating, vicious, and vile as you can imagine, with plenty of references to the date I'd been on that evening. I didn't beg. I didn't cry. I just waited for whatever was going to happen. But thank God he must have seen sense or something.

He made some comment about me only being alive the next day because he'd let me live. After that, he gave me one more good punch to the side of the face, then all I heard was the sound of trainers hitting concrete as he legged it. I spent the next few minutes spitting out blood as I tried to find my phone. I think he'd either stamped on it or I'd maybe tossed it with a little too much force because the screen was smashed into bits. But again, a little bit of divine intervention meant it worked just enough for me to hammer out a 999 call, after which I dragged myself to the park's gates and sat there waiting for the ambulance to turn up. Aside from a bit of

concussion, a lot of swelling, and some chipped teeth, I was pretty much alright. There was no skull fracture, no broken orbital socket, nothing like that. Although I'd been lucky to say the least. The doctor said the first wound on the back of my head looked like it had come from a brick or a large rock and if he'd hit me any harder with it in that particular spot, there's a good chance he'd have just killed me with his first strike. That was the really scary bit, thinking that all the kicks and punches and threats that came after were like a weird blessing. I was still alive when in some timelines I would be checking in for the big sleep. I was angry about it for a long, long time and I'd be a liar if I said I didn't let that attack change my behavior for the worse

for a while. Seeing the guy getting six years for assault and grievous bodily harm really helped things but still that wasn't enough for me on some level and it took me a while to acquiesce. Mia and Lima carried on dating for a few months which was lovely but she had to move away for work so obviously we had to call time on it. And the four trips to the dentist were terrible as they basically had to file and cap my teeth one at a time and that was definitely the worst part. How five minutes turned into an ordeal that lasted months of court dates and dental appointments. That's my one big takeaway from the whole thing really. How one little misunderstanding can have terrifyingly far-reaching consequences. To be continued... on that dating app, Bumble. I'd previously tried my hand at Tinder and plenty of fish, but I found

that anyone I'd reached out to or matched with was less than reluctant to take our conversations offline. That's when I heard about Bumble. Now, for those of you that don't know, Bumble is the dating app where women make the first move. I'm guessing that makes them feel more comfortable and in control of any particular correspondence, so I figured it'd increase the chances of finding someone that actually liked me enough to want to talk. At first it proved to be no different than any other dating app, and I hate to break it, to any guys thinking of trying it, but it's more than often the same old story of

match, and don't talk. However, like most things, persistence is key, and in the end, I ended up matching with a girl who seemed genuinely interested in me. I don't really want to use her real name, so we'll just call her Danielle for the sake of ease. And given the embarrassing nature of the story, I won't be telling you much about me either. Danielle was really, really nice at first. We definitely weren't into the same sorts of things, but that was fine. She had this infectious passion for things she was into, and that made me want to learn more.

And one of the things that she was into in a big way was Japanese anime. I don't think I'd watched a cartoon since South Park first came out, and I know it makes me sound a bit dull, but subtitled films just aren't my thing. But the thing that I did find compelling was some of the artwork. Like I remember she was into a series called, and please forgive me if I get it wrong, Attack on Titan. From what I could gather it was basically just a war between giants and regular humans, but the scale at which some of the art is drawn, it really makes for some compelling viewing. So, me and Danielle went on a couple of dates and after the fourth time we'd met up for food, she asked me if I wanted to go back to her place. Of course, I said yes and

within an hour or so, we were making out on our couch with some Netflix documentary providing a little background noise. Things got gradually steamier and steamier until suddenly, she jumped up off the couch, excused herself, and then disappeared into her bedroom. I thought she might be going to get a rubber or something or, I don't know, change into something a bit comfier. But instead, she reappeared with her laptop under her arm, telling me she wanted to show me something. I had my suspicions about what it was, as she'd hinted at a certain lewd interest of hers, her choice of words, not me. But when she actually showed me, wow, it was something else. They were all pictures drawn in that same anime art style, but they were all of girls in states of semi-undress. Unusual,

yeah, but I'm not going to lie to you and say it wasn't unappealing. I mean, it was quite the opposite. It was magnetic. Some of the girls had a certain feline aesthetic to them, which both myself and Danielle found very attractive. She added that it was the exact aesthetic she wanted to replicate, it was just a case of finding the right guy to try it with. I think I must have blushed so hard that I closely resembled a tomato, because obviously the implication here was that this guy she wanted to try things with, that guy was me. I'd only ever had very vanilla relationships before then, so the prospect of trying something new was beyond exciting for me.

Anyway, we continued to cuddle for a bit, and then when we were sufficiently pooped, she invited me to sleep in her bed with her. For sleeps, nothing more and I was okay with that. But then at the risk of sounding a bit weird, we didn't exactly finish our little make-out session if you catch my drift. So I was left with a rather distinct urge, the kind that if it went unanswered would end up causing a distinctly blue kind of discomfort. And for those who have empathy and not just sympathy, I'm sure you know just how painful it can be. The last thing I wanted to do was wake Danielle up by doing that next to her sleeping body. So I quietly got up, went into her TV room and opened up her laptop. I knew her password was just mince, the name of the gerbil she'd recently lost,

so I plugged that in, then found the folder with all the lewd pictures she showed me. It turned out the collection she'd showcased just hours before had been but the tip of the iceberg. Danielle must have saved literally thousands of those pictures and had sorted them into a variety of sub-genres, shall we call them. Some of them were definitely up my street, others not so much, and in the end, I found myself perusing the different kinds of material instead of focusing on the task at hand. It's then that I noticed that that particular folder seemed hidden within another. All of the folders tended to be called things that sounded a lot like

Japanese words, which I'm guessing were either code or direct names for whatever they contained. But one was labeled with nothing but a few punctuation marks, and unlike the others, where a few preview images gave you an idea of what the folder contained, this one had nothing of the sort. At first, I was a little bit reluctant to click on it. If it turned out to be pictures of Danielle in a state of undress, I'd be mortified. Seeing something like that would feel like peeking behind the curtain when it wasn't the right time. Like I was pent up, but not that pent up. Yet still, my curiosity got the better of me. I decided I'd double click, take a peek, and if it was anything

remotely human looking, I'd just close the folder and move on. I was way more nervous than I should have been, but in the end, I double clicked and take a peek from out of the corner of my eye. What I see still doesn't contain any actual real human beings, to my infinite relief, but instead, I saw things that gave me a whole new reason to wish I hadn't opened that mystery folder up. To my initial relief, all I saw was more animated stuff, but on closer inspection, this stuff was much, much different than the other things I'd seen. The first thing was a gif in which a girl is going down on the guy. Pretty hot stuff so I settled in to enjoy it if you catch my meaning. Only the moment I get comfortable, the guy in the animation pulls out a gun of all things and puts it to the girl's forehead.

I had no idea she was into this weird non-consensual stuff for being scared while being intimate, so it was honestly really shocking. But then it got so much worse. I actually gasped when the guy pulled the trigger, and the amount of cartoon gore that came out of the exit wound was absolutely horrific. Then, instead of ending the horrid little affair, the guy carries it on. He keeps, and god I don't even know if this is the right word, but using her. All I could do was watch in absolute horror as both he and the gif finished and the whole thing began to loop again. I rushed to close it before I could, but then I just leaned back into the couch, kind of shaken at what I'd just seen. I've never been the squeamish type, so that wasn't really the issue, and neither am I some

kind of prude, but can you blame me for reacting that way? I'd never seen anything so horrendously violent in my entire life, but at the same time, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. It was literally mind-blowing that someone out there had put the time and effort into creating something so utterly repulsive. It was like walking past a car accident at the side of the road, and you know you shouldn't look, and you almost don't want to, but at the same time you can't help yourself. The next thing I clicked on was a still image, but somehow, it was even worse than the first thing I'd seen. It was like a before and after picture and included the girl in some kind of restraining

device similar to medieval stocks, only instead of being held in that bent over way you'd imagine, the girl was being held in a way that her head and her hindquarters were protruding from the same side of the device. In the first picture, the girl was almost expressionless, no damage on her. The second picture, however, totally different. The girl is most definitely deceased, she's missing appendages, and most of the things that should be inside her are very much on display through various gashes and slashes. Again, the detail was absolutely painstaking. Someone must have put hours upon hours of work into such a thing, staring continuously at something that was literally nightmare-inducing.

And there were thousands of those things, some including things like giant insects or cannibalism, all tucked away in some nameless folder. Presumably it was difficult to find things online and that's why she had to save them to her hard drive, but there was definitely a moment when I figured she might be actually making them herself. So by that point I'm thoroughly creeped out. I kind of want to confront Danielle on what I've seen, but at the same time, I know I'm being a bit judgmental. She had warned me that she was into some less than conventional things, and I'd found the idea of that to be attractive. But that weird? Like ultra-violent level of weird? I don't know if I could handle that. I came to the conclusion that

I'd bring it up to her at some point, make it clear that her more violent tastes weren't something I shared. Then we could just sort of go on like I hadn't seen it. I mean, I used to play a lot of GTA Vice City back in the day. I loved it too, but it didn't mean that I went on to be a mass murderer cocaine dealer, did it? Besides, the last thing I wanted to come across as was some handbag clutching prude. And there was more to it than just artwork, because before I closed the folders in Shutter Laptop, I scrolled right to the bottom of the folder to take in just how much content

was there. And that's when I saw another folder with a similarly gibberish label. Inside was what I initially thought was more animation. Each file was a video and since I could only see red lights in a dark backdrop, I figured it'd be another disturbingly artistic depiction of an execution, or at least something to that effect. But as I opened up the video, I instantly realized that it wasn't any kind of animation. It was an execution, that much I'd guess correctly. But it was real.

In fact, every single video in there depicted a murder or accidental death, the former being the heavy majority. Accompanying the video was a text file, one seemed to feature a commentary on each of the videos. I couldn't tell if Danielle was the author of it or not, but even then, it made for some extremely disturbing reading. One tract of the text explained how the author actually envied one of the video's victims, adding how the look of post-mortem tranquility in their eyes was something they wanted to experience themselves. I don't even want to begin to unpack how wrong and disturbing of an idea that is, not right now anyway. But what was even creepier were the strong sensual overtones that seemed to

drip from this person's writing. They were getting off on what they were seeing, it was as simple as that. They weren't just getting off on the idea of dying either. They were getting off on the idea of being the one doing the killing too. I had to remind myself that finding this kind of material on anyone's computer would make for a horrendous discovery. But finding it in the same space as more suggestive material, God, that made it extra terrifying in my mind. I gathered up my things, got dressed, and went home. There I deleted all of Danielle's contact details, blocked her various accounts, then just chalked the whole thing up as a loss. I have to admit to getting a little bit attached to her over the five or six weeks we were dating

and it really felt grim that I was severing all ties with her. But what else could I do? Start a relationship with someone who secretly harbored violent erotic fantasies. Go on to get married and have some kids with someone who was quite evidently excited by some of the most horrifying images I'm ever likely to see. I understand if someone isn't strictly neurotypical as they say on Twitter these days, but I'm ever likely to see. I understand if someone isn't strictly neurotypical as they say on Twitter these days, but I'm certainly not about to start a life with them, or create life with them either. Not when they have a very distinct interest in snuffing it out. Back Back in the spring of 2018, I was living in a cramped Brooklyn apartment with my best friend in the entire world. We'd each moved to New York City around the same time, two country girls

feeling way out of our depth in the big city, and struck up an instant connection once we'd heard each other's accents in a coffee shop. She'd grown up in Kentucky while I was literally just over the state line in West Virginia, and we'd each had a very similar rural upbringing. On top of that, we had a similar sense of humor, similar tastes, and we just clicked. Yet there was one major difference between us. Kayla had been sad to leave her little town behind. She'd been sad to leave her family, sad to leave her friends. The Big Apple was calling her alright, but she still pined for home. But for me, I didn't miss home one bit, and my family is about as messed up as they come.

But it's not really their fault, I guess they're responsible for their actions and all, but we suffered a family tragedy when I was a kid and it really took its toll. Either way, meeting her was an absolute blessing. But as much as we enjoyed each other's company, we started pining for some more masculine company, if you catch my drift. And since talking to strangers in NYC is the fastest way to end up bound and gagged in someone's basement, we decided to try dating apps on for size. Honestly, I found Tinder and Hinge to be a little overwhelming, but my roommate had much more luck with an app called Bumble. Basically, the premise is that the girls talk first, giving them much more control over their interactions with the guys

they match with. So, it was little surprise that she'd landed a very promising looking guy before I did. He was handsome, well-read, and he was also from the south, but he'd said he'd moved around an awful lot during his childhood, so he didn't consider himself from any one particular place. All in all, he sounded like a nice guy, and after a few dates, my roommate brought him back to our apartment on a night that I happened to be awake. I was excited to meet him, but even more excited for my roommate to start spending nights at his place too since I got the whole apartment myself. And in New York City, solitude is a luxury that very few get to enjoy. Anyway,

so it's Friday night, I'm sitting on the couch watching Netflix and demolishing some Pepperidge Farm when I hear my roommate's key in the door. In she walks with her date in tow, we make some introductions and a casual but friendly conversation begins. Only the more we talk, the more I realize there's something oddly familiar about my roommate's bumble date. And unfortunately, this is where my story needs to take a little tangent. See, my 10-year-old brother was murdered, and his killer was someone our whole family knew. I was just 6 years old when mom and dad took me over to stay with my grandpa.

They told me it would just be one night. And three days later, they finally showed up again to tell told me it would just be one night, and three days later, they finally showed up again to tell me that Ryan wouldn't be coming home, and that he'd have gone to live in heaven with grandma. I'd already suffered through the loss of my grandmother, but at that age, I think death was still a very abstract concept to me. I didn't grasp the permanence of it, or even what it really meant. It sucked that I couldn't see Gam Gam anymore but at the same time, it just felt like she and Ryan were in the next room over. Not gone, just not visible. I was sad about it, don't get me wrong, but I don't think it really

affected me until much later on when I actually learned about the circumstances surrounding Ryan's death. I don't remember exactly when I learned about it, but I know it made me really angry and sad to think that the reason I couldn't see Ryan anymore was because someone had hurt him. It made it even worse that the person that had hurt him was supposed to be one of his friends. The little tidbit was like the salt in the wound, like I knew the kid. I'd seen him and my brother hanging out on a number of different occasions. So when somebody mentioned that it was Troy Arnold that had killed Ryan, I became fixated on him, wondering how such a gangly mess of stick-thin limbs and scruffy dark

hair could be capable of causing my family such pain. I remember his eyes, too, how they were so dark brown that they looked more inky black than anything else. And it was those eyes that featured heavily in the nightmares for a long time. But not until I actually found out how and why he'd killed my brother. According to Troy's confession, he and Ryan had been out playing by some train tracks one afternoon. Troy had found an old railroad fish plate, obviously tossed on the side of the tracks by some careless engineer. The thing must have weighed about 22 pounds, but all Troy said was that it felt really heavy in his hand. He and Ryan then walked down the train tracks a little

ways until Ryan stopped to tie his laces. Troy said he just stared at the top of Ryan's head for a second and started to wonder what it would sound like if he hit him with the fish plate. So, he hit him, and Ryan started shaking something awful. Troy knew he'd be in trouble for what he'd done, so he decided to try and hide it. He bashed Ryan's head with the iron fish plate until he stopped moving. Now look, I've had time to think it over, and I do actually understand why he did the first part. Kids are dumb, cruel, and thoughtless, so it makes sense he'd take the coward's route in that respect. But what I don't understand is what he did next.

When confronted by the cops, Troy said that all the other wounds on Ryan's body were the result of him being dragged to the shallow grave that he'd dug for him. Ryan was dragged for no more than a hundred yards, but somehow, during the course of that short journey, his dead body sustained some of the following damage. It appeared an attempt had been made to cut Ryan's tongue out. Both of his eyes were missing from their sockets. Fingers were missing as they'd been ripped off at the joint. More than one piece of debris had been inserted into Ryan's rectal cavity.

There was catastrophic damage done to his private areas as if they'd been repeatedly smashed in an attempt to pulverize them. And some of that info didn't trickle down to me in a clinical fashion. No, all I heard were rumors, some of which weren't all that far off from the truth. In the end, Troy Arnold was sent away to juvie in some other state and since he was so young when he killed my brother, the federal government gave him a brand new identity at age 18 so he could go out into the world as quite literally a different person. The nightmares continued for years after and the more I knew regarding Ryan's death, the more intense they got.

It got to the point where I kept dreaming that Troy Arnold would come for me too. He'd gotten one sibling, now it was time to get the other. Since the only thing I really remembered about Troy was how black his eyes were and how scruffy his hair was, those became the central features of this monster my mind had created. Until there came a time when the nightmares would simply be of some tuft of dark hair with glistening eyes staring out from it. Which brings me back to my chance meeting with my roommate's bumble date. Because as good looking as he was, something about the color of his eyes and the way he carried himself had brought me back some seriously horrible memories. Not that I said anything,

of course, not at first anyway. But the longer we talked, the more I started to piece together who exactly we were talking to. He was reluctant to talk about family, and any attempt to pin down something about his formative years was quite succinctly evaded. When he mentioned something traumatic happening during his youth, I almost snapped. But then I started to get this weird, crushing feeling in my gut, something I couldn't quite pin down until one horrible moment of realization. It happened the moment I mentioned growing up in West Virginia. The bumble date guy shot me this look, this distinctly guilty look, and what had once been a friendly conversation turned into an impromptu staring competition. My roommate was

like, what's going on? But her question was accompanied by an awkward giggle. She could obviously pick up the tension, she just didn't know why it was so thick in the air all of a sudden. Troy? I remember asking. The word just sort of left my mouth before I could think about the implications, like the whole thing was a completely involuntary act. Jesus Christ. The way he looked at me afterward with those black-brown irises that seemed to take up his entire eye. It was him. My brother's murderer was sitting right in front of me. My nightmares had come to visit.

I should go, he said, as he began to walk out, and the words just wouldn't come to me. I sat there dumbfounded while my roommate was all like, Hey, whoa, what just happened here? Your name isn't Troy. Who's Troy? Where are you going? What just happened? I managed to catch him right before he walked out the door and all I could bring myself to say was like, Don't come back. What followed was a complete reliving of something I tried so hard to get over. Obviously, I had to tell my roommate everything,

and I mean everything, so she could actually understand A. what had just happened, and B. why I'd had such a strong reaction to it. The thing that got at me first was the sheer improbability of it. Of all the apartments in all the cities in all the world, it seemed like a cosmic joke directed right at me, one designed by a cruel universe to undo all the cities in all the world. It seemed like a cosmic joke directed right at me, one designed by a cruel universe to undo all the progress I'd made. But my roommate helped me rationalize it. I mean, New York City is the place to go if you want to be anonymous, right? Of all the places where a person could just blend into a crowd, NYC had to top the list. She was a real help, and support she showed during the fallout from the chance encounter had only further solidified what an incredible friendship we had,

and still have to this day. And if there's one takeaway from the whole online dating thing to be taken from this, it's that you never know who you're talking to. I could give you some story about how they're the second coming of Christ, but it's all just a ruse, all just an attempt to scrub the blood from their hands, blood that will always be there, no matter how much they try to be rid of it. To be continued... So this is actually my friend's story, but since she's not a subscriber and has zero desire to write this out, I'm telling it for her, with full permission. A few years back, she matched with a guy on Bumble, and the two of them really hit it off. She said they were flirting back and forth

for quite a while, and it got increasingly hot and heavy, until they were flirting back and forth for quite a while and it got increasingly hot and heavy until they were basically saying some pretty lewd things back and forth over text message. According to her, she was super into it. He was kind of aggressive about it but in a really hot way, like he seemed to know exactly what to say at any given moment. He's real confident, real cute, so they're soon arranging to meet up for a first date. Only the thing is, when she actually meets the guy, he seems super shy. Like the total opposite of what she was expecting, given the way in which the pair had been talking. That's not a huge red flag, I mean. I guess he could have been kinda shy about it.

Some people talk a big game and then it's a lot to live up to, you know. Besides, my friend is feeling the exact same way so she just powers through and gets started with some regular sort of conversation. Over the course of the next hour or so the pair of them loosen up and the guy turns out to be just as charming and sociable as she'd hoped. They're into the same music so they focus on that, then they start discussing exes and stuff, at which point the conversation takes a distinctly flirty turn. My friend then sees an opportunity to reference one of the things he'd said while they were texting back and forth. Nothing too forward, just kind of a hint at something, according to her anyway. But as soon as she does, the guy turns super shy again.

And with a face like a cardinal's jersey, he says, I have to admit something. The person you were talking to on Bumble was my mom. I'm not too good at dating stuff, so she handles it for me. She thought he might have been joking at first. Like, he had to be joking, right? Nope. Deadly serious. He had literally no idea what he had said. Not a clue. My friend had been texting back and forth flirtatiously with this guy's mother. Then she just passed on the time and place for their date

without giving him so much as a hint of what to expect. My friend said she felt the blood literally draining from her face when he said it, as she felt all woozy like she might puke. It was so bad that he started saying stuff like, are you okay? Did I say something wrong? Dude, did you say something wrong? Are you kidding me? I can't even imagine what she went through. My friend told the guy she was going to the bathroom, then just made a beeline for the exit of wherever they were. She said the whole way back to her apartment she was just numb and burst into tears as soon as she walked through the front door. The first I heard of it was when she called me a couple of hours later, still in floods

of tears and I literally couldn't believe my ears at first. That whole episode was without a doubt the creepiest and cringiest thing I'd ever heard and I thank god that it didn't happen to me. To think there's actually mothers and sons out there with that skin-crawlingly sickening kind of Norma-Norman-Bates relationship. Gross. I guess she's lucky he was good enough to be honest about it. In another universe, the guy is super malicious and sinister about it, and that app is cursed for me now. I went on a date with a guy who looked like a Disney prince who grew up in a bad neighborhood. I swear to God, he was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen and was almost covered in tattoos. I wasn't even surprised when he said he'd been in the

county jail for 18 months after some BS where a guy got stabbed. That's his quote. I know, giant red flag, but I didn't even care. This guy was so hot, and with my logic of, well, the justice system in this country is screwed, I was good to go. Anyway, we met for drinks, he was nice, paid for everything, a perfect gentleman. He seemed particularly interested in me too. Lots of guys will literally only talk about themselves on a date which is the most annoying thing ever but this guy was all like, what are you into? Where did you go to school? Blah blah blah. Eventually I got into telling him how I play classical guitar and about the handful of concert performances I'd taken part of in during college. I still play an awful

lot but it's more gypsy jazz these days than Manolo Sanlucar. That being said, I'm still real passionate about flamitsu. My maternal grandmother is from Spain so I think it's just in my blood. Anyway, when he said your passion is captivating or something like that. I just about melted. He seemed really impressed that I'm a somewhat musical person and I'll be honest when I say I kind of milk that a little. After that the conversation moved on to different things. More drinks came and as we gradually got drunker the conversation got a little faster and looser. At the end of our date he's walking me to my Uber and I'm debating whether or not to kiss him before I leave when he comes out with, If I wanted you to always remember me, I'd break your ring fingers.

You know, cause they don't heal well and then you'd always think of me when playing. It sort of wiped my brain for a second and when I looked at him like, huh? He laughed and kind of made out like he was kidding. But it was in almost the exact same way as when an ex had told me that I had fat thighs then tried to retract it when I got upset. It was totally in that I totally meant it but I'll pretend I'm kidding since it made me look like a psychopath kind of way. I gave him the benefit of the doubt at first but he'd also made up my mind for me about whether or not I was going to make out with him a little. A resounding nope, I can assure you. I told him I'd see him again and I think I actually

meant it at first. But over the next few days, mauling it over and telling girlfriends about it made me realize that this guy was not good for me. In fact, hinting at violent tendencies, having already been to jail over a stabbing, these were ginormous red flags. And if I ignored them, well, I was putting my life on the line. So, I just kinda ghosted the guy. Didn't delete his contact or anything, just kinda kept him on the back burner just in case he changed my mind on it. Now, there's a Facebook group for girls in my town and if one of us is assaulted or roughed up on a date or just while out drinking for whatever reason, we can go

to the Facebook group and warn other girls about it. Now please don't go thinking it's some horrid witch hunting thing. There's no mob online justice that goes on. Our priority is liaising with state police departments to see that predators are actually dealt with. Not a week goes by since my date with this guy and a new post starts trending in that group. Whenever a post gets traction like that, it's usually when something bad has happened, in the form of an assault, but sometimes it's when something good happens, like when a predator gets yeeted into jail. That time, it was something bad, really bad, and it affected me personally.

A girl had screenshotted a guy's Tinder profile and uploaded it to the group, along with a story about how he'd said the creepiest stuff to her on a date. When she wouldn't go back to his place, he got handsy and eventually hit her when she'd called him some unsavory names over it. It was my jailhouse Disney prints and that could have been me getting beat in some Walgreens parking lot. The cops got a hold of the guy and he went right back to jail for breaching probation. Only he wasn't on probation for anything like a stabbing incident. It was indecent assault that he'd been convicted of. No kidding, huh? Girls, don't ignore red flags. And if a guy mentions being in trouble with the cops, there are ways that you can find out what about. A lot of court documents are

available for public viewing after a certain date, so I'm serious when I say that you can look your date up to make sure he's not been on the wrong side of being a messed up pervert. Be safe, sisters. Always. Hey friends, thanks for listening. To be continued... sure to submit them to my subreddit, r slash let's read official, 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. Thanks so much, friends, and I'll see you again soon. We'll be right back. Choose from like Cash Eruption, UFC Gold Blitz. Make instant deposits or same-day withdrawals. Download the BetMGM Ontario app today. Visit BetMGM.com for terms and conditions. 19 plus to wager Ontario only.

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