The Lets Read Podcast - 168: I WAS ALMOST A MISSING PERSON CASE | 21 True Scary Stories | EP 156

Episode Date: January 3, 2023

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

Transcribed by ESO, translated by — I grew up during the 80s in this little town called Durant, which is about 6 miles east of Brandon, Florida. Until I was 15 years old, my best friends in the world were these two kids named Bobby and Joey, and we were basically inseparable. Not only did we all go to the same elementary and middle schools, but we spent all of our free time together too. Bobby and Joey were like polar opposites. Like it was weird that we were even friends to begin with. Bobby was more outgoing while Joey was more reserved. Bobby would eat just about anything while Joey was easily the fussiest eater I've ever known. It extended to almost everything, including how

scary they found horror movies. And boy, do we love horror movies. We tried just about every trick in the book to sneak into theaters to watch The Thing or Nightmare on Elm Street. Sometimes we succeeded and sometimes not. But when we did get in, the result was always the same. Joey would be on the verge of a panic attack for the entire showing, while Bobby would be complaining how it all looked fake or how it wasn't scary enough for him. Nothing seemed to be able to freak him out, not even the transformation scene in American Werewolf in London. He was impressed, sure, but not in the least bit grossed out or whatever.

And I suppose that's why he thought the haunted house at a traveling fair wouldn't scare him either. It was late August of 1985 when the traveling fair came to town and seeing as nothing good was showing down at the local movie theater, we figured we'd stop by to see what it was all about. It was all the usual stuff. Cotton candy, fairground rides, bb shooting galleries. But the thing that really caught our attention was the haunted house. For a janky traveling fare, it actually looked pretty cool and was certainly more of an attractive prospect than the carousel. So after finishing our hot dogs, we headed over to the ticket booth to ask them how much.

I remember the guy in the booth had all this skeletal face paint on and when we asked him for three tickets, he put on this spooky voice like, Are you sure your boys have the constitution for such a terrifying trial? We were just like, yeah dude, just give us the tickets already. Then we walk up towards the entrance to go inside. So the way this thing was laid out was a giant box room that had been divided up into corridors. You made your way through various corridors, some which narrowed so you had to squeeze through them and every so often, a mechanical doodad would jump out to scare you or an actual person would.

I'll admit that the actual people, one of which had a pretty cool wolfman mask, were actually pretty creepy. Especially the woman who pretended to be a statue, right up until we tried to pass her and just touched my shoulder and it almost gave me a heart attack in the process. Gotta applaud that level of commitment and subtlety, right? Anyway, me and Joey thought it was pretty cool, even though he was so scared he was ready to puke, but Bobby thought the whole thing was dumb, so much so that he walked right up to the ticket vendor and demanded his money back. Of course, the guy just points to a little sign that says no refunds, but does so in such a

dismissive way that Bobby just about exploded. He started ranting about how it was the worst haunted house he'd ever been to and that no one in their right mind should ever pay for anything so terrible. The guy takes this for a minute or two and lowers his voice and says something that seems to calm Bobby down. Then when he walks back to us, we find out that this is what the guy said. If you really want to see something scary in there, come back later at around 10pm. You're still not satisfied? We'll give you your money back. It seemed sketchy to say the least, but Bobby assured us that the guy was serious and somehow we'd gotten it into our heads that we'd be getting to see the adult haunted house. Bearing in mind we were kids who had trouble

getting into R-rated movies, so I don't think I could possibly understate how excited we were. We heard that traveling carnivals were known to get a little risqué after dark, so the prospect of getting to see that sort of thing in action, it felt like a real adventure. Me and Joey had a curfew of 9pm, but we got around it by saying we were staying over at Bobby's. Only, Bobby's mom worked as a night nurse on weekends, so there'd be no one around to disprove that. It was a foolproof plan, at least it seemed that way for a while. But as a matter of fact, our least it seemed that way for a while. But as a matter of fact our little visit to the carnival would end our friendship and change our lives forever.

The first sign that something was wrong was when we showed up and the whole place seemed to be closed down. There were lights on here and there, a few workers wandering around carrying heavy looking tools, but other than that, the place was deserted. At first I figured the guy had just played a trick on us, as in come back later but I'll be long gone. But Bobby was determined to get his money back and we followed him through the carnival

grounds until we came across the haunted house. True to his word, there was the ticket seller, sitting on the steel stairs that led up to the entrance. He made some comment about being surprised we'd showed up, how he'd figured we were too chicken to come back for the midnight show as he called it. We just laughed. Midnight show? It wasn't a minute past 10pm and there he was trying to be all spooky again. But then, Bobby asked him what was so scary about the midnight show

and if he'd really be given a refund if it didn't frighten him. Again, the guy promises, if it doesn't spook him, he gets his money back. But what he said next really set me on edge and immediately had me thinking twice about my decision to return. He started off by saying how the carnival didn't like leaving paying visitors unhappy and that if we really wanted to be scared, he could show us something that'd leave us very frightened indeed. He said it was something to keep in reserve for those dissatisfied with the haunted house, something that very few have come to witness without losing their sanity

altogether. He said only a small dedicated crew handles the midnight show, because the sheer psychological strain of the performance can be extremely harmful to their mental health. I remember Bobby piping up like, I'm not dumb dude, I see what you're doing. You're just going to beat the snot out of us when we get in here, as payback for talking smack. The guy laughed, then swore on his mother's grave that each of us would walk in of our own volition, and walk out totally unharmed. As for our sanity, he couldn't guarantee it'd still be in one piece by the end. Obviously, Joey was out from the word go. He's like, nope, screw this, I'm not going in. Bobby on the other hand was typical Bobby. I don't think wild horses

could have dragged him away from that carnival. But me? There was something about the way the ticket vendor was talking. He wasn't trying to sound scary or be scary. He actually sounded kind of scared himself. Almost like he didn't want us to go in. And either he was an Oscar level acting talent or there really was something to what he was saying. I'll never forget the way Bobby looked at me when I said, Um, yeah. I'm good actually. I think I'll stay here with Joey.

It was like disgust mixed with ridicule. I know for a fact he thought I was being a big baby for having let the carny dude psych me out, but I made my mind up and I wasn't going to budge. In the end, Bobby went in on his own while me and Joey waited for him outside. I could tell he felt a little nervous walking in but I was nervous too. I was nervous for him because as much as we'd be reassured that nothing was going to happen to him, a little piece of me still thought Bobby was going to get his bell rung as soon as he walked in. Me and Joey were outside for maybe 10-15 minutes, waiting for Bobby while wondering what could be going on in that haunted house.

There wasn't any noise or anything, not like during the daytime when you could hear all those dumb evil laughter sounds and wolves howling and whatnot. And our walkthrough in the daytime had taken like five minutes tops. So when twenty, then twenty-five, and thirty minutes went by, we started to get pretty freaking worried for Bobby. Only right when we're about to go banging on the haunted house's door, Bobby reappears. No limps, no swelling, no bleeding. He looked okay, but he wasn't, and I'm not sure Bobby was ever really okay again. I remember walking back to his mom's place like it was yesterday, and the exasperation I felt when we asked Bobby what happened, and all he said was nothing. We were flabbergasted. It certainly didn't seem like nothing had happened, because Bobby was definitely shaken up by

something. At first he was pale, visibly shaking, and he had this kind of vacant expression on his face. It's hard to explain. He seemed mostly just shocked by whatever it was he'd seen, but he was definitely disturbed too. We kept at it, begging him to tell us what he'd seen, but he just wouldn't say. All he'd give us was,

nothing, stop asking about it. We asked him if it was scary and he said yes, but he denied any kind of violence had occurred. The guy promised he wouldn't be touched and he'd apparently been true to his word on that too. But that did mean they hadn't done something to Bobby and despite all his denials, I know that was the case. The last thing he said about it, before he threatened to kick us out of his mom's house if we asked again, was a couple of hours later when Joey finally broke and asked him, Dude, I'm begging you, at least give us a clue. What happened in there?

Something that doesn't make sense. Bobby replied. He never talked about it ever again. I know that seems unbelievable, but time moves pretty fast at that age. We were due to start our junior year of high school. I started dating that first semester. Joey broke his arm on Bobby's skateboard that winter, and there was other stuff to think about. I'm not saying we just forgot about it, and it came up in conversation once or twice in the months that followed,

but every time we brought it up, Bobby would just give us this look. And the one time we persisted, he just walked back home without a word and didn't return our calls for a week. I'd like to say that dropping the subject for good repaired our friendship, but it didn't. Like I might have said earlier, what happened that night was the beginning of the end of

our little friendship triangle and we slowly began to drift apart. The end of the end, if that makes any sense, was when Bobby and his mom moved out to New Hampshire for her job. We all promised we'd keep in touch, but we never did, and I think me and Joey just bummed each other out after that, always wondering what happened to Bobby, always hoping he'd call someday, but he didn't call, and we didn't ever get the number for his new place. I still think about Bobby an awful lot, and I still think about him saying something that didn't make any sense. I've

racked my dumb brain for literally decades but I just can't work out what he meant by that. My wife thinks he was lying and that those carnival workers really did lay hands on him or something. Just because he didn't have any cuts or bruises doesn't mean they didn't slap him around or threaten him a little and besides, you can do a lot worse things to someone without leaving a black eye or a bruised lip. I sometimes wonder if that really is true, that what happened to him was so traumatic that he just couldn't deal with it. But Bobby was brave, man. I think he was the bravest and most defiant person I've ever known. If the tough thing needed doing, Bobby did it.

And I think that if that thing just so happened to be opening up about being hurt or something, Bobby would have done it. Maybe later rather than sooner, but he would have. And I think I'll just end this here. Whenever I talk about Bobby,

every third word of my mouth is maybe, and I'm so sick of maybes that I can barely even describe it. I just hope his story isn't over yet. That he's out there somewhere living a happy fruitful life. I try to look up him on Facebook every so often just to see if he made an account or something but I've had no luck as of yet. But maybe next week or maybe next year, I'll finally find out what happened to Bobby and get to say hello to an old friend in the process.

Maybe. Just maybe. Organized crime is possibly the greatest plague that human society has ever faced. It's a phenomenon that's developed organically throughout almost every culture and nation that's ever existed. From the tuggy cults of 13th century India, to the Japanese Yakuza, and the Russian Boers. It seems that certain sections of humanity are simply inclined towards criminality. And just like their law-abiding counterparts, they've found that coalition is often a superior choice to outright conflict. As we all know, the United States also has its fair share of organized crime, most often recognized in the forms of New York's Five

Families, Murder, Inc., or perhaps the Crips and Bloods. But is it possible for smaller, less renowned, but more efficient forms of Mafia to exist in 21st century America? And what if they took on some very unfamiliar, even comical, new forms? Essentially what I'm asking is, is there any such thing as the Carnival Mafia? I can hear some of you laughing already, picturing guys in clown outfits doing the whole Joe Pesci bit of, funny how, how am I funny, do I amuse you? But I'm serious, deadly serious. So without further ado, let me tell you the story of Alfred and Pauline Carpenter.

Alfred and Pauline loved the carnival. Al, or Sonny as people sometimes called him, hailed from Oak Lawn in California while Pauline was born in Walnut, Kansas. The couple were married on May 17th of 1986 in El Dorado, Kansas, and spent the next 32 years of their lives raising several loving children along the way. By all accounts, Pauline and Al were happiest when in each other's company, and many a photograph of the couple showed just how in love they really were. After retiring from aeronautical giant Boeing, where they both were employed, Al and Pauline made their living selling homemade jewelry at county fairs, and although it didn't exactly

make them a mint, the nomadic lifestyle suited the septuagenarian couple immensely. They were able to meet interesting new people while traveling the country they loved, and best of all, they got to do it together. This is how they ended up in Great Bend, Kansas, on July 13th of 2018, during the Barton County Fair. It was a typically wholesome summer affair, featuring a tractor pull, ferris wheel, a rabbit show, and a root beer float social. There were prizes for the best homegrown rhubarb stalks, green beans, and summer squash, along with a much-coveted

trophy for the county's largest potato. Just like they'd done many times before, Al and Pauline Carpenter set up their stall, arranged their goods and charming displays, and began friendly bartering sessions with the local townsfolk. The vast majority of their interactions were positive, but it's believed that at some point during the day, some kind of confrontation occurred between the carpenters and their fellow carnival workers. At first glance, the confrontation doesn't seem to be too significant, as Al and Pauline continued to operate their stall until the end of the working day, and simply retired to their RV for the evening. But as it turned out, the encounter

would have deadly implications for them. Four days later, on July 17th, the Van Buren Police Department received a rather distressing call from a woman who claimed her sister, Christine Tenney, was being held hostage. She went on to tell the dispatcher that two criminals had murdered a couple, stolen their RV, and were now holding her sister as a hostage at a residence known as the Vista Hill Apartments. Heavily armed police officers rushed to the apartment complex and were greeted by the sights of a large camper van with bullet holes in it. So far the information was good, but just as they were in the process of locking the apartment complex down, who should they find alive and well but Christine Tenney?

Christine was baffled by the reports of her kidnapping, claiming she was in no danger whatsoever. But when the parked RV was searched, police found trash bags full of bloody paper towels, blood-soaked clothing, and two spent 9mm bullet casings. It was quite obvious that some kind of violent struggle, perhaps even a murder, had taken place in the RV, and when the cops ran the vehicle's plates to discover who the owner was, Al Carpenter's name came back.

Naturally, the police were very interested in talking to the person that had made the report in the first place. Given they had the caller's sister, it was quite easy to track them down and the person in question turned out to be a 52-year-old Florida woman named Kimberly Younger. Not only did Kimberly have a weak explanation as to why she thought her sister was in danger, chalking it up to a simple miscommunication. But she claimed that Al and Pauline Carpenter were just fine, and that she'd given them a ride to a casino in the hours before their RV was stolen. It's then the cops noticed that Kimberly didn't seem to own a car, and when pressed as to what

vehicle she'd used to give the Carpenters a ride, she claimed to have hired a car from a rental place that she couldn't remember the name of. Obviously, investigating officers found this to be highly suspicious, and they ordered the arrest of several carnival workers. When two of these carnival workers turned out to be none other than Christine Tenney and an ex-boyfriend of Kimmerly Younger's named Michael Fowler, police began to realize they were onto something. Then, when Michael Fowler seemed to display an alarming amount of guilt during an interview, police applied the right amount of pressure, and he broke. Through tears of anguish and remorse, Fowler admitted to murdering the Carpenters, and is reported to have said, She had me suck her the whole time. I just threw my whole

life away. It was supposed to be my blood in. When police asked what he meant by blood in, they were well aware of the gangland connotations, but what kind of organization could this lowly carnival worker have been trying to enter? After agreeing to cooperate with the authorities to avoid the death penalty, Fowler showed them the shallow graves in Arkansas where the Carpenters were buried, then went about telling them everything he knew. He claimed to have been in communication with a man named Frank Zajcik, owner and operator of a Michigan-based traveling carnival company called Wade Shows Inc. But according to Michael Fowler, Frank had another considerably more sinister occupation, leader of the Carnival Mafia. At some point during questioning, Fowler got out his phone and showed police a series of Facebook messages purported to be between him and Frank Zajic. In one message at around 2.30am on July 14th, Fowler had written,

It's done. They're dead. Good job, now get out, Frank Zajic replied. I'm trying to calm down right now, Fowler wrote back. Deep breaths, read Zajic's response. The first is always the hardest. Jen sent me pictures of the man. I sent on to the heads of council. War is over. Police tried tracking Zajic down and were successful in finding a Michigan carnival operator by the same name. But Zajic denied having any knowledge of the killings

and categorically denied that there was any such thing as the carnival mafia. Zajic went on to say that he didn't know the alleged suspects or the victims. As far as he could recall, they had never been employed by Wade Shows Inc. He was quick to add that he had no idea why they would use his name. It's kind of bone-chilling, he said. I'd like to talk to the cops about it, but no one's reached out. I'm a solid citizen, I have nothing to hide, and Wade Shows has a wonderful reputation. Zaychik went on to deny ownership of the Facebook account that was in communication with the murderer, despite the fact that it included

several seemingly intimate photographs of him. All the cops had to do was establish a concrete link between Zaychik and the killer and they had a solid murder case. But then, just a few days later, Kimberly Younger contacted police with a jaw-dropping confession. She claimed to have set up a false Facebook account and had been posing as Frank Zajic in order to trick her ex-boyfriend into murdering the Carpenters. She seemed desperate to absolve Zajic of all culpability and assured police that she and she alone was responsible for ordering the Carpenters' death. It's also possible that it was she who revealed the involvement of 37-year-old Texas man named

Rusty Frazier. Frazier is said to have facilitated the murders in some manner, possibly by either supplying the weapon or aiding in the disposal of the bodies. It's not clear if Rusty Frazier is said to have facilitated the murders in some manner, possibly by either supplying the weapon or aiding in the disposal of the bodies. It's not clear if Rusty Frazier was working the Barton County Fair around the time that the Carpenters were killed, but his ability to quickly transport the remains out of the state suggests that there may be an even wider network of people who had a hand in the murders. Most of those arrested vehemently denied the existence of any kind of carnival mafia and insisted they acted alone. Michael Fowler later retracted his statements about it being a blood-in-style initiation and insisted he simply had been tricked as part of a petty personal rivalry. Kimberly Younger had also

spoken of a kind of carny mafia and gave the police some rather detailed stories of how they laundered money, collected protection money, and murdered anyone who refused to cooperate. Yet she too retracted her statements after the police investigated Frank Zajcik's role in the murders, almost as if though they'd been warned to shut their mouths or face the consequences. Officially, law enforcement in both Kansas and Arkansas have stated that there is no carnival mafia, maintaining the concept as nothing more than the frantic fabrication of two murder suspects. But at the same time, there has never been any conclusive explanation as to

why exactly the Carpenters were murdered. It's often explained away as a disagreement or confrontation. It suddenly turned violent, but even so, the root cause of the conflict had never been accounted for. Could it be that the argument arose over the Carpenters' refusal to pay protection money? And were the Carpenters killed so that the Carnival Mafia could make an example out of them? If the official statement of the police is to be believed, then no. It's all just a crazy coincidence. Frank Zajic's name was picked because he's the wealthy owner of several successful fairgrounds. But until the root cause of the confrontation is confirmed, until we have an actual concrete motive for the Carpenter's murders,

there's still room to wonder. Is there really such a thing as the Carnival Mafia? On September 17th of 1992, 14-year-old Misty Donna Copsey accompanied her friend Trina to the rural state fair in Puyallup, Washington. Misty was due to return home to Spanaway on the 8.40pm bus, but shortly after, called her mother to inform her that she'd missed its departure, but would be getting a ride back with a friend of hers named Reuben Schmidt. Yet despite being long-time friends, Misty's mother had taken an inexplicable dislike to the young man and forbid her daughter from getting a ride home with him, even if it meant she had to walk the full eight miles between Puyallup and her neighborhood. A witness is said to have spotted her in downtown Puyallup, walking along in the direction of the Highway 512 on-ramp. This is the last time anyone would see Misty alive.

It took a week before a missing persons report was filed and investigating officers found that Misty's home life was far from pleasant. Her mother struggled with chronic alcoholism, she had a criminal record for welfare fraud, and she often left her daughter unsupervised for extended periods of time. It took her a full seven days to even notice her daughter was gone, and it goes without saying that Misty's case was just as likely to one of a runaway child than any kind of abduction. That being said, the case was thrown into doubt almost as quickly as it opened, as two of Misty's classmates claimed to have seen and spoken to her in the week prior.

The case wasn't entirely closed, but it gave the police the impression that the missing person's report was nothing more than a tragic mistake. It took weeks before the investigation was taken seriously, and it took a whopping five months for law enforcement to interview the two people that had last seen her. One of these people was a friend of Misty's named Trina Brevard, who had accompanied Misty to the Puyallup Fair. Trina said that on the night in question, Misty had gotten the bus, while it was her that was forced to walk home. This confused the investigating officers somewhat, and it was only when they continued to poke and prod at Trina's story that they realized she might be lying. Their suspicion was vindicated when they discovered that Trina hadn't walked home at all, and that she'd gotten a ride from her 23-year-old boyfriend, Michael J. Reiner.

Due to the disgustingly illegal nature of their relationship, 14-year-old Trina had kept her much older boyfriend a secret from her friends and family. But that's not the only thing the investigation uncovered. Despite having no adult criminal history, Michael had been arrested as a juvenile in charges of abduction and assault, and given the nature of Misty's disappearance, his past made him a prime suspect. When the truth came out, Trina stated that Michael had initially offered Misty a ride, but she refused on account of an intense dislike for him and opted to walk home instead. This led police to theorize that, after dropping Trina off back home, Michael had driven back towards the state fair,

knowing Misty would be alone and vulnerable. But after he was brought in for questioning, Michael not only passed a polygraph test but seemed genuinely horrified about her disappearance, offering his full cooperation in any future investigations. Although he was a very suspicious character, the police eventually eliminated Michael as the suspect and turned to other theories to explain Misty's disappearance. Then came the interviews with Misty's forbidden friend, Ruben Schmidt, which were suspicious to say the least. Ruben corroborated everything Trina had said, but for some reason added that he was suffering from chronic blackouts

and couldn't remember anything from the night of Misty's disappearance. He claimed that after blacking out during the evening, he had woken up back at his grandma's place in the foothills of Mount Rainier. When asked by police if it was possible that he could have hurt Misty during one of his blackouts, Ruben told them, I don't know. Police then tried to gain a little background knowledge on Ruben and they turned to Misty's mother, who may well have had a good reason to dislike the boy. She claimed Ruben was obsessed with Misty, but his infatuation grown over the years to the point of being unhealthy and, as of late, Ruben had been increasingly aggressive with her,

calling her at all hours of the day with pleas to join him on dates. When subject to a polygraph, Rubin's results came out inconclusive, and investigators strongly suspected that he was trying to deceive them in some way. It is understood that Rubin was the case's number one suspect for a while, right up until late 1992 when suspicion was cast on a third suspect. A local misfit by the name of Corey Bober was said to have become obsessed with Gary Ridgway, better known as Washington's own Green River Killer. There were also two unsolved murders of teen girls from the local area, and Bober was said to be obsessed with linking them to Ridgeway and the wider Green River killings. Local law enforcement already had an intense dislike of Bober,

who had a reputation as being paranoid, unstable, and obnoxious, and he came to their attention in Misty's case because he had reached out to her mother on multiple occasions, urging her to pressure the local police into linking her daughter's disappearance to the murders of the two local girls Kimberly Delonge and Anna Chebanoi. Both Delonge and Chebanoi had vanished from the same Puyallup Shopping Center in 1988 and 1990, respectively, with their bodies found hidden in dense brush off Highway 410 in 1991, less than 100 feet from one another. Bober was also intimately involved in the search for Misty, and helped her mother search the same area where Delonge and Chebanoi's bodies were found. It's believed that he was present the day that Misty's jeans, underwear, and one of

her socks were discovered near Highway 410 and Waco Road near Mud Mountain Dam. The items had been rolled neatly and placed in a muddy ditch. Yet despite such a significant discovery, the investigation continued to flounder. The following year, Ruben Schmidt once again seemed to implicate himself when he seemed to hint that he knew where Misty's body was. He apparently told a fellow restaurant employee that investigators were off and that she was buried six miles from where her clothing had been found earlier that year. On top of that, Schmidt's grandmother's farm was located around six miles from the burial site on Highway 410. Yet for some reason, police simply couldn't collate enough evidence to charge him and by the end of 1993, the case had essentially gone cold.

But when we consider some of the other facts at hand, it seems only a gross mishandling of the investigation can explain why he wasn't arrested. When confronted about making comments suggesting he knew where Misty was buried, Schmidt made the bizarre claim that he'd only made them to get people off his back, since he had regularly been accused, both playfully and seriously, of being Misty's murderer. Rubin went on to show other violent tendencies, being accused of assault in 1996, and having his wife file a restraining order against him in 2006 after he threatened to burn her house down. It was also later discovered that, for some reason, Ruben had sold his car in the aftermath of Misty's disappearance. When confronted about this by

police, he had no legitimate reason for doing so, but again, this highly suspicious little factoid seems to have been completely glossed over. And once again, the most obvious suspects seem to have escaped any concrete charges. But then again, maybe that's because there are just so many other plausible suspects. For example, for anyone investigating missing girls in 90s-era Pacific Northwest, to not include Gary Ridgeway as a suspect would verge on grossly incompetent. The Green River Killer confessed to no less than 71 different murders, making him one of the most prolific serial killers in American history. Yet for a

man who was apparently so open and honest about his depravity, Ridgway flatly denied having anything to do with Misty's murder, and the area she vanished from was well out. Ridgway flatly denied having anything to do with Misty's murder, and the area she vanished from was well out of Ridgway's regular stalking ground. Then there's convicted kidnapper Robert Hickey, who was sentenced for a separate crime shortly after Misty vanished. He served several years in prison only to commit a crime of similar depravity once he was released from prison. Seeing him as an irredeemable threat to society, a judge then sentenced him to life in prison without parole. Hickey was apparently driving a red Camaro at the time of Misty's disappearance,

which may well account for a series of red paint chips found on her body. Yet when confronted by police, he denied having killed or abducted her, and officers must have been satisfied with whatever alibi he had to offer because he was soon dropped as a suspect. It seems that a tragic combination of minimal information, unreliable witnesses, and a weak investigation meant Misty Copsey's killer might never be brought to justice. Misty's mother had a few choice words for the Puyallup PD, saying their failure to arrest and convict Ruben Schmidt was a catastrophic blunder and that they should have gotten to work finding her much sooner instead of waiting months to interview key witnesses. In recent years, the Puyallup Police Department as well as the local sheriff's office

have revitalized public information campaigns in hopes that renewed interest in the case may bring forth new and pertinent information. The use of DNA analysis may be able to reveal new information regarding Misty's disappearance. Although it's been over 20 years since she vanished, Misty's mother is still desperate for answers. Someone, somewhere, must know something, she was quoted as saying. So please, I'm begging you, if you know what happened to my daughter, please call the Puyallup PD. But it seems the only person who really knows the truth of Misty's fate is the one who buried her. And if the past 30 years are anything to go by, her killer certainly won't be revealing himself anytime soon.

Okay, so this isn't strictly my story, because the whole thing involves my grandpa and my great aunt, his sister. But since they're no longer with us anymore, it's one of the most horrifying true stories I've ever heard, and I figured I'm within my rights to tell it. My grandpa grew up during the Great Depression in a really poor town out in Oklahoma. I mean, the way my mom tells it, they really didn't have a pot to pee in. They used to eat stuff like dandelion salad, literally just eating boiled eggs with wild dandelions. They were that broke. Even worse for my grandpa and great aunt, who were like 12 and 8 years old respectively at this time,

there's absolutely nothing to keep them entertained. They made a good go of it, turning pieces of junk into toys. Like, ever see that old-timey thing of a kid whipping a bike tire along with a stick? Yeah, that kind of thing. Their childhoods were just not like ours. They were accustomed to extreme boredom, grinding poverty, and back-breaking labor, so you can guess how excited they got when they heard the carnival was coming to town. There'd be games, rides, candy, sideshows, absolutely everything a kid that age could ever want. The only thing was, their family didn't have the money for them all to go, just enough for two entry tickets with a little leftover for cotton candy. So, being the good folks they were, my great-grandparents decided they'd give the kids the money while they stayed home.

It must have been like all other Christmases had come at once. The only condition was that my 12-year-old grandpa was not to let my 8 year old great aunt out of his sight Then on the evening in question, grandpa and great aunt are given like 50 cents between them And told to be back by sundown Then they run off down to the pasture where the carnival has been given permission to set up The way my dad tells it, for the first hour or so, grandpa and great aunt had the time of their lives. I think tickets were like 5 cents or something, then cotton candy was 2 cents a piece. Basically, their parents had underestimated how expensive stuff would be, so they were able to partake in everything the carnival had to offer, twice.

Maybe that's what lulled them into a false sense of security, because it certainly accounts for them staying long after the sun started to set. Only, when my grandpa realized how late it was and he started looking around for my great aunt, she was nowhere to be seen. I once remember asking my dad why they just thought it was okay to let their kids go running around on their own like that. If it's just like an old timey thing or because they were so poor. Dad said it was more like because all the people going to the carnival were their neighbors. They didn't figure there was any risk. But then there's my grandpa. Totally unable to find his sister and he's starting to get worried.

He started asking all the people he recognized from our town if they'd seen his sister, but they all said no, right up until one of our neighbors said they saw my great aunt walking hand in hand with a grown-up. I think they figured it was my great grandpa or something, but when my grandpa explains that his dad isn't even there, this guy launches into action to try and help find my great aunt. So grandpa and this random neighbor guy apparently ran away from the actual carnival and towards where the workers had set up their trailers and whatnot. That's when they heard a girl crying from inside of them.

The neighbor tries to open the door up but it won't budge, so he starts banging on it. Some evil son of a gun opens the door and tries to explain it away by saying my great aunt got lost or something, but she's just inconsolable, crying in a way that grandpa had never seen before, scared but sad at the same time. This neighbor then rushes my grandpa and great aunt home and tells their parents all about what had happened. My grandpa knows something bad happened to his sister but he just doesn't know what because she sure won't talk about it. Obviously my great grandpa was absolutely furious so he grabs a shotgun, rounds up a few buddies and they went down to the carnival to basically do god knows

what to this guy. Again, this is all from my dad, but according to him, this huge fight starts at the carnival. People on all sides almost get shot, and they all freeze after the carnival chief fires a gun into the air. He then agrees to parlay with my great grandpa. Then after talking for like 10 minutes in some weird looking carny trailer, my great grandpa walks away from the carnival empty handed. Everyone thought he was crazy. Some monster had just put his hands on his only daughter and after a short powwow with

the man in charge, he was happy to just walk away? His buddies confront him on it, obviously wanting to know what the deal was, but my great grandpa apparently tells them to put a sock in it, because it's all been ironed out. That night, my great-grandpa apparently puts on his boots and headed down to the carnival one more time before it left town. He meets up with the carny chief who asks if my great-grandpa still wants satisfaction, which he obviously did. At that, the carny chief beckons to two workers, who carry out like a basket or something, before laying it in front of my great-grandpa. When they invited him to open the lid, he complied, and when the smell hit him, I doubt he had it in him not to puke, because according to my dad, the carnies had stacked the offending

worker's separate head on a pile of his own guts, and his own junk had been stuffed into his mouth. The carny chief then told him, while pointing at his junk, first we cut off this, then we cut out those, then points to the guy's guts. Only when he stopped moving did we cut off that, then points to the guy's guts. Only when he stopped moving did we cut off that, then points to his head. Apparently after that, the carny chief once again asked my great-grandpa, are you satisfied? He just nodded, turned, and then walked away.

The carnival was gone the next day. I think he told my great-a aunt what happened to that guy too because she never seemed too torn up about it. I know something really bad must have happened if they killed the guy but she actually went back to the carnival the next time I came around. And to borrow a phrase from my son, I guess they were built different back then and just dealt with trauma differently or whatever. Or maybe it's much easier to get over that sort of thing when you know the guy who did it suffered on earth before he died. I suppose that's what freaks me out so much about my grandpa's story. That it almost

sounds like it came from a different country or something. All that poverty and vigilante justice. I just don't recognize that same kind of thing in America today. Not in such an extreme way, anyways. And that sure has me counting my blessings, let me tell you. Mark Anthony Tildesley was born on August 31st of 1976 to John and Lavinia Tildesley. The Tildesleys lived in the small English town of Wokingham in Berkshire, and in 1984, seven-year-old Mark was a year three pupil at the nearby Palmer Church of England Junior School. On May 25th, Mark's school was on break for its summer half-term holiday and, given as a lot of young children had nothing to occupy themselves with, the Frank Ayers Fun Fair had come to town during that holiday week.

To say Mark was eager to visit the Fun Fair would be an understatement of the century. He saved up his 30 pence weekly pocket money for an entire month, and added to his savings by doing odd jobs under the supervision of his parents. Mark became somewhat famous around the town for being the industrious little redhead with a rather sizable collection of 10 pence pieces. A local shopkeeper, Margaret Hickman, was fond of little Mark and has many happy memories of him counting out the right number of coins to pay for his candy. So in the afternoon of June 1st, 1984, when Mark handed over a 50 pence piece to pay for his candies, Margaret found it very odd indeed. She watched Mark collect up his goods before

returning to an adult outside, but it wasn't Mark's father or mother. In fact, Margaret didn't recognize the man at all. This was also odd because pretty much everyone in town knew each other and could instantly recognize an outsider. But since she also overheard the man tell Mark that he was going to the fair later that day and that he would pay for him to go on the dodgems that evening, she figured he was simply an older relative. Later that day, just after 5.30, Mark rode his gold Raleigh Tomahawk bicycle the half mile to the carnival ground. He promised his parents that he'd be back home no later than 7.30 pm, with his mother recalling him saying, don't worry mom, I won't be late. While en route to the carnival, he apparently met up with two school friends but they wanted

to go back home to change before heading down to the fairgrounds. So Mark made the decision to ride down alone, hoping to scout out the best rides before friends showed up. A few hours later, back at the Tildesley's house, it was fast approaching 7.30 and there was no sign of young Mark. 7.30 came and went, but by the time 7.45 rolled around, Mark's parents were beginning to get worried, and by 8pm sharp, they left their home to look for him down at the fairgrounds. On their arrival, the first thing they noticed was his gold Raleigh tomahawk,

chained up to a metal fence near the fair's entrance. This seemed to confirm that Mark was still present, but after searching all over the carnival, John and Lavinia couldn't find hide nor hair of their son. At around 10pm, a terrified Lavinia contacted the Wokingham Constabulary to report Mark missing, and subsequently enlisted the help of some relatives in continuing the search, but again, not a single trace of little Mark was to be found. What followed was one of the largest search and rescue operations in British history. A ragtag team of police officers, civilian volunteers, and soldiers, royal electrical and mechanical engineers, made up a force that numbered in the hundreds.

Then along with canine and helicopter support, the team scoured every inch of Wokingham Town Centre, as well as the surrounding farmland. Several horrifying false alarms were recorded, the first coming when a train driver claimed to have seen a fox carrying a child's arm in its mouth. Incredibly, this fox was tracked down, but the separate limb turned out to be that of a fowl's, much the relief of all involved. Then came the call from the nearby village of Crawthorne, where a resident reported a distinct odor of rotting flesh coming from a wooded area behind his backyard. But thankfully,

the smell was actually caused by a dead sheep and the hope for Mark's safe return was kept alight. A national appeal for information yielded hundreds of tips from members of the public, and although several reports starkly contradicted one another, one particular report was chillingly possible. A man contacted police to say he caught a glimpse of a boy fitting Mark's description being dragged against his will away from the fairground site between 7pm and 8pm that evening. The man added that he assumed the person was a relative and only realized that might not have been the case when he heard the news of Mark's disappearance. When asked what this man looked

like, the caller didn't know and can only add that the man had terrible posture and appeared to be ever so slightly hunchbacked. In the course of their investigation, local police went about collecting the names of all carnival workers present that evening. After working their way down the list, interviewing and eliminating several of the workers, police reached the name Sidney Cook. They discovered he was a 57-year-old Londoner and once they learned of his address via the electrical roll, police officers visited Cook at his home, only to discover that Sidney was ever so slightly hunchbacked. When the police asked Cook whether he was invoking him on the night Mark disappeared, he not only said no, but he

insisted he had an alibi too. He claimed there were people who could vouch that he was working at a fair opposite West Hendon police station in London, and the fair's manager confirmed that Cook was indeed their employee. This forced the police to officially eliminate Cook from their investigation, but he was always viewed with deep suspicion by the investigating detectives, which is why it was shocking, but not surprising, when Cook's name reappeared in the course of a child murder investigation a few years later. But when it did reappear, it would be in one of the most disturbing ways imaginable. After the arrest of a man named Leslie Catweasel Bailey in 1999, police obtained a letter that chilled the blood of all those who read it. The letter consisted of directions to a shallow

grave, one dug into some woodland out in Berkshire. The letter referenced being the final resting place of a boy that had been found at a fair, and it was addressed to none other than Sidney Cook. When confronted with the letter, Sidney confessed to abducting Mark Tildesley, but what he and a select group of friends did next is frankly too terrible to talk about in detail. Let's just say Mark's final moments involved forced ingestion of narcotics, then terrifying levels of mental and physical abuse, and the men who committed these crimes called themselves the Dirty Dozen. This cabal of disgusting sadistic abusers consisted of Sidney Cook, his arrested associate

Leslie Bailey, a man named Lenny Smith, and an individual known only as Oddbod. Leslie Bailey was the only member of the gang who was honest enough to admit what they'd done, and his testimony secured the convictions of Sidney Cook. But that didn't mean he was shown any mercy when he was strangled by another inmate after his conviction and imprisonment. When news of his murder reached John and Lavinia Tildesley, John said he would like to shake the murderer's hand, whilst Lavinia is said to have opened a bottle of wine to celebrate the occasion. Lenny Smith managed to escape all charges by casting as much doubt on Bailey's story as

possible, but he didn't escape justice entirely. In 2006, Lenny would die of acquired immune deficiency syndrome and nottingham Prison. Again, the Tildesleys celebrated the news of his long-drawn-out and painful death. The fourth man, known only as Oddbod, was confirmed to be a blood relative of Leslie Bailey. The reason he's only referred to as this bizarre nickname and an official court documentation at that is because Oddbod is so heavily mentally disabled that he's said to have the mind of an 8-year-old. As a result, Oddbod could not be named, charged, or put on trial or sentenced in connection with Mark's murder. As of 2021, 94-year-old Sidney

Cook is the only surviving member of the so-called Dirty Dozen. It's believed that although someone else disposed of Mark's body, Sidney knows where the boy is buried but refuses to tell the police or the boy's family the exact location of their son's final resting place. This is thought to be a depraved method of control, his final method of taking Mark away from his grieving parents. Because, if only Sidney knows where their son is buried, then via the sick lens through which he views the world, he still owns him. He took a piece of their boy and they can never get it back. I think we can all agree that men like Sidney Cook are proof that monsters really do exist. My stalker ended up being the one person in my life that I thought would never do me any harm.

My husband of seven years. And let me tell you, he made my life absolute torture. I'm going to show you my age a little here by saying that at the time this all occurred, what we might call stalker laws these days just didn't exist in the same way. There wasn't the same sort of access to restraining orders, women's shelters weren't nearly as common or well funded as they are now, it wasn't a great time to be a divorcee and if it wasn't for the fact that I was a state employee, I think I would have just been left to deal with it on my own. In the state this took place, it's a serious offense to harass an employee of the

state government so I basically ended up with state troopers as bodyguards for a while. They were wonderful and I honestly owe them a lot. They would walk me to and from my car. They would come into the office to check on me at least once a day. The only thing was, they couldn't follow me home. The place I'd be alone with two young children who didn't understand why their daddy was so angry. This all started when my ex filed for a divorce. We'd already been separated for a while by the time the papers came and honestly, I totally checked out of the marriage. It was dysfunctional

and abusive and apart from my children, who I love more than anything in the world, I'd wasted seven years of my life with a violent narcissist who I believe took pleasure in my misery. It was typically pig-headed of him to assume I'd contest the divorce, that I'd be unable to fend for myself and that somehow I'd want him back. But I didn't. I just signed those papers on the dotted line and mailed them back to the courthouse. If he'd bothered to pay any attention to my life before he'd separated, he'd have known I'd gotten two serious promotions in six months, One earned and one an opportunity, and I was making only a few grand less than him per year. I didn't want child support

or alimony, I just wanted him out of my life. When he found out I wasn't contesting the divorce, that was when everything went to chaos. His pathetic little attempt to intimidate me hadn't worked and because he couldn't control me anymore, he turned rabid. He would call me at least 30, sometimes 40 times a day to hiss threats of violence down the line at me. He even called me at work. Then when I had his number screened, he started calling my boss and lying about my behavior in an attempt to get me fired. He called my co-workers and harassed them. On more than one occasion he came to my office and was caught letting the air out of my tires or keying my car door. He called my family to threaten them as well, then tried to

turn my children against me by playing the victim whenever he had custody. Things just got worse and worse and worse. He had my check garnished by telling the county's office that he was the custodial parent, which was a complete lie. Then, without even bothering to check with me or their school records, they just started deducting half my paycheck for child support. I had to take an entire day off of work that I definitely couldn't afford and drive many miles to straighten out this freaking mess that he'd caused. He also called my pastor to cry on his shoulder after making up a bunch of absolute nonsense about me. He was looking for allies, he was looking to alienate me from all those I cared about and for a while, it actually kind of worked. It was utterly humiliating and

for a while, I couldn't get any more than 3 or 4 hours of sleep a night and that's if sleep came at all. The final straw came when he broke into my house one night and tortured me for 6 hours, all the while his own two children were screaming and crying in the next room. My whole face was so swollen that I was barely recognizable and after he beat me half to death, he turned out to be so drunk that he actually fell asleep on what had been our marriage bed for seven long years. Once he passed out, I silently slipped out of bed and then crept downstairs to call the police. He woke up to the sight of a cop spraying mace in his eyes

and god did it feel good to hear him scream. Once they hauled him off to jail on assault charges the cops took pictures of my face to use as evidence against him in court and for the first time in a long time I actually felt safe. He went to jail that night but nothing stopped him from bailing out just a few days later. Luckily the cops were nice enough to call me to let me know that he was out, but I was still anxious because he'd left his car at my house, which obviously meant he had to come back to get it. I stayed up all night waiting for him to come and get his car. I didn't want to sleep because I didn't know what he would do next. There was every chance that he'd come at night just to mess with me. He finally came walking up at 1.30am but instead of starting some kind of confrontation,

I honestly never saw him move so fast. He wanted to get out of there quickly and it was clear he hadn't forgotten how terrible it was to get arrested. Finally, it seemed like his manic violent behavior was starting to subside. The calls and threats kept coming for months, even though I had a restraining order. And on the advice of my lawyer, I began taping them. This is probably the number one thing that ended up making a difference, so ladies, please, get into the habit of taping phone calls and screenshotting anything from your stalkers. Small digital recorders are fairly cheap these days, and they're just as important as mace or tasers in these situations. Even if mine was a long time

ago I'm glad I had something to record it with. Next, he started driving by my house and it got so bad that I went to stay with my mom because I was just so frightened and exhausted. I was just about to close her front door when I saw his van drive by and that accounts for one of the few times where I actually became hysterical. Like I said, I was just worn out, emotionally and physically. I called 911 and told them that my stalker was threatening myself and my elderly mother, but only minutes before they showed up, he left. Almost like he had a police scanner in his car or something. I went to stay with a friend that night and you can bet your butt I took my mom with me. I didn't want him to see my car there and break into the house and hurt my mom.

She's a frail widow and the fact that he might have targeted her too was what hit me so hard. It really felt like no one was safe. One night I went to an outdoor music show with an old friend of mine. She told me that I needed the stress release and she was dead right about that. And on top of that, it was a family concert so I could have the kids with me. The way I saw it, if the kids were with me, they were safe as possible. And just as I was getting relaxed, I looked up and saw his van coming around the corner and at the same time, I realized I couldn't see my kids. I can barely describe the kind of terror that gripped me in that moment. I spun around on the spot and saw

that there were a bunch of kids playing in the grass nearby. I spotted my young son, but my 8-year-old daughter was nowhere to be seen. Naturally I started calling her name as loud as I could, walking towards where the van was parked to make sure it wasn't my husband. That's when I saw him, drunk again. My daughter came running when she heard his voice and she was just about to climb into the passenger seat when I caught her. She had no idea how trashed he was and I think it says a lot that she was used to seeing him like that. How seeing him all red eyed and slurring his words was like a normal thing for her by that point. I ran to the nearest phone booth, this was way before cell phones, to tell the cops that my ex-husband had just tried to kidnap his own children.

I didn't realize how badly I was screaming into the phone because when I looked around, almost everybody at the concert was staring at me. The cops put an APB out on his van but my nerves were fried and that night was yet another that came and went without sleep. The next morning, my heroes, the state police, called me to tell me his van was now at his house. I jumped in my car and drove the 60 miles in half the normal time. When I got there, they had his house surrounded. A guy with a bullhorn was saying how they knew he was there because he answered the phone.

I had no idea what was going on, but when I asked them and they identified, all they were interested in asking me is if he had a gun. I told them I wasn't sure. He never had one when we lived together but then again, a lot of things had changed since we were living together. We sat there for like an hour and no matter how many times the cops called his phone, he just wouldn't pick it up. Finally the front door opens and a whole bunch of cops are screaming at him to put his hands up as he walked out. The whole time he was just hungover and feeling uncooperative where as we were all thinking we might just come out shooting. He gets taken right back to jail then

I drive home again, just emotionally frazzled. He ended up taking a plea bargain and just got probation but I think the second encounter with the cops actually tipped things over the edge for him. The way he was going he was either going to end up dead or in jail and I think that finally got through his thick skull because after that the harassment started to peter out and till at last I had peace again. Moving me and my kids out of state sure helped but to my knowledge he's made no attempt to follow us at all I'm sorry this comment ended up being so long I just saw the post and I knew that I had one heck of a story to contribute Hopefully women and girls can read this and learn a thing or two from my experience and my mistakes so the same thing doesn't happen to them

Because honestly I wouldn't wish that kind of thing on my worst enemy. Perhaps the most famous incidents of stalking arise when, fittingly, fixated persons choose to stalk celebrities. Being in the public eye can have its good side, but also some pretty significant bad sides too, and just one of those is the fact that you're exposed to people who might develop something of an obsession. Sometimes these obsessions can be nothing more than innocently irritating, but other times, they can be downright dangerous. Beyonce Knowles is certainly no stranger to having to deal with crazed fans, but one unhinged obsessive began to peddle some pretty sinister rumors around 2013.

When due to perform in London for the Sound of Change concert in 2013, Beyonce had to make sure that she and all her staff kept an eye out for a fan who believed that she was actually an imposter. It all started when a man named Bassie Essien approached her with a book of notes on religion, claiming what it contained would help her. But when Beyonce proved to be less than enthusiastic about the gift, Essien began to accuse her of having killed the real Beyonce before replacing her. The singer's management managed to obtain an anti-harassment order which barred Bassi Essien from attending any of Beyoncé's future events. But still, the encounter was definitely one which

left her shaken for some time afterward. Singer Lana Del Rey had also dealt with the harrowing stalker experience when an obsessive fan posted a series of disturbing Facebook statuses in which he claimed to be planning to kidnap her after a show. 43-year-old Florida man Michael Hunt was arrested in February of 2018 while police noted that his detainment stemmed from cryptic and threatening messages. Hunt called Del Rey his queen and his wife, and wrote that after her show in Orlando, our decisions will be as one. I love you so much, Lana. I can't wait to be back in your arms in a few days, baby. He wrote in one post, It's probably my last day on Facebook. I hope to see y'all on the

walkabout in your life. Be good and I'll see you on the other side, everybody. Hunt was arrested just a few hundred feet from the venue in which Lana was set to perform, and to the horror of all involved, he was discovered to be in possession of a three-inch folding knife. As a result, he was charged with attempted kidnapping with a weapon and aggravated stalking with a credible threat. In the end, Hunt agreed to a plea deal, pleaded no contest to a stalking charge, and was sentenced to just one year in prison. Del Rey, on the other hand, admitted she was in fear for her safety, and later addressed her

stalker's arrest on social media, commenting that attempting to bring weapons to her show was on another level. Actress Keira Knightley found that some stalkers aren't content to focus their obsession on one person, as her entire family was targeted by a man named Mark Revel. Mark seemed just as happy to terrorize her husband and two-year-old daughter, delivering terrifying handwritten messages to her home as well as tweeting out sinister threats. He claimed to be madly in love with Knightley and simply wanted to show her his music, but according to a victim impact statement read in court, his actions left the actress feeling scared every time she left the house. But perhaps Mark's most famous act was to show up at Knightley's home before meowing through

the letterbox. Kira's husband, musician James Wrighton, apparently had to physically chase Mark Revel away. He also sent her a USB stick that was filled with self-composed music inspired entirely by cats, and after analyzing its contents, Knightley's lawyers would describe them as extremely disturbing. Revel had a prior conviction related to turning up nude at women's homes, and apparently referred to himself as the public executioner on social media at one point tweeting out, James Wrighton and Keira Knightley are not going to get much help from the police. If Wrighton is play the devil, maybe I is play public executioner, yeah?

Of course not is death threat, he wrote. The court ultimately ordered Revel, who had been diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia, to be held in a psychiatric hospital indefinitely, and thus a clear and present danger to the public was taken off the streets. Actress Gwyneth Paltrow is said to have suffered a long-term incident of stalking, one that lasted almost 20 years. Dante Michael Sue sent the actress over 60 different letters and packages between 2019 and 2015, with some of the packages containing marriage proposals as well as explicit adult material. Sue explained his behavior by claiming insanity, but after his eventual arrest,

a judge sentenced him to undergo treatment at a mental health facility. Yet he was arrested again in 2015 when he began sending Paltrow letters again. This is a case that has gone on for Ms. Paltrow for 17 years. Her sense of security has been shattered by this man, said California District Attorney Wendy Segal. Paltrow herself called the ordeal a very long and very traumatic experience during her testimony, and said it had left her feeling very upset. Sue told a jury that he wrote to Paltrow after an earlier conviction in an attempt to earn her forgiveness and let her know that he was still interested in marrying her. But they were not fooled, and Sue was eventually imprisoned for his actions.

Multi-platinum singer Taylor Swift has also been forced to deal with more than her fair share of obsessed fans. A man named Frank Edward Hoover took the concept of obsessive fandom to a terrifying new level when in 2015, he began sending the pop star's father, Scott Swift, some highly disturbing handwritten letters in which he promised to slaughter the entire Swift family. Referring to himself as the real son of God, Hoover called the Swifts an evil family of devils and wrote, This article is not a joke, and is why God is going to burn them in the desert for me. Hoover was detained by police after allegedly following Swift and her family from a concert venue to the airport where they were scheduled to board a private plane.

When he got close to Taylor's car, the singer's bodyguard stopped and questioned him, at which point he repeatedly said that his reason for being there was to accompany Taylor wherever she goes. Back in 2012, teeny bopper icon Justin Bieber was almost the victim of one of the most horrifying stalking plots of all time, after an ex-con came up with a plan to abduct and mutilate Bieber, all because the young singer didn't respond to his fan mail. Dana Martin, who is currently serving life in a New Mexico prison for murder and assault, is said to have conspired with two fellow ex-cons to kidnap Bieber while he was in New York City. The trio planned to kill Bieber's body and then Bieber himself, and that Martin was supposed to castrate Bieber before killing him.

Dana Martin, who had a Bieber tattoo on his leg, later told investigators that he was infatuated with Bieber and was offended when the Sorry singer never returned his letters. This perceived slight made Mr. Martin upset and that, coupled with Mr. Martin's perception of being a nobody in prison, led him to begin plotting the kidnap and murder, reads a portion of his arrest warrant. Dana reportedly planned to pay $2,500 for each of Bieber's testicles, adding that, If I was free, here's what I'd want to do. Put Bieber in a cage, abuse him repeatedly, and put the whole thing on YouTube. Bieber's ex-girlfriend Selena Gomez also had to deal with a stalking situation that was so disturbing it may have forced her to sell a multi-million dollar mansion. Within less than a week of moving into her gigantic new home in Calabasas,

20-year-old Che Cruz was arrested for trespassing onto Gomez's property twice in one week. In the first instance, Che broke into Gomez's guest house after first ringing the doorbell and asking the singer's friend if Gomez was home. He then appeared to depart the premises, but he was later found hiding in the compound's guest house. A judge ordered Cruz to keep his distance from Gomez in her property before sentencing him to 45 days in jail. Yet the Los Angeles District Attorney's Office confirmed that Cruz spent just two days of his six-week sentence behind bars before he was released, and preposterously, he was re-arrested just hours later after allegedly hopping a fence to once again trespass on Gomez's property.

Cruz, of no fixed abode, pled guilty to stalking charges before a judge ordered him to stay away from Gomez in her house for a full ten years. He was also ordered to complete six months in a treatment facility, as well as undergoing psychological treatment for an additional year. Gomez, after installing a gate around her property and reportedly phoning 911 numerous times in the months that followed Cruz's break-in, put the house up for sale the following year as she was clearly sick of dealing with an obsessive psychopath who just wouldn't give up. It seems that no matter how bad stalking can get for the average person, the huge amount of exposure that celebrities get, as well as the pedestal society puts them on, results in much more intense and potentially dangerous incidents of stalking. Yet it seems it's just one of the many prices a person has to pay for all that fame and all that fortune. Rebecca Lucille Schaefer was born in Eugene, Oregon on November 6th of 1967.

Her father, Dr. Benson Schaefer, was a child psychologist, while her mother was a writer and instructor at the Portland Community College. Given how proud she was of her Jewish roots, a young Rebecca would dream of becoming a rabbi. But after a chance encounter with a modeling agent, she began modeling clothes during her junior year in high school. Rebecca would become a popular subject of many photographers, and she made appearances in department store catalogs and television commercials, as well as an extra in a straight-to-TV movie. She was so successful that in August of 1984, her parents gave her permission to move to New York City to pursue a full-time modeling career.

At 5'7", she was considered too short for high fashion modeling jobs and struggled to find work as a result. Rebecca even moved to Japan for a short stint in the hopes of finding work there, but found Japanese modeling standards were even stricter than back in the United States. Yet within just a few months of moving back to New York, Rebecca landed her first TV role, playing Annie Barnes on ABC's One Life to Live. The following year, she appeared on the cover of Seventeen magazine, which caught the attention of television producers who were casting for a sitcom called My Sister Sam.

Through a series of grueling auditions, Rebecca won the role of Patricia Russell, and the series was initially a hit, but it was cancelled halfway through its second season in 1988 due to falling ratings. Yet the role established Rebecca's acting career and earned her several other roles in a variety of different productions. However, the role also brought her to the attention of an extremely dangerous and unstable young man, one that would have an indelible and catastrophic impact on her life, Robert John Bardo. The youngest of seven children, Bardo was the son of a non-commissioned officer in the United States Air Force

who had met his mother whilst deployed in Japan. Due to the nature of his father's occupation, the Bardo family moved frequently, eventually settling in Tucson, Arizona in 1983, and to say young Robert had a rough childhood would barely broach the issue. A young Robert was placed in foster care after abuse from one of his siblings got so bad that he threatened to take his own life. Couple that with the Bardo family's history of mental illness and it's quite clear that he never really had a shot at an emotionally stable adulthood. By the age of 15, Bardo had been institutionalized to treat severe emotional problems,

and it was around then that he was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Shortly after, he dropped out of Pueblo Magnet High School and began working as a janitor at a Jack in the Box restaurant. By the time he was 19, he had been arrested three times for disorderly conduct and Bardo's neighbors would frequently complain that he exhibited unexplainably strange and threatening behavior towards them. Yet, it seems they had no idea how deep Bardo's madness extended. You see, Bardo had a dangerously obsessive personality and found himself increasingly obsessed with certain female celebrities. The first target of his dangerous obsession would be 13-year-old Samantha Smith, an American schoolgirl, peace activist, and child actress from Manchester,

Maine, who became famous during the Cold War. After her death on August 25th of 1985 in the Bar Harbor Airlines Flight 1808 plane crash, Bardo was devastated, but it was during a period of intense mourning that he discovered Rebecca Schaefer while watching My Sister Sam. After writing Rebecca numerous letters confessing his love for her, Bardo attempted to gain access to the set of My Sister Sam, but was turned away by security. It was then that Bardo turned to a terrifyingly creative method of discovering Rebecca's whereabouts. Bardo contacted a Los Angeles-based private detective agency, promising to pay handsomely if they could obtain the address of one Rebecca Schaefer. Using the California Department of Motor Vehicles records, the private detective successfully obtained Rebecca's address, passing it along to Bardo for a tidy sum. They had absolutely no idea how unhinged Bardo was, or what the ramifications of their actions were. Yet they were soon to find

out just how irresponsible they'd truly been. On July 18th of 1989, Bardo drove to Los Angeles to confront Rebecca at her home. He was angry because she hadn't bothered to reply to any of his letters, but not only that, he was furious because she'd appeared in a raunchy love scene in the movie Scenes from the Class Struggle in Beverly Hills. Bardo allegedly told Rebecca that she'd lost her innocence and that in partaking in such an impure movie scene, had become just another Hollywood harlot. He ended the bizarre tirade by assuring her that he was a big fan, and all he wanted was the best for her.

Rebecca was terrified, and apparently told Bardo she wanted nothing to do with him, slamming the door in his face and rushing to call the police. They assured Rebecca they'd come over to her as soon as they could, but the situation wasn't obviously an emergency in the moment, and there were no lights or sirens rushing to her apartment. In the meantime, a heartbroken Bardo walked over to a nearby diner to get some breakfast. His plan to win over Rebecca had failed, but he also had a plan B,

one he would use in the event of Rebecca's rejection. About an hour later, Rebecca's apartment doorbell rang again. Assuming it was the cops, she rushed to answer the door, but when she opened it, the only person she saw standing before her was Robert Bardo. Robert then raised a Ruger.357 handgun and shot Rebecca through the heart. He then tossed a copy of Catcher in the Rye into her apartment and was later arrested in Tucson while wandering aimlessly through traffic. The following year, Robert tried to argue that he was criminally insane but a judge dismissed the idea and labeled him a dangerously obsessive but otherwise mentally competent person. He was sentenced to life in prison without parole and is currently serving his sentence in California's Avenal State Prison.

As a consequence of Bardo's actions and his methods of obtaining Schaefer's address, the U.S. Congress passed the Drivers Privacy Protection Act, which prohibits state departments of motor vehicles from disclosing the home addresses of state residents. Rebecca's murder also prompted the first anti-stalking state laws, including the California Penal Code 646.9, which was essentially the nation's first law against obsessive or fixated persons. It was a nice gesture, but few deny that they came too little too late for Rebecca, who needed protecting from a dangerous, violent stalker long before there were any legal means to combat them. We can only hope these laws are direct and robust enough to stop the same thing from happening again, but given the determination of the human

spirit, that seems like very wishful thinking indeed. Back when I was still a senior in high school, me and my mom went on a trip to the movies. It was this regular mother-daughter bonding ritual we used to have. Catch a movie, critique it, and then hit up the Bob Evans next door for dinner. We'd always pick up my dad something in a takeout box too, and I really miss those days. But anyway, we have our food and drive home, just like we always did, and the rest of the night was uneventful. But the next morning, I wake up to a Facebook friend request from a name I didn't recognize. Thinking it might have been a mutual I just accept it but then like 5 minutes later I get a message from the same account that says something like, hey I know this might sound

a little weird but I saw you at the Bob Evans last night and I wondered if you might like to go out sometime. So I'm like huh how did someone figure out my name? Did they overhear my mom say it or something? Like I get he was polite but it still creeped me out. Why would you go to those lengths to find me and he must have been looking for hours. Immediately, there's all these red flags, so I had no intention of accepting his invitation, but at the same time, I didn't want to be a jerk to him. So I messaged him back like, hi, yeah, I was there, but I'm actually kind of seeing someone right now, and I don't think they'd be too happy if we went out. At first, their reply was encouraging, and they seemed to take it on the chin. They say like, ah, that sucks, sorry if this is awkward now. I respond, no, don't worry, you didn't know.

I hope you have a great rest of your weekend though. It was a close-ended reply, you know, the kind that's designed to just end the conversation. Next thing, he starts typing, and I figured he's going to just carry on being gentlemanly, creepily direct, but gentlemanly, I suppose. But no. There's this very subtle shift in his tone when he says, I just figured since I went to all this effort to find you, you might give me a chance. This is where I saw a kind of, well, opportunity. I had literally zero clue how this guy had found me and I didn't like the idea that just anyone could look me up online no matter how innocent their intentions were. So I straight up asked him, how did you find me?

He starts typing and stopping, typing and stopping and I can tell he's thinking of the right way to phrase it. Then he says something like, where there's a will, there's a way. I can find anyone online. It's easy. When I set my mind to something, I achieve it. Is your current boyfriend an overachiever like that? I distinctly remember him using that term, overachiever, and was honestly so cringe. If I wasn't put off before, I certainly was then. But still, I wanted to find out how this creep had managed to track me down.

So I might have done something stupid to get him to talk and said, honestly no, and it's kind of hot that you're so smart and stuff. So how did you do it he responds i was the one who swiped your mom's card he replied so a liar too he wasn't some hacker he just worked at the bob evans so yeah he probably had overheard my name then just matched it up with the name on my mom's card. Then bingo, he finds me on Facebook. I had to hold back from just letting loose on this guy. But if he was that much of a psycho, then I figured it was better to not make him mad.

Ah, sneaky. I like it, I replied. But like I said, kinda seeing someone right now so thanks but no thanks, bye. I mute the conversation but don't block the guy or unfriend him or anything. See, making him mad I was worried about. Then I just go about the rest of my day. Yeah, I told all my friends how creepy I was and I casually suggested to my mom we pick a new food venue for our post-movie dinners, but other than

that, I just went about my day as usual. It's kind of weird how this pattern repeated itself. The first time I'm asleep, blissfully ignorant that some creep is plugging my name into Facebook, probably to perv at my display picture. The second time I had him on mute, so I had no idea what was going on in that little message thread. It wasn't until later on that night that I opened my messenger on my phone and actually saw the little 44 notification count next to his name that I realized he'd sent me other messages.

And yes, it did say 44. He'd sent 44 different messages, mostly rants, and he'd been sending them on and off, all day. But it wasn't until I actually read what they said that I started to freak out. I'm not going to type up everything I remember him saying and I'm pretty sure a lot of you will be able to guess the majority of it. Think nice guy style put downs coupled with threats of actual violence. He basically said that if he'd managed to track me down online in a few hours, imagine what he could learn by the end of the week. He said he had friends that would help him break into our house. After that, they'd tie my parents up, kill them in front of me, then take turns abusing me until I was used up and lifeless.

And that's the clean version of it, condensed into two sentences. 44 different lengthy messages he sent me. Think about that. The final message I read, it went on. Before I ran downstairs to tell my mom and dad was the message that read, I'm in my car and I'm looking for your house. I didn't know he was just trying to scare me so I was crying as dad called the cops. The guy ended up getting arrested for the threats he made and I know he got fired from the Bob Evans because my mom kicked up a stink about it after the arrest. I never saw the guy again so I'm thinking it was a case of his bark being louder than his bite.

But I know that there are other women out there who aren't so lucky and their stalkers are much more willing to get up close and personal. I just hope we can one day live in a world where men don't act all predatory and creepy with women they like. Like it's so counterintuitive to what we want in a man. I wish they'd just understand that. But till then, I suppose all we can do is stalked, and I still have nightmares about it. I remember it being so bad that I was scared to take a lunch at work because he'd just be waiting at my car for me. I was too scared to even go home sometimes because, on more than one occasion, he'd broken

in and waited for me. The cops charged him for breaking and entering, but since it was his first criminal offense, he got away with nothing but a slap on the wrist. After that, he just got creative and found other ways to psychologically torture me. I'd go to work and have gifts from him left at my door. I'd see him parked across the street from my house.

He'd call any chance he could, switching up every week or so whenever I blocked a number. Sim cards and burners were just so cheap that he could easily afford to do it. One night I was sleeping and he somehow got into the house, I think through the garage. I'll never forget the feeling of waking up to him dragging me across my bed. That messed me up the most. I was terrified. I didn't move or say a thing for what happened next. In fact, I'd rather not touch on that at all. Needless to say, after what he did, I went straight to the cops. He backed off for a while but left a flash drive on my doorstep one day. It turned out he'd filmed what he did to me, but it obscured his face. That's how he used to get the conviction, because he could hide his face,

but he couldn't hide certain distinct features on his body. Then match that up with it being my apartment in bingo. He was in prison now for a long time. This was a guy I briefly dated too. I never imagined in a million years on that first date that he'd end up being as evil as he was. But I hear people say that about some serial killers too. How they're real nice and charming until you actually get to know them. The whole ordeal had a really negative effect on my dating life. I still have trouble meeting up with new people and if a guy acts clingy at all, I just ghost.

I've done it to some pretty nice guys too, actual nice guys. I feel like they're trying to track or control me and I just get all of those feelings of like, being trapped and then I just can't do it anymore. Okay, so I have something of a confession. I get totally out of control when I have a crush, and I suppose if you were to phrase it so insensitively, then I guess you could call me a stalker. It probably took way longer than it should for me to realize it too. Like I just figured I was, I don't know, intense, passionate, whatever you want to call it. When actually, what I feel for guys is, well, as my psychiatrist put it, it's unhealthy. Whenever I have a crush on a guy, it builds and builds until it's almost completely out of control. Sure, I get the usual stuff at

first, butterflies in my tummy, that giddy euphoria people feel when their crush is around, but I get other things too, like there's a lot more and some things that people might consider kinda scary too. When I like a guy they're constantly on my mind. They're usually the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning and usually the last thing I think about before I sleep too. I look up every social media account they have and guys tend to be much less careful about their privacy settings which makes that whole thing super easy. I make sure to see every single post, every comment, every friend, every photo they're in. I check their social media accounts usually more than 4 or 5 times a day.

I also google them online hoping to stumble across anything new. For years I told myself that I just like knowing things about my crushes. Like isn't that the point of loving someone? To know them as well as you know yourself? Well again, according to my psychiatrist, not in quite the same way as I imagine. I track down where they live and spend way too long on Google Street View just admiring the place. I never go by or do anything though.

I never want the crush to know how obsessed I really am. That would be absolutely mortifying. My psychiatrist says this is how I know what I'm doing is wrong and why he knew we could make progress if I put my mind to it. I also tend to get real jealous. I try not to show it but I have to admit that seeing them having fun with anyone that isn't me, that really tears me up inside. I grow to hate their friends and family immensely, self-inserting myself into every little moment of their lives and telling myself, they better be with me, more fun, more special, more magical and memorable.

How intensely I like someone tends to be based on how long I spend around them and in what context. Like the less I see them, the less I like them. The more I see them, it's like I'm exposed to something they're pumping out, like seeds taking root in my brain almost. A good example would be this. In 5th grade, I liked this guy. In 6th grade, the same guy, I became obsessed with him. Summer rolled around and I stopped. School started, I started liking him again. Repeat for 8th grade. Then he moved away for good and I stopped liking him for good. It was like I couldn't live without him for the longest time but then, out of sight, out of mind too. I know that's not how other people function. Normal people miss someone no matter how far away they are and no matter how long it's been

since they saw them. Not me though and I think that might be the only saving grace for some of these guys. I can't control my emotions even with the medication I'm given. It's one of the biggest challenges I face with my condition. If I didn't care so much about what I thought my crush thought of me, I would show up to his house and look in through the window, hoping to see him. I would pester all his friends to get every bit of info about him. I thank God sometimes that I've not gone too far, that I still have one foot grounded in reality even if the other is hovering over the abyss. Judging from what I've said so far, I'm guessing that most of you would assume me to be a violent person, like how a lot of those psychopaths and let's not meet stories end up

being. But in fact, I'm the opposite of that. No one I know would ever think of me with such thoughts. I'm bubbly and kind towards those who are kind towards me. I never resort to physical confrontation, it's just not my personality. No one even has a clue how obsessive my thoughts get and aside from this little confession, I tend to keep things that way. I hate how I get so attached to people but as my psychiatrist says, at least you're self-aware. I've liked someone for six months currently and I despise myself for it. I pretend not to be obsessed all the time and refrain from speaking about the person 24-7, even though I want to,

because I don't want friends and, most importantly, my crush knowing about my condition. Like I'm terrified I will ruin my life because people will judge me for it without getting to know me. I guess that's part of why I'm writing this too. Bottom line is, I need help on how to cope with these feelings if I can. I surprisingly let go very easily. You know that kid who moved in 8th grade, that I was obsessed with for like 3 years? When I found out he was moving I was shocked and sad for about 15 minutes and then didn't really care. It was like whatever bug inside my brain just said, oh well, on to the next one I guess.

So, my issue is just how to handle my feelings when I like someone. Keep in mind, this is just a light description of my issue. I felt a lot more than what I described here so far. I hope I get over my current crush over the summer and don't have any classes with him next year since I would probably fall for him again. I rarely get crushes but when I do, they better watch out. I've only had four crushes in total in my life so far and three were part of my obsessions. Anyway, that's about it. I hope I could provide some insight into how female stalker types work because all that yandere stuff is just a bunch of bull. That's like a guy's projection, the ignorance of thinking that guys and girls think or act similar, when honestly, the reality is much more insidious, and arguably, much more terrifying. I'm 5'3", 115 pounds, so I guess I'm pretty small.

That's my reasoning for being very submissive over all of this. This is a lengthy story, so I'm just going to skim, and I'm not the best at storytelling, so prepare yourself. When I started working at this fast food chain, I was 16. It was my first job, and I was excited to finally take my first steps into adulthood. This co-worker of mine was training me. For privacy purposes, I'm going to call him Frank. Frank, at first glance, looks young, 19, 21 at the most. We got along and nothing wasn't too bad nor alarming, like conversations about anime and such. I remember things started to change slightly when he was talking about a video game character

and none of our co-workers knew who it was. When I saw the green hat character, I said, oh, that's Link. How cute. I used to watch my brother play Legend of Zelda Four Swords. He looked at me and said, marry me. I laughed it off and continued on with my day. For the rest of my shift, he would hover over me asking me personal questions like my age, favorite things, etc. Being the open friendly person I was I answered happily. I told him how I loved butterflies and that I was 16.

I'm 17 now and have had several jobs since. When an older man asks for my age as a minor it's never a nice sign. Moving on to December, I've been at this chain for a month now. My manager asked me if I wanted to come to their company's secret Santa party and I agreed. When the day came, I arrived with my now ex-boyfriend. Frank arrives on the phone acting busy and such but I thought nothing of it. During the whole party, he was on the phone. I was getting food when he tapped my shoulder, still on the phone, and handed me a beautiful butterfly necklace. I didn't know what

to say besides thanking him, thinking he was my secret Santa or something. Then later my other co-worker comes up to me handing me a gift card to Starbucks in a plush. I asked why and she said she was my secret Santa. I thought it must have been a mistake and went on with my night listening to my old best friend tell me how I should date Frank which in my mind was never on the table. January rolls around and it was Frank's birthday. We were just working until I heard one of my girl co-workers who was into him at the time wish him a happy birthday. Being that person, I wish him happy birthday while my other co-worker asks how old he's turning. He said 27. Might I add that every

shift I worked with him, he would take several photos of me before and after my shift, commenting about my hair, my skin, and eyes. Often said how cute my nose was. Again, not wanting to cause a scene, I just laugh everything off. That's always the case, isn't it? We don't want to cause a scene. I did start telling him to please stop, but of course he wouldn't no matter how many times I asked him to. And now I'm going to skip to May, my birthday month, and of course I was working on my birthday. I went to the back door as usual. Due to COVID I had to ring a doorbell and wait for someone to open the door.

Out of nowhere Frank pops out of the bushes, handing me all kinds of gifts. Today was his day off too so I was generally confused. I remember thinking how did he know it was my birthday? I never talk about it since I don't like celebrating it. He followed me around for a few minutes before awkwardly leaving when I apologized that I want to get to work and not get yelled at. In July is when I finally found a new job. I quit due to harassment I had to endure for the nine months I worked there from my shift leader. That's a whole other story but when a man starts getting handsy, don't laugh it off. Shut that down quick. It got really bad when that ex-best friend of mine

that I mentioned earlier started showing all my co-workers including Frank and that shift lead explicit photos of me that she stole off my phone without me knowing. I was very insecure at the time and was in an abusive relationship so I would give anything this boy asked of me. Anyways at this point I had about had it. After being interrogated about that shift lead I put in my two weeks. On my last week everyone was talking about how that shift lead got laid off for harassment and Frank and I were doing dishes and the topic came up. I awkwardly told him about it, now knowing how everyone knew my story. The shift lead would often grab my butt, rub my thigh, talk about my chest, about how, if they were bigger, and things that he would do to my body. I would say to stop politely, but he would continue,

and when I started yelling and saying stop more assertively he would often make me do humiliating tasks like clean the greasy floor on my hands and knees or cleaning the dining room when it was closed due to COVID. When I told Frank this he shrugged it off and said there was no reason for him to be fired. I remember being absolutely shocked, retorting, I'm just glad I'm leaving this hellhole, and I left it at that. A month into my new job as a hostess, everything was going well. It's a restaurant, but everyone just comes there to drink so it's more of a bar. On one of my 2am shifts, Frank stops by on his bike. I try to be friendly, but was getting

frustrated when he kept cutting me off from talking to other people. I'd then walk away to bus tables because no one else would do it and he wouldn't follow me into the restaurant as there was outdoor seating at that time. After bussing all the tables, I'd come up to the counter to see my co-workers giggling. What's happening? I asked. The other hostess smiled. That's so cute how your boyfriend takes photos of you while you're working. That's so cute how obsessive he is over you. He wouldn't stop talking about you to us. Boyfriend? I responded. I was and still happily remain single after all this nonsense of a relationship. The only person they could be referring to at that time was Frank.

Then it dawned on me. How did he know where I was working and my shift schedule? I didn't tell anyone besides my parents and my brother. A week goes by and Frank comes back. I may have gotten a little overdramatic, but I didn't know what else to do. I told the other host at the counter to tell him I'm not working today and dashed inside. I told my manager that this man, Frank, keeps taking photos of me as I'm working and it's making me very uncomfortable.

My manager told me to stay in the back room while he went and handled the situation. A restaurant is very popular in the area so it's very crowded in the front. Frank had his bike and was blocking customers and that's when my manager went to talk to him. My stupid self was popping my head out a little under that back room window where I could see what was going on in the front. I freak out a little when I see Frank get aggressive with my manager. He begins thrashing when my manager tries to lead him out the front. Suddenly Frank throws his bike and tries heading into the building. A few male waiters see what's happening and were informed by my manager. I remember one waiter standing in the back room with me watching the door as another was practically fighting with Frank. I could only

hear yelling outside the door and then it went quiet. I spent the rest of the shift like that, cleaning silverware with that male server, and from then on, people would walk me to my car, even if it was broad daylight. From August to November, he would be on his bike passing by the restaurant from a distance. He would just be watching and taking photos for maybe 10-20 minutes before leaving. Now the reason I thought of putting this here was, now it's been a little more intense because just the looking from a distance. Due to COVID, I'm not needed anymore because now my restaurant is takeout only. I've been working seasonal jobs while working at the restaurant but now I'm not working and I'm waiting to get my

schedule. Because I was bored this day, I drive to my local mall just to do a little Christmas shopping. While driving, I look in my rear view mirror to see a recognizable face. It was Frank. I practically choke on spit seeing his face in my mirror. I try not to get the best of myself and brush it off as just some sort of coincidence. It wasn't. He followed me through the mall then later followed me as I was driving. No one knows where I live besides

that old friend and I'd like to keep it like that. So I drove for an hour, getting lost and taking every random turn I could until I lost him. I now believe this is how he would track me down. My car isn't common but it doesn't stand out too much. I've rarely left my house since. It's January 2021 and ever since the start of this new year, I've been getting phone calls going like this. Hello? Breathing into the phone like a creep. Hello? And the call ends. Along with that, I've gotten many random messages asking about gifts and delivering me a gift. I'm not one who usually uses social media, but these messages were all over mine. All of them were from newly made accounts across Snapchat and Instagram. On one occasion, an account started

sending me photos, photos that I've never sent to anyone. These photos were photos of my cat and I think that I saved in my Snapchat album. Just photo after photo of things I've never sent and ending with, I have a gift for you. I deleted both apps along with deleting almost everything off my phone. A week ago I downloaded Snap again due to some dumb assignment my teacher wanted us to do with that stupid social media app. One of my old coworkers sent me a message. I open it. Frank wants to give you your Christmas gift. Wanna stop by? Maybe I'm just overreacting. Maybe those accounts were Frank. I just want to say my personality has changed

because of all of this. I'm a very guarded person now. rarely talk to anybody, not as friendly as I was then. It's only been a little over a year yet I feel like I've aged 10 plus. Before everything, I worked in a late night bar in the city, usually finishing up at around 3 or 4 a.m. or so, depending on the night. Sometimes a little later if the staff stopped up for drinks and chats afterwards. My house was across the river and up a steep hill on the north side and was about a 10-15 minute walk in a little cul-de-sac at the very top of the monster hill. At the time, I also had a housemate that people confused for me all the time because we had similar looks, both shaven headed, wore a lot of black, etc. Around this time, I also had a housemate that people confused for me all the time because we had similar looks. Both shaven headed, wore a lot of black, etc. Around this time, she'd been saying that she felt like she was being followed by a guy who came into our work. She had like three

different jobs at the time, so her schedule was all over the place. Now, I know some of you will probably say that I'm an idiot, and you'd probably be right. But like many bartenders, I used to walk home all the time, usually by myself at these hours. The rent I was paying for my stupid little room at the time was extortionate levels. It didn't have storage or even a freaking door, as well as bills piling up and I was trying to save whatever I could because I had been hemorrhaging money on taxis and I'd walked home so many times without major incident that I figured it'd be fine. I am not a very large or particularly fit person so to say that the odds would not be in my favor in a physical fight would be an understatement. For work, I had this bottle opener utility tool thing with a small blade on it for cutting the

foil on top of bottles. Sometimes on my walk home, I'd hold it in my hand in my pocket to feel a bit safer. This particular night, I locked up and set out home. The place was deserted. I crossed the river and started the trek up the hill. Walking alone at night kind of freaks me out a little, so I always used to power walk up the hill really fast. I'd be exhausted and a ball of sweat afterwards but I'd be home. I got to the last stretch of hill which was a straight shot up to my place. It was a pretty poorly lit area but I could still see the cars parked at the top. As I was walking up the hill I saw what I thought was an animal on four legs scurrying across the road, really low down to the ground and into my turnoff. I thought maybe it was a neighbor's dog and just kept walking.

It scurried back onto the driveway across the road then back into my cul-de-sac. At this point I'm like, oh no, that was some weird looking dog and I'm pretty sure it was wearing shoes. It was now in the turn off I had to take to get home and at this stage I'm obviously like, that's not a dog. So it was either wait around on the street at 4am by myself and hope it went away or try to make a run past this dude who'd been running around on all fours in the dark. Being full of too much beer and not enough sense, I decided to make a run for it. I'd slap me too, but I can't take my own good advice. Remember the little utility knife I

usually carried? Yeah, me neither. Scrambling around desperately in my pocket, I realize I've forgotten it. Also, I haven't broken pace at all, so I'm literally just around the corner from the turn off. I'm already sweaty and shaking from the long climb and just pretty much done at this point. All I could find in my jacket was a bottle of perfume, one of those made out of chunky glass in the shape of a torso. I fish it out and hold it in my fist in case things take a turn for the worst. Use it as mace you say? Nah, I'm gonna break his freaking nose with it. I found the corner and there's nothing there. Empty path, not a peep, nothing. I figured maybe he was just on drugs or something and went for a run around in the field that led to my lane. The gate was right by the corner. I walk on, my house three doors away,

thinking I'm in the clear when this dude literally just strides out of the shadows straight towards me. I don't know how he managed to conceal himself so well, but it scared the life out of me. I actually surprised myself because I lunged at him shouting Jesus Christ, swinging the thick bit of the bottle down in my fist towards his nose. It didn't connect because I think I scared him too because he saw a glint of something in my hand, he staggered just backwards and stared at me, googly eye just saying, uh, um, over and over like a deer in the headlights. I looked him in the face and said,

what are you doing man? And walked to my house, keeping an eye on him but he just wandered off. I got inside and told my housemate about what happened. She went pale as a ghost when I described him as it matched very closely the description of the guy who had been stalking and making unwanted romantic gestures towards her while she was at work. We reckoned that this was the same guy and he must have been watching her from afar but confused me for her, like everyone else, and thought it to be her coming home at that time. It makes my skin crawl to think we were being watched and tracked without either of us realizing. His reaction must have been when he realized he had the wrong mark, and I, for one, would happily smash his creepy face in with a perfume bottle.

Also, for anyone wondering, she tried reporting this guy's behavior before, but surprise, surprise, nothing could be done because he technically hadn't done anything. We just notified our other housemate, made sure the house was locked up like Alcatraz and kept communication open. Never saw or heard of that four-legged man again. This happened in 2019. I was in my second year of college and living in a town home about a 10 minute walk from campus. I lived there with two other girls at the time but they were all

back at their parents house for the holiday. I work in healthcare and was working Christmas this year. Now a little bit of backstory, there used to be four of us living there but one girl had moved out due to issues with her boyfriend. He was a jerk who abused our kindness on allowing him to stay there, was only supposed to come every so often but basically ended up living there. We told her she needed to kick him out after an incident with him one night after he got physical with her and verbally abusive with the rest of us. She wouldn't listen and we told her we would have to talk to the landlord then. Long story short, she ended up moving out and left on bad terms with us. She wouldn't listen and we told her we would have to talk to the landlord then. Long story short, she ended up moving out and left on bad terms with us. On another side, not here, I have

been in physically and mentally abusive relationships before so I understand how things may have been going for her. I tried my best for two years at that point to help open her eyes to the abuse and get her away from him. At this point it was affecting everyone and we didn't feel safe with him there so she moved out. Now back to the story, it was Christmas Eve and I worked the next day so I was getting ready for bed. Locked the doors, turned the lights off and went downstairs where my bedroom was. I was scrolling through TikTok for about an hour, it was Christmas day at this point, when I heard what sounded like the chairs in the kitchen move. The kitchen is right above my bedroom. I thought maybe I was hearing the neighbors next door as we share the same walls

and sometimes they can be loud, but I remember one of them texting me and asking me to bring in a package they were expecting while they were all gone at home. The noise was short-lived so I just brushed it off. Next thing I know, my bedroom door is being opened slowly. In this moment I get a flashback and remember my second grade teacher telling us about the time someone broke into her house and she acted as if though she asleep, so if they were just there to rob her, they wouldn't feel the need to hurt her if she saw them. But my freaking phone screen is lighting up my scared jaw-dropped face, so I can't act like I'm asleep. Where I'm laying in bed, it faces directly to the door, so we're just looking right at each other. So there I was, lying in bed, soiling myself while this guy has one foot in the

bedroom with the door cracked open. It felt like an eternity but in reality was more like ten seconds of us looking at one another. He slowly takes his foot out and closes my door. I sit there just in complete and utter shock. I couldn't make out what he looked like as my eyes were adjusting to the dark again from the phone screen and all I could see was a backwards baseball cap. I knew I had to call the police but my anxious mind knew if I called it, it would alert my parents' phones that I called. Me being dumb was like well, I don't want to make them worry. Also, I was scared that he might still be somewhere in the house and I didn't know what he would do if he heard me call. So I texted the guy I was seeing

at the time and tell him some random guy just broke into my house and came to my room. He snapped me out of it and told me to call the police and so I did. The dispatcher asked me if I felt comfortable to go unlock the front door for them so they didn't have to break it down and I told her no way, I don't care if the door is broken, I'm not going up there alone. A couple of minutes later I see flashlights shining through my window. I hear the police knocking at my door and announcing themselves. They got in and asked me where I was. I came out of my room and they came and got me. They told me to wait on the back porch while two of them searched the house and one stayed with me. It was like the stuff you see in movies where they have their guns and turn the corner with their partner and everything. They didn't find anyone and I said nothing looked like it had been taken.

They even tried to get fingerprints but were unsuccessful. They then started asking me questions and informed me that the back door was unlocked and had no signs it had been broken and I told them I locked it. Luckily the guy I was talking to stayed with me that night but I still couldn't sleep. I kept having to check every inch of the house over and over. I even placed chairs under the door handles on the front door, back door and my bedroom. The next day I informed our landlord and she refused to come out and change the locks and she never ended up changing them for the rest of the time we lived there. Every time I go to bed now I triple check all the doors have been locked and it doesn't matter where I am.

I have a dog now and he helps my anxiety of intruders as well as a recent purchase of a ring doorbell. I believe it was our old roommate's boyfriend. I think they may have made an extra key for him because he was basically living there, but I don't understand why he didn't do anything to me, the house, or our belongings. If it was someone random I don't know why they wouldn't have done what they intended. And that could have been many, many different possibilities. To be continued... We're the number one rated hotel in our city and proud of it. I mostly work in housekeeping, but I've done some time at the front desk as well. I love my job and I've always said that my bosses are great. Now, being a housekeeper, I've seen some things.

I've seen a room where someone snuck in their dog, kitten, and chicken. And we definitely don't allow pets. I once had a room that I was cleaning as a stayover that had tripods set up around the bed, professional camera equipment cases, an adult-sized pacifier, on-site, and XL-sized children's diapers. The two people that were in that room were in their early 20s. I even had a room once that we had to call the cops on for a raid because we found meth. They found a lot of drugs and guns in that room. But today, today is the first time I've ever actually felt scared to be in a guest room. As I'm working on a room that's already been vacated, a man in the next room over catches me at my supply cart. He's set to be staying for several days and tells me,

you can go ahead and clean my room now. I'm going down for breakfast. Excellent. I love getting my stayovers done early on. It makes things easier for the people working laundry the sooner we get the dirty laundry down to them. So I pop over into his room, opening it up and propping the door open with a stopper like we always do. The first thing I notice is that he has around 20 prescription bottles lined up on one of the two beds, along with insulin and needles. I'm nosy, I'll admit it, and I wanted to see what he was on. Oddly, it was only two different medications for all 20 bottles. About two-thirds were a diabetes medication and the rest were a cholesterol

medication. That's a little weird that he had so many bottles of the same meds but whatever I thought. I go to make the bed and see that some of the bedding had been stained and sigh. Knowing now I'll have to change all the bedding now instead of just being able to turn down the sheets and blanket. So I leave the room, closing it behind me to go get the linens I needed, then I head right back to the room. I prop the door open again and head to set the clean linens on the desk chair when I see out of the corner of my eye two notes sitting on the TV armoire. It wouldn't mean anything except I caught the word kill scrawled on it. I dropped the linens and took a closer look. What I read on the first note made my blood run cold. You don't have to forgive her,

you just can't kill her. You are here to take money and alcohol away from you. Get over having to kill her and you can safely leave. My heart was pounding. My eyes went to the second note, which had just looked like a to-do list at first glance, but in the end made my stomach churn. Spray and wash, apply for Medicare, insubordination, the soul is healed by being with children, children. Bank card follow up. Inheritance. Savings. Kawaii Pop. 10,500. Map Montana. There will be a day of reckoning. Did you tell mom what I said? How did Bev get my address? It was too much. I quickly snapped pictures of them on my phone so I could show my boss why I would not clean his room. I left the

room quickly, closing it behind me. As the door closes, I turn and see the man just ten feet away from me coming back to his room. My heart is in my throat, but I manage to smile and tell him, I just need more supplies. I'll be back to your room in a bit. I take off straight for the elevator, having noticed our maintenance man waiting for the slow transport. In a hushed tone I tell him what I found and he sees I'm shaken, not in a normal state for me. He rides down with me and I go straight to my boss and tell her that for the first time in all these years I'm not comfortable being in a guest room.

I show her the pictures and her face is still and pale. She goes to the front desk and asks our general manager for a minute of her time and brings her into the office to show her. She agreed, this was not a safe situation and took our maintenance man with her to go inform the man he had one hour to get his belongings and leave the hotel, and he was not welcome back. I spent a few minutes in the laundry room trying to calm down, then my boss went back up with me to the floor until the man was officially out of the hotel. I don't know who Bev is, I don't know who the woman is that he didn't feel he needed to forgive, but man in room 422, don't you ever come back. So this is a story from around 10 years ago. I was 16 or 17 at the time, but I recently discovered this sub and it instantly brought these memories flooding back to me.

At the time I kind of just brushed it off because nothing bad ended up happening to me and put it down to, I guess stuff just happens to you when you're a woman walking alone at night. But looking back, I now realize how incredibly creepy it truly was. I was coming home on my own on a Thursday night after being out at a pub with some friends. We had been out a little more centrally in the city so I had to take a bus on my own to get home to my residential neighborhood. I had done this route hundreds of times so I didn't see it as being particularly dangerous, especially as I live in a fairly nice neighborhood. It was only about 11pm but because I lived in a residential area and it was the middle of the working week, when I got off the bus at my stop it was absolutely dead and there was no one around. Again, this didn't spook me, particularly as it was only about a 5-10 minute walk from the bus stop to my house. As I turned down a long residential street that leads towards my house, I noticed a guy walking further down the street.

This put me a little on edge, but I was reassured by the fact that he has his back to me and was walking away from me down the street. As I kept walking down the street, I noticed the guy turn around and clock me. That's fine, I thought. I always turn around when I hear someone walking behind me at night, so nothing truly weird about that. But I noticed as we got further and further down the street, he kept doing it. Kept checking I was still walking in the same direction as him. At this point, I'm starting to get pretty freaked out. Particularly as I am painfully aware that we're the only two people around.

Just as I was weighing up what I should do, he turned down the path of one of the houses to our right and I breathed a sigh of relief. He is going into the house, I thought. I was just being paranoid the whole time. Now the houses in my area are terraced with the front doors being kind of embedded into an enclave at the front of the house. What this means is that, from where I was standing, about 50 feet away, I couldn't actually see the front door of the house as it was obscured by the wall. However, I saw him walk down the path and disappear into the front door enclave, so my logical conclusion was that he was letting himself into his own home.

I can't describe what exactly made me feel like this but after that initial feeling of relief wore off, I suddenly got this really bad feeling so I stopped walking and just stood there. There was this tiny voice in my head that said, what if he was just faking you out? The feeling became so strong that I stepped off the pavement and ducked down behind a parked car and just waited. After a couple of minutes of crouching behind the car staring at the house I saw a movement and my heart stopped. The man came back down the path, out into the streets and was looking around, very clearly looking for me. He must have been waiting for me in the doorway

knowing that if I kept walking I wouldn't see him until it was too late. Unfortunately for him, his hiding place also meant that he couldn't see me, so when I didn't walk past as he anticipated, he had come back out into the street to try and work out where I was. Looking back now, I probably should have called the police at this point, but as a scared teenager my fight or flight brain took over and I sprinted down one of the roads running perpendicular to the street that we were on as I knew I could use it to take a slightly longer route home. I didn't stop running until I got home where I quickly double locked the door behind me

and amazingly I didn't even think to wake anyone in my family up. I literally just went to bed and then woke up the next morning and went to school. I dread to think what would have happened if I hadn't just suddenly got a bad feeling and stopped walking. Part of me thinks that on some subconscious level my brain must have registered not hearing the front door shut after the man had approached it and therefore triggered an alarm in my head. But I had no perception of this at the time. Lesson learned. Trust your gut. So when I was 15, my mom was friends with a man who wanted to date her, Jake. My mom was not interested in a relationship with this man at all and in fact was dating another guy by the name of Colt. My family is full of pretty serious rednecks and my mom is no exception. So one day my mom

invited Colt and his roommate Frank over to shoot some guns at our home range. We shoot for a while and eventually went in around dark. So my mom and Colt got drunk after we went in. Frank cannot drive due to some brain damage so they ended up staying the night at the house. At around 2am I was still up playing video games. My mom and Colt were in her room asleep when Frankie comes running down the hallway saying a truck just pulled into the driveway. I look out the window and see that it's Jake. Apparently my mom hadn't texted him in a few hours and he's extremely possessive so he went by to check and

see if she was home. Keep in mind Colt's Ranger was parked in the driveway and is very obviously a guy's truck. Think spiked lug nuts, spur hanging from the rear view, skull hydro dip dash. Jake absolutely flips upon seeing this. He starts ringing the doorbell non-stop, beating on the door, walking around the house beating on windows, screaming my mom's name and circling Colt's truck. At this point my mom and Colt are awake and since we have blackout curtains, she tells us to keep the lights off and hide in the hallway. If we don't do anything and respond, we'll think no one's home and leave. Colt, being completely sober now, is understandably livid,

threatening to go out and deal with it as he put it. It's now important to point out the size difference between Colt and Jake. Colt's 5'5 and about 125 pounds soaking wet. Jake is 6'3, 240. Jake could punt Colt 50 feet if he wanted to. Because of this, my mom forces Colt to stay inside. This went on for 45 minutes. At one point we see the camera monitor in my mom's room that Jake has punched the side of Colt's truck. Then we hear the screen to one of the windows slide up. The window in question is locked and Jake couldn't fit through anyway, thank god. It's at this point that I think of the only thing that'll make Jake leave. I grab a gun, act terrified, which at this point I am, and walk to the living

room and ask, who is it, out the window. Jake realizes it's me and asks where my mom is. I tell him she's out with her friends and that I haven't heard from her and I'll call him when she gets home if I'm awake. He says thank you and left. After all that nonsense he did, that's all it took for him to leave, and honestly I was amazed. I genuinely thought I was going to have to shoot this guy. Later on that night at around four we hear his truck outside again. He squeals his tires down the road, obviously angry that my mom hadn't called him. The next morning he's back again at ten, again beating on the doors and windows screaming and trying to get a reaction.

Colt again then tries to go out and handle it but mom won't let him. He finally leaves again and Colt goes out and looks at his truck. There's a 3 inch deep dent in the side of his bed. Colt is understandably mad and tells my mom to let him know if that freaking creep comes back. Jake had beat on our doors until his hand bled. This also may have been from hitting the truck, but I don't know, and had blood on the doors and windows. My mom wouldn't let me call the police because she felt that it would just cause unnecessary strain and that she thought it was over, so the cops were unfortunately never involved. She was also worried he'd do worse

if the police got involved. My mom stopped talking to Jake after that, and I never felt comfortable at that house at night again. Once I started driving, I didn't stay the night there very much, opting to visit during the day and go back to my dad's at night. To better paint the picture, here is a description of myself at the time of this incident, three years ago. 5'5", 26-year-old woman, medium-length bleach blonde hair, curvy 175 pounds, wearing black high-waisted tights and a pink crop top. Three years ago I was walking home late at night from my friend's house. It was dark and at the time I lived in a rough part of a large city. I've had many sketchy situations that I have gotten myself out of so I guess I felt sort

of invincible, like nothing truly scary could happen to me. When I walk alone, I always stay very alert, and I'm aware of my surroundings for my own safety just in case. About halfway home and roughly 10 minutes to my apartment, I noticed a van start tailing me. I was used to this since in my city it's very common for a young woman in a rough area to get propositioned for sort of a hookup. It's embarrassing how desensitized I was to this. I did my usual and crossed the road so I would be walking beside the traffic heading in the other direction. I wasn't scared, more annoyed. The van

then turned down a side street then back onto the road I was on and pulled up to me. At this point, I still wasn't scared. Again, this has happened so many times and it never mattered if I was wearing something that showed more skin or if I was wearing a winter coat zipped from just below my chin all the way down to my ankles. That area was notorious for that type of activity. I decided to be firm and told the person sternly, I'm not interested. I noticed that there were two men in the van. They looked almost identical and may have been twins or perhaps brothers. Both men have a very, very dark complexion, dark eyes, and short dark hair. The van didn't move. I was super annoyed and crossed the road again to get away.

At this point, I figured this would be enough for them to stop following me. But they didn't. They kept circling back every time I crossed the road. I've never had to put that much effort into getting some pervert to leave me alone so this is when I started feeling unsafe. They zipped by me at the speed the traffic was flowing in and I yelled for them to screw off. I thought it finally worked. It had been three minutes and I hadn't seen the van so I thought I was in the clear, just in case I pulled my phone out and was getting ready to call my sister that

I live with. Just then, the van pulled up to me very quickly, and before I could even blink, one of the men jumped out of the van, opened the back door, and approached me quickly in an aggressive manner, as if he was about to scoop me up and throw me into the vehicle. The traffic in that area is very inconsistent. It was dead, and I imagine that's what they were waiting for. Just as the man was about to place his hands on me, I tilted my phone and said, You're being filmed in my live video chat. I gave my friend your license plate number and the police have been notified. I was so scared, but I didn't let that show. I stayed as calm as I could.

The man paused like he was considering if I was bluffing or telling the truth, so I tilted the phone more as if to give the fake audience a better look at him. He then jumped back into the van, closed the door and they sped off. I have never been the same since that night. I'm afraid of walking alone, now even in the daytime. Stay safe out there, and to those two creeps in the van, I hope karma finds you both soon. To be continued... old. I lived in a townhome community where each road had two sides of homes. In between the backs of the houses there was a back road with alleys that went in between each building section. I lived on the edge of one of these and my townhome was on one of the alleyways.

I lived on one street and across the back road on the opposite side lived an elderly woman whose name I don't even know. I'm not sure what her situation was but for whatever reason she never really liked me specifically. She was creepy and spray painted all of her windows so no one could see in her house. However, that never stopped her from sometimes staring out her bedroom window directly at mine and keeping it open at night to shine a red strobe light into my room across the way. She used to yell how she hated us. I was in the fourth grade, and on a particular January morning, I had unfortunately missed the bus. My dad sent me outside to get in the car so he could drive me, and he said he'd follow me out

soon after. As I was walking to my dad's car, she came out of the alleyway next to my house, slowly, with a gigantic kitchen knife behind her back. She raised it and started running after me. I was faster than her so I was able to avoid her and was able to get into the house. She walked and stood on the neighbor's porch across the way and stared at my house. I was terrified. My dad ran out and yelled at her and she said she wanted to get rid of us stupid kids. My parents called the police but the police sent her home and had an ambulance pick her up later. My parents went to some kind of court meeting about it but I don't really know the details. I didn't see her again after that until about one year later.

I don't remember the day but it had snowed that morning so I was going to run out of the front door and play in the snow. I opened the door to see her standing on the porch but looking out towards the road. I panicked, closed and locked the door. I ran up to my parents' room and told them what happened and we saw her walk off the porch up the street. I never saw her again after that. My family has since moved far away from there, but people I know say she still lives there and her windows are still the same spray-painted windows. Though it doesn't affect me as much as it used to, I still don't like being around knives. To be continued... Hey friends, thanks for listening. Click that notification bell to be alerted of all future narrations. I release new videos every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 7pm EST.

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