The Lets Read Podcast - 172: SCARY CHILDHOOD MEMORIES | 32 True Scary Stories | EP 160

Episode Date: January 31, 2023

This episode includes narrations of true creepy encounters submitted by normal folks just like yourself. Today you'll experience horrifying stories about Lyft Drivers, Childhood Memories, and Homeless Folks... 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

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BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with iGaming Ontario. Born on March 20th of 1988 in Mexico City, Itzacodo Ocampo was the oldest son of two Mexican migrants, who eventually came to settle in the Orange County suburb of Yorba Linda, California. After spending the first 12 years of his life in the state, his parents gained American citizenship for both them and their children, and Itzacotl would go on to graduate from Anaheim's Esperanza High School in the summer of 2006. His high school friends would later remember Ocampo as a warm and friendly young man, and it was this demeanor that won him many friends during his education. But something happened during his school years that had a profound effect on Ocampo.

The attack on New York's Twin Towers in September of 2001. Following what proved to be one of the most devastating terrorist attacks in world history, Ocampo's friends noticed a distinct shift in his personality. He became dark and brooding, fostering an intense interest in the politics of the Republican Party and particularly the foreign policies of then-President George W. Bush. It was also around this time that Ocampo became the victim of a rather intense campaign of bullying by what his friends later described as a bunch of rich jocks. Whether or not this affected his decision to join the U.S. Marines is unclear, but we know that as of July 2006 he was stationed at Camp Pendleton in Oceanside where he was attached to the 15th Regiment of the Medical and Sanitary Battalion.

In 2008, Ocampo was deployed to Iraq with the 1st Supply Battalion to Iraq, but it's evident that he didn't see combat during his 8 months in country. His job was to transport water and fuel to combat soldiers deeper in the field and although he certainly faced all the dangers presented by an act of insurgency, Ocampo was never actually under fire at any point. We also know that at some point during his tour, there was an incident in which Ocampo pointed a loaded weapon at an allied soldier. Although it's not clear which nationality the soldier was, Ocampo was severely punished for his indiscretion.

He was demoted, docked pay, and assigned extra work duties as penance. Despite this worrying episode, Ocampo still received all the appropriate commendations for his tour, including the Iraq Campaign Medal, Global War on Terrorism Service Medal, and the National Defense Service Medal. His superiors apparently viewed his outbursts as an unfortunate but unavoidable part of serving in an active war zone. Ocampo was stressed, he acted out, but he didn't hurt anyone and he took his punishment like a man. And it seems his later behavior is better explained by an event which occurred back in the States. After returning to Camp Pendleton, Ocampo experienced a traumatic brain injury when the latch to his 7-ton failed to lock and slammed into the back of his head.

He was medically discharged at the worst possible time, right as the US was falling into a recession. Ocampo struggled to find work, eventually settling for low-paid work as a landscaper, all the while his life fell apart around him. He discovered that his father was addicted to drugs, causing Ocampo's mother to divorce him. They also lost the house

as a result of this addiction and the pain this must have caused its Coto is frankly immeasurable. Around July 2010, Ocampo began to show signs of complex PTSD, first noted when he began to exhibit what we might call deviant behavior. A serious factor for the deterioration of his mental state was the death of his close friend Patino, who died in Afghanistan's Helmand province during combat in the summer of 2010. Following his death, its Kotal became depressed and increasingly dependent on alcohol. Over the next two years, unable to adapt to a normal life and hold a job, he depended on income from relatives and refused treatment from psychiatrists, insisting he was unqualified to be diagnosed for PTSD because he did not fight in combat.

By the end of 2011, his mental state had deteriorated sharply, to the point of developing hypochondria and showing signs of clinical delirium. Then, on October 25th of 2011, Ocampo suddenly appeared on the doorstep of his old high school classmate, 24-year-old Eder Herrera. Eder lived with his 53-year-old mother, Raquel, along with his older brother, Juan, and both were present when Ocampo unexpectedly lunged at them, stabbing both Raquel and Juan more than 30 times each. The Herrera's neighbors witnessed the murders, providing police with a description of the offender's appearance and his clothing, but because Aether and Ocampo were similar in appearance, the grieving Aether was arrested in a shocking display of police negligence.

Despite denying any involvement in the deaths of his mother and brother, he was still considered the main suspect when it was revealed that, shortly before the crime, he had gotten into some kind of verbal altercation with them, as per a statement from their neighbors. Just short of two months later, on the evening of December 21st, Ocampo was loitering around the parking lot of a shopping center in Placencia When he suddenly attacked a 53-year-old homeless man named James McGillivray McGillivray's bloody execution by stabbing was recorded on CCTV And the police managed to release a composite photo of the killer in the hopes of cutting Ocampo's spree short

But a week later, Ocampo's spree short. But a week later, Ocampo committed another murder. This time, the victim was 42-year-old homeless man Lloyd Middow, who spent most of his time under a bridge crossing the Santa Ana River in Anaheim. Middow, like McGillibray, was found stabbed almost 60 times, as if the killer had entered some kind of frenzy that they'd struggled to come down from. Two days later, Ocampo killed another homeless man, stabbing 57-year-old Paulus Smit more than 50 times before discarding his body in the parking lot of a public library in Yorba Linda. And by the time Ocampo killed for a fourth time, news about the homeless deaths in Orange County began to spread like wildfire among local and national media outlets.

Then, in early January of 2012, several newspapers published who spoke extremely negatively about the perpetrator and urged any potential victims to be as careful as they can in order to avoid being the next victim. Berry's words signed his own death warrant, and as a result, Ocampo traveled all the way over to Anaheim to begin stalking Berry. The following evening, Ocampo traveled all the way over to Anaheim to begin stalking Barry. The following evening, Ocampo found Barry near a Carl's Jr. in Anaheim then, after waiting for the right moment to strike, he attacked and stabbed Barry in front of dozens of witnesses, fleeing on foot after killing him. These witnesses obviously rushed to call 911 and Ocampo was arrested while trying to dispose of his bloody clothing just several hundred meters away from the crime scene. Police confiscated a 7-inch stainless steel blade from him, one that was soaked with John Barry's blood. Homicide detectives then discovered that the murder weapon matched the one in the killings of the three other homeless men and Ocampo was now confirmed to be the Orange County Homeless Killer. Only later were the murders of his school friend's mother and brother tied to his maniacal spree, and after learning of his cruelty, Orange County District Attorney

Tony Rakakis confirmed that he would seek the death penalty during the upcoming trial. Ocampo's trial was scheduled to begin on January 17th of 2014, yet on the evening of November 27th, 2013, Ocampo somehow managed to get a hold of a bottle of Ajax and was found dead after having swallowed the entire bottle. It was the coward's way out, a way of retaining the dignity that he had denied to so many others in his brief but tumultuous life. Was its koto akampo evil? Or was he a product of a broken society, suffering in his own personal hell, who found that killing was his one true way of getting back at a system he once had so much faith in. I was a bad kid.

And no, I'm not talking about your regular teenage delinquency like trying cigarettes, school detentions, or getting bad grades. I mean really bad. By age 17, I was shoplifting, stealing cars, getting picked up by cops for all sorts of things. Not exactly hurting anyone but I was a constant headache for my mom and dad. Then after me and dad almost got into an actual fist fight, he kicked me out of the house. I know I deserved it and I know they figured I'd just go stay with friends for a couple of days because that's exactly what I did. But me being me, I quickly wore out my welcome at my buddy's houses and ran out of places to stay. But again, me being me,

I was way too proud to just go home and apologize. Since it was summertime, I figured it'd be a good idea to head down to the park to find somewhere to sleep. Now I lived in the inner city back then, so there was a bunch of other actual homeless people already sleeping there and as soon as I realized I was actually stuck out there for a night I started to realize that this homeless thing wasn't a game anymore. As it started to get really late I got to the park at around 11pm and it was like 1am by the time this happened. One of the homeless dudes walked up to me as I started to bed down on the bench and started talking to me.

He asked what I was doing and being naive I told him I'm homeless. He immediately responded by saying no you're not and pretty much guessed the whole deal about me having a falling out with my mom and dad. I didn't want to admit that he was exactly right so I just kept my mouth shut but I remember him saying something like, really though kid, if you have kin you need to pay him a visit because I promise you ain't ready for this life. My pride kept me out there for three whole nights and every single time I crawled up on that bench, the same old homeless dude would walk up and be like, go home kid, the same you.

In hindsight he was exactly right but at the time he was just another person to prove wrong. My final night on the streets also happened to be the first that I tried to ingratiate myself with the homeless folk who slept in the park, partially out of boredom and partially out of hunger. I'd run out of money, run out of food, and I figured if I hung out with the other guys I could maybe get in on some of their food or something. I asked around but no one had any spares, until I asked this one guy and he told me to buzz off, and I noticed a Snickers bar sticking out of his coat pocket. My rumbling stomach basically just overrode my brain and with all the dexterity of a Victorian pickpocket, I slid the thing out of his pocket and walked off. Not my proudest moment, stealing food from a homeless guy when I could have just swallowed my pride and walked home, but

it is what it is. So I go off to hide somewhere so I can devour the snickers whole, then I walk back to where the other guys are to hang out some more. Maybe like two or three hours later I'm still trying to ingratiate myself with the homeless guys, but I'm also still pretty nervous around them for obvious reasons. I figured the guy I stole from is too drunk to even notice that I stole from him, but oh boy was I wrong about that. Because like I said, a few hours after I stole it, I noticed the guy began to tap his coat pocket, obviously noticing that the candy bar is gone. I'm trying to remain inconspicuous, but I'm also trying to keep my eye on the guy because

if he put two and two together and worked out that it was me that stole from him, I wanted enough warning to be able to get out of there. So the guy taps his pockets and when he stops, I can see the cogs turning in his booze-soaked brain as I figured he was thinking, hmm, pretty sure I had some candy in there. But then a few seconds later, he's back taking pulls from his 40 ounce like he'd completely forgotten about the whole thing. Only, he hadn't. And the most shocking thing about what came next was how it went from 0 to 100 in like a second flat. So remember that pull of his 40? He takes one, then two, then a third much longer one, almost like he was trying to

polish the whole thing off in a hurry. Which, as it turned out, was exactly what he was doing. Because what was once an innocent beverage receptacle soon became a weapon. When he turned to the guy to his right and sent the glass 40 bottles smashing into his face. The guy just collapsed, hands covering his face, same hands with muffled blood-curdling screams that he let out. The guy I stole from then started kicking the life out of him. Steal from me? Steal from me, mother effer? And out of all the homeless people there, only one actually tried to break it up.

And even then, it was just a slurred, I break it up over there, only one actually tried to break it up. And even then, it was just a slurred, I break it up over there, which ended up being totally ignored. I remember turning to the older dude had been nice to me, telling me to go home and what not and I feigned ignorance as I asked him what was going on. The guy said the dude getting beat down was always stealing stuff, so if anything went missing around the park it was most probably his fault. No one cared though, no one gave a single worry that this guy was getting his face stomped on and it was all my fault. Oh, and I mean stomped on, I could hear this guy's face literally crunching under the guy's boot. I knew I should have said something. I knew I should have owned up, but believe me when I tell you that I've never been that scared. Not before, or after. All I could think of was, if I tell the

truth, that'll be my face getting stamped on, only it'll probably be like a hundred times worse because, well, look what I caused. I turned to the nice guy and was like, but what if he didn't steal it? What if someone else stole it? The guy looked at me and his eyes went all wide and he leaned in and said, don't say a word, kid. Just leave. Leave and never, ever come back. As I walked away, I could still hear the guy getting his butt beat, and although I never found out what happened to him, I don't see anyone being able to survive the kind of head injuries he got. That very same night, maybe at around 2am,

I walked back to my parents' house and banged on the front door until my dad woke up and answered. I just blurted out this big, long apology about being a total idiot and not appreciating what I'd had. I'm pleased to say that that was the first step on the road to being a decent human being because almost everything I did before that had little to no consequences or rather would little their word and bother me. But that night I stole the candy bar I actually saw how bad the repercussions could be and honestly I had no idea they could ever be that bad just for taking a candy bar. I feel equal parts shame and horror when I look back on it. My pride and greed caused

me to do something shameful and my cowardice might have cost a relatively innocent man's life. I wish it had never happened, but at the same time, if it didn't, who knows, I might be still hanging out in that park today, if I'd even be alive at all. I had a real rough upbringing. I won't bore you with the little details, but my parents weren't in the picture. I was in and out of abusive foster homes, and when I was 16, I spent a long couple of months sleeping on the streets. Lots of messed up stuff happened, I mean, a lot, and sometimes I feel like I could write a book of all the scary

stuff I had to go through during my teenage years. But this one thing is by far the most frightening thing that happened. The worst thing is that the guy caught me when I was really, really hungry. Otherwise, I might have had the good sense to realize what was going on. So, like I said, I was bumming around, trying to scrape together a couple of bucks to get some food. I was standing at a crosswalk with a sign that said, 16, homeless and hungry, and every time the lights went red I'd walk out and flash my sign to them and hope they'd toss me their pocket change. Sometimes it worked, sometimes not, and on this particular night people didn't seem

to be feeling generous at all. All until this one guy pulled up and got out of his car and was like oh my god honey are you okay? He seemed so kind and I was just feeling so weak and the sudden act of apparent kindness was almost too much for me. So I'm holding back tears as I'm telling him how hungry I am, and as he asks if he can take me to get some food before helping me find a place to stay, all I could think about was the food. I know I shouldn't have done it. I know I shouldn't have gotten in the guy's car, but I was young. I was naive.

I figured, if anything happens, I can just run away or call for help. I even pictured myself like ducking and rolling from the car if he tried driving me anywhere secluded, you know, like they do in the movies. So as dumb as it sounds to say it now, I actually felt kind of safe. But if I'm being honest with myself, all I was thinking about was the idea of a burger or something. I was practically salivating just thinking about it. When he asked me where I had in mind, I think I said Wendy's or something because I remember us driving past one, pointing it out to him and he just ignored me. That's when I realized something was wrong and I started to ask him

why he hadn't stopped at the Wendy's. That's when this formerly really kind person turned into a monster right before my eyes. Shut up was all they said. They didn't even take their eyes off the road while saying it. But hey, I had my little backup plan, and I wouldn't even have to tuck and roll at high speeds. We were still in the inner city by that point with stoplights every quarter of a mile or whatever. So I just shut my mouth, waited until we were at a stoplight, unlocked the passenger door, then pulled on the door handle. Nothing. I pulled on it again. Still nothing. I pulled it a third time and that's when I noticed that it didn't feel right. Like it felt hollow almost. Like it

wasn't connected to anything. And I suppose that's because it wasn't. I can remember that horrible sinking feeling that went through me even today. Realizing it a trap, realizing that there was no way out. When I started screaming and bashing on the car window, he just turned up the stereo and ran a red light so I couldn't alert anyone. Then, and I don't even really know what came over me, but in a panic, I kinda leaned back in my seat and started bashing the windshield with my bare feet. I kicked and kicked and kicked until the glass began to crack and the guy trying to kidnap me couldn't do much about it as he had to keep his eyes on the road. Yeah, he threw a few punches and they sure did hurt but I still had enough freedom to do some serious damage to his car's windshield.

Then it's his turn to scream at me, telling me how I'm dead and he's going to make me beg to be killed before the end. It was terrifying, sure, but I knew I'd gotten to him. So I'm just screaming, yeah? Well, screw you too. Then, out of nowhere, blue and red lights and the whoop of a police siren. You should have seen the guy's face. He looked like he'd seen a ghost, like the color just drained from his face as he looked into the rear view. I didn't think I was out of the woods yet. I thought I'd have to endure some crazy police chase or something and even then, the guy might just pull out a gun and kill us both. But no, he pulls what turned out to be a stolen car over, jumps out,

then just runs off as fast as his legs could carry him. To this day, I've never been so happy to see the cops. These days, I have my life together and I've learned to dread seeing those same blue and red lights in my rear view. It usually means a speeding ticket or a driver's safety course. Okay, I get it, I'm not the best driver. But sometimes, just sometimes I remember the feeling I get when the cops pulled me out of that car. Just complete, all-consuming, gratifying relief. Their intervention helped me get back into foster care and for the first time, I actually felt at home with the family I was assigned to. And the best thing about that night? I actually got my Wendy's.

All thanks to the cops that rescued me. So thank you guys. I owe you literally everything. To be continued... My name is Ali, I'm 33 and from the ages of 19 to 23 I was addicted to heroin. How I got hooked is a story on its own but I have a better story to tell here and that's how I got clean. I say better story but it's still not a good one. In fact, it's actually pretty horrifying. But it was what I needed to get clean, so silver linings I guess. Anyway, about 18 months into my addiction I got kicked out of my apartment and my family didn't want anything to do with me. I really can't blame them. So I ended up out in the streets. I was 21, 5'2 and 110 pounds soaking wet, so needless to say, I was pretty vulnerable. I think I'd have been more scared if I wasn't focused on scoring all

the time. That's scoring drugs, not, you know. But as you can imagine, life for a young woman out on the streets is not a good one, andesus christ is it scary so first thing you learn is that you need protection basically and as a feminist i hate to say this you need a man now i was lucky most girls don't get a choice but i happened to hook up with a guy who had been an addict for about the same time as me it was only a few years older. We didn't just get together so it'd be easier to score. We actually liked each other and after a while, I'd say we fell in love. We spent the next two years together, just trying to get by, occasionally trying to kick the habit and facing all the hardships that came with the lifestyle altogether. Together, that was the

important thing. It was the only thing that mattered. But I can't quite bring myself to type his name for a number of reasons, and you're about to learn the main one real soon. So this guy would do anything to protect me, and I mean anything. He stole from me, hurt people from me, but only when I needed to be defended. We were each other's whole worlds. And when we got three months in county for his third shoplifting offense, he had an immaculate record before his addiction.

I missed him like I'd never missed anyone else, not even my whole family. I want to say that I was able to make it by without him, but that's not the case, and when he finally got released, I literally wept with joy. I was so happy to see him. The cops had forced him to get clean in the county, and the first thing he wanted to do when he got out was get high again. Luckily, I'd planned a little homecoming party in advance, which consisted of nothing more than a ten bag of dope. So, we quickly found a safe, quiet place to nod out then started spiking up. He went first, then shot up the second half of the needle and we fell asleep in each other's arms, something I'd missed so much I can barely find the words to describe.

The last thing I remember is him trying to pull away from me and I figured it was to go pee or something. I'd missed him so much that all I remember is tugging at his sleeve, not wanting to let him go. I'd waited months for that cuddle and he could wait a minute longer, just a minute longer. The next thing I know I'm opening my eyes and I can still feel the guy's arm around me. You know when you just wake up and it's like you're not fully logged in yet? That's a thousand times worse when you're on dope. Like it was actually like, huh?

Who is this? But for a second before I remembered my man was out. So naturally I feel this warm, fuzzy feeling. I wiggle back into him and I pull his arm tight around me. Then I reach for his hand to lace my fingers between his like he always used to like. And it's cold. Not just October and Chicago cold. Like I need a pair of gloves cold. Stone cold. The kind of cold that made me realize something was horribly wrong. I barreled out from under him, spun around, tried to shake him awake but it was no good.

I remember I screamed so hard that I puked and that caused someone to come running to check on us. After that I'm not sure how long the cops and the EMT showed up and I had to answer a bunch of questions. It was OD by the way, in case you were wondering. He just shot a little too much after being clean for a few months and his tolerance had plummeted so much that, yeah, his body just gave out. The worst thing is, though, as he was overdosing, he obviously tried to get away to get himself help or something. That's what the tugging must have been. A minute later, he must have slipped away unconscious, all the while I was cuddled up all snug in his arms. I slept with this corpse for maybe five or six hours,

and that's something I still think about, usually at least once a day. I think about my addiction, how grateful I am to be clean, and that's the first thing to pop into my head. I can't type his name because it just tears me up inside, like it's the most triggering thing for me, so please forgive me that I'd neglect such an obvious little detail. I can't type his name because even though we were addicts, I loved him with all my heart. I loved him and in some ways I feel like I killed him. He was clean. I brought him the shot that killed him. It's my fault. It's all my fault. And that's something that I'll never, ever get over. Back in early 2020, I was doing pretty badly financially.

I was behind on rent, my hours at my job had just been cut, and almost all my money was being funneled into vet bills for my cat who thankfully fully recovered from their surgery. But then boom, the pandemic hit and it was devastating. You see, I live out here in California where the restrictions have been particularly harsh, and they were most definitely at their harshest during the summer of 2020. When I lost my job, I would claim unemployment, but when it came to my apartment, I decided it would just be better to find an alternative form of accommodation for a while. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I started living in my car.

It sucked just as hard as you can imagine and as a result, I only lasted about 10 days before I just threw in the stuff happen to me and probably the most unexpected and therefore the creepiest was somewhere I least expected it. So just for clarity's sake I'm a girl in my early 20s, not particularly tall, not particularly strong. And after searching for a relatively safe place to park up every night, I ended up finding a quiet little cul-de-sac that seemed as safe as far as any I knew to park up and get some sleep. Best thing about it was it was mostly office spaces so I could just take up empty spaces at night and leave before anyone showed up to complain. The only active place was this all night McDonalds and I always figured it was a good place to park near since it meant food, coffee, and a bathroom to wash up in. So one night, before I'm about to sleep, I feed Oscar, my cat, and check my surroundings to make sure it's pretty much all clear.

The only person around is a guy sitting at the outdoor seating at McDonald's, but he's not looking at me, not doing anything remotely creepy so I figured it's safe to go to sleep. I don't even know how much time passed before I wake up to the sound of Oscar yowling. I figured it might be another cat outside so I tell him to be quiet. But he won't, Oscar kept yowling then hissing at something. The moment I opened my eyes I knew something was wrong. I parked in the same place every night, slept in almost the same position every night, and the position I slept in meant there was always this annoying beam of light coming in my window from the McDonalds across the street.

So when I opened my eyes and I wasn't immediately half blinded by the floodlight, I knew something was up close against my car. Then when I looked, I swear, a legitimate chill went up my spine. Some guy, and I don't know if it was the same one eating when I went to sleep, was pressed right up against the glass, hands around his eyes like goggles so he can see into the dark car and he's just staring directly at me. He didn't look particularly scary, I think he just had a dark colored windbreaker on and I know he had short, neatly cropped hair. He looked so normal but it wasn't so much how he looked as the way he was looking at

me. Eyes all wide, a slight curl to his lips, almost like he's thinking of all the possibilities that come from having found a vulnerable sleeping girl. The fact that Oscar was ready to claw his face off didn't seem to faze him. He was just fixated on one thing, and one thing alone. Me. I swear to god, no one's ever made me feel like that ever. Not before that night, and not after either. It's like he didn't see me as a person. More like he'd found a $20 bill on the floor, something he could just take. Luckily, I kept all my doors locked, so there was no danger of him getting into the car unless he broke a window.

But that didn't make it any less frightening when he was leaning up, looking around and suddenly tried to open one of my car doors. I grabbed my phone, sat up and started screaming for him to get away from my car, saying that he was going to call the cops and I'm calling 911 right now. At that, he just started walking away from the car like nothing had happened. I saw two people stop and say something to him on the way into the McDonald's but he just shrugged it off, walked into the darkness and disappeared. By the time the cops showed up he was long gone and it wasn't like he'd committed any real crimes to file a report. But still, the cops were really understanding, told me I'd done the right thing but also advised me to scout out some other

potential sleeping situations. Definitely not the most helpful cops I've ever dealt with, but the guy who took my report was really understanding and was actually there for me, unlike his cold partner who I swear was only moments away from rolling his eyes at me. That was the worst thing about living in my car. People treat you like a human being until the very second you let it slip out And then it's like a race to find out what's wrong with you Drugs, mental breakdown, scandalous divorce Oh, it always has to be something negative too Like I can't just be down on my luck because of a freaking global pandemic

Not everyone was like that, but enough Enough to make it a problem. So please, homeless people need a lot of things. Compassion, financial and moral support. But they definitely don't need your judgment. I can't even think of the words to really describe the feeling of dread I got whenever I looked up and saw those little white flakes begin to fall. You'd see kids and other folks get all excited, especially around the holidays. But for people out on the streets, snow meant just one thing. Death. I'll just share one story with you because too many will just get me down. I used to collect

a lot of scrap to get money from the recycling place and a lot of times I'd stop off at this place I knew Pete stayed at. This guy Pete was a few years older than me and he was one of those few homeless guys you meet that isn't a complete jerk in some way. Most of the time it's drugs or alcohol and that's the person's problem. Sometimes it's mental illness. But Pete was like the most normal, well-adjusted person I'd ever met out on the streets. I never got a story and I'm sure it was tragic, but Pete was a good guy. A real good guy. So this one year, it was my second year of being homeless It snows really heavy come winter time The previous year had been cold, but all we got was slush And as much as that sucks, the moisture tends to keep things slightly above deadly temperatures

But then my second year, we got this really dry snow And the temperatures dropped to like 20, maybe 25 degrees I walk past Pete's little section of alleyway and he's not there. His little alcove is empty so I start to worry. A few days go by, the weather gets worse, but I had a place in a derelict building with a bunch of sterno and I figured since Pete actually had his stuff together, he might have done the same. So one day I'm headed back along with my old scrap route and I have to walk past Pete's place. To my absolute relief, I see a pile of sleeping bags and cardboard laid out, signifying he was home.

So I walk up, sorry to wake him but happy to see him, and I'm all like, Hey Petey, terrible weather we're having having buddy how about them Yankees PD was a Mets guy so every single time I gave him that greeting even if he was asleep he just rear out of his bag and give me a F the Yankees but this time Pete doesn't move it was like a scene in the movie or something. I'm going, Pete, you there buddy? Just walking right into the inevitable as I leaned down near him and pull up the section of sleeping bag covering his head. And he was blue. I didn't cry, not right away. It was the first body I'd ever found so I remember just recoiling in horror and wanting to get away from him.

I walked a few blocks, and my head was spinning, and when I finally kind of came to, I was able to dial 911 and told them where to find the body. He was gone by that night. Thankfully, I'm not homeless anymore, and I don't really like to talk about my time on the streets all that much, not to people who don't know me from that life. But of all the people that died, the ones you really remember are the people who seem like they might get off the streets any day now. They're just that one phone call away to a cousin, or that one job interview away from freedom, and then they get snatched away

from you by something as meaningless as the weather. It wasn't drugs or booze that killed Petey. No, he was murdered, and society got the blood on its hands. To be continued... I used to stay in some abandoned warehouses here in the UK, and not like the kind you're thinking. These are old Victorian buildings that I think might have been part of the cotton industry, but don't quote me on that. The point is, they're about six floors up and are still in pretty decent condition if you can ignore the mice and the leaky sections. Anyway, I was much younger when this all happened. I was almost freshly 18 and I was coming to the end of my life on the streets. Because what happened next motivated me to get my act together, stop drinking and get on the list for emergency housing.

So as I was saying, I used to walk all the way up to the third or fourth floor whenever I slept in this place just to try and be as safe as possible. It wasn't unusual for certain unsavory types to wander into the lower floors to do all sorts of horrible stuff and I liked to be about as far away from that kind of thing as possible if I wanted to get any sleep. But then this one night, I wake up to the most horrible sound of screaming I'd ever heard. I can't even find the right words for it, like a proper death scream, just made my skin crawl when I heard it. I was so frightened that I couldn't move at first, but then I also knew I had to do something, at least to try and make it stop. If I was

screaming like that, I'd want someone to come and help me too. But then, by the time I actually got up and went downstairs, the screaming suddenly stopped. I kept going, just in case, but there was nothing down there, not a single person to be seen. I figured maybe just there had been an argument or something, god forbid, maybe a ghost. But the truth was much more frightening. I went back upstairs to get some sleep, thinking it was all safe again, and when I wake a few hours later to try to get some breakfast from the Catholic mission across town, I can hear the police radios before I'd even seen them.

They'd found a body of a girl just outside the entrance to where I was sleeping, and since I admitted to being in the area the night before, didn't have a leg to stand on really, I actually ended up being part of a murder investigation. It sounds grim, but it was actually quite nice. It broke up the monotony of my days going to and from the police station to give statements and have my fingerprints taken and all of that. And I know that probably sounds horrible to most of you, hearing me taking a measure of joy in that girl's death, and I get it, it's horrible of me, probably one of the lowest points in my life. But that's what I needed. That's what I needed to finally be like, hang on, this isn't worth it. This trying to live like an outlaw just is not worth it.

I've lived with mental health problems for most of my life too and I don't think I was quite ready to face it at the time. But realizing that some girl's death had become an event to me, I just thought, something needs to change. I can't say I'm doing too brilliantly today, but I definitely am better than I was. Most people wouldn't even know I'd ever been homeless by looking at me. But although that part of my life seems almost like it happened to someone else now, I still have the memories of those screams to remind me that it was very, very real. I made this throwaway account because I don't want this associated with my regular ones since I got my life back together. A few years back I used to, how do you put it, sell services to guys via Instagram, which helped me get out of being homeless after a few months. It's not something

I ever thought I'd end up doing, but I was desperate to get out of my homeless after a few months. It's not something I ever thought I'd end up doing but I was desperate to get out of my predicament and so I did what I had to do. I'm definitely not the worst looking girl and when I had long hair that attracted a lot of old men, some lonely, some a little weirder. I never really had problems with other homeless people because I stayed in a local city shelter at night and had to leave during daytime. Hanging around convenience stores and parking lots where they have game rooms, slot machine rooms as they say, is where I got most of my clients. Most of them were chill, get what they want and leave. But some of them, some of them were crazy. One guy in particular wanted me to stay at his place overnight

and spend the next day with him for a thousand dollars. I decided okay. It was a lot of money for one night so we went over to his place. Turned out the guy had what I can only describe as a torture dungeon in his garage. It had some type of black filament with egg cartons all over the walls and some really weird stuff laying around. I decided it wasn't a good idea and said I'd change my mind, telling him I wasn't into that kind of stuff but he wouldn't let me leave. We were yelling back and forth for a while and that's when he punched me in the collarbone.

I just kind of froze for a second, like, oh no, and punched him back as hard as I could, right in the face. What followed was a chase all the way through his house, right back to the front door. Twice he caught up with me, the first time I managed to kick him away, then the second time he almost got on top of me to choke me. His blood and spit were dripping on my face as he screamed about how he was going to kill me. How no one would care about a cheap... Well, you get the idea. How I managed to get out of there, I don't know.

I just kept fighting the whole time and somehow ended up outside in the street. Then I just remember running and running until I could find a safe place to get myself together. The worst thing was, when I saw a cop car my first thought was to run and hide again because I didn't know if this guy had called an assault or whatever. But this evil SOB was planning on doing god knows what with me in his garage. But no, it was me that had to worry about getting arrested. I'm just glad I'm able to put all that behind me now, but I'd be lying if I said I don't constantly think about those that haven't been able to. I want to get involved in a homelessness charity or something, maybe some kind of outreach program, Because every so often I think about those sorts of things and think,

that could just as easily have been me. To be continued... high income mountain town up in Colorado. I could only barely afford rent even with two different jobs up. But since I was only there for like a month and it was only through July and August, I figured I'd turn the whole thing into an extended camping trip. Which is about 50% a great idea and about 50% an awful idea. But God did it make for some awesome experiences. Some awesome ones and some pretty terrifying ones too. So, the job I'm in you work short term contracts. It's tough work and it's a real work hard play hard kind of attitude. So you drink every night after work, even if you don't have the cash. Someone will just buy for you then expect you to pay it forward.

Anyways, we get trashed, stay at this bar until closing time then when we get kicked out we go our separate ways. Him heading back to whatever roach infested motel he'd booked himself and me heading back to the majestic freedom of my one man tent or that's just what I told myself anyways. So I'm walking back to my tent, just going to town on some gyros, good Greek food in Colorado, who knew. Then I climb into my tent, lie on top of my bag and drift off to sleep. The next thing I know, and this was like an actual monster movie or something, I wake up to these big crunches of twigs and stuff, as something big is obviously moving around my tent. Immediately I think bear and I'm right. Just from its grunts I can hear that it was probably a black bear. The thing must

have smelled my gyros from like 5 miles away and just honed in on me like a pork seeking missile or something. I still thank god that it didn't come around to the front of my tent which I, like a complete idiot, had forgotten to close up. Instead, the bear sticks its muzzle into the material of my tent like inches from my face. It was one of the singular most horrifying moments of my life, waking up to that thing literally sniffing me out. I did the only thing I could think of and and it sounds incredibly goofy in retrospect, but I... I booped it. I booped that bear's snout as hard as I could, then just waited for it to tear through my tent and eat my face off. But it worked.

I scared the bear. With a boop. I didn't sleep a single wink that night. In fact, I think it was about 20 minutes or so before I just packed up my stuff and threw it into my trunk, then drove over to my buddy's motel to see if there was any rooms free. There weren't. So I slept in my trunk, in the parking lot, then talked to my buddy into letting me share his room the following morning. Definitely not my most dignified moment, but better than running into that black bear again. The End time, you could get to bed for the night. Only, because of the rough neighborhood it was in,

if you walked all the way down there for a bed for the night and couldn't get one, you were basically stuck in one of the worst areas of the city until you could escape it on foot. Other homeless people might try and rob you. Some guy got knifed in front of me one time, and if you tried to bed down there, there was a good chance some drunk idiots would come along and kick the life out of you just for fun. But by far the worst I ever saw was while walking out of that area one night when I was using the alleys to try and not attract attention and out of nowhere I start hearing this weird like grunting sound so I double back to check it out. At the back of an abandoned lot, I saw this crazy animal of a man, naked from the waist down on top of someone who I assume was a

woman, thrusting on top of them. Every couple of seconds he would stop to throw a punch. The woman was unconscious, completely limp and both her and the guy's fists were covered in blood. I yelled out to him to stop, then he just turned to look at me. I've seen a lot of real messed up things in my life, but that look in his eyes was beyond animalistic. It was like the lights were on, but no one was home, you know. And the way the orange security light was reflecting off them made him look even more inhuman. I was so scared. I wanted to do something but all I could bring myself to do was run to the nearest payphone to call the cops.

I know that makes me sound like a coward and that I should have stopped the guy because now the girl could be dead for all I know but I just didn't know what else to do. There could be two dead people and I don't think this way anymore but for a while after I thought it might be better to be a dead hero than live like a coward how I feel now. I just hope whoever it was that he was hitting

is doing okay these days. Some people never find a way off the streets but some do and I hope she was one of those. As for the guy, there's not a punishment in hell too good for him and I hope he got his karma in the end. To be continued... One of my earliest and most painful childhood memories is the day I got the news my granddad had died. I must have been about 5 or 6 at the time and I'll never forget my dad turning up at school to take me home early. I was absolutely made up. I grabbed my coat and bag, waved goodbye to my friends and practically skipped out of the classroom like I'd just won the lottery or

something. But I couldn't have been more wrong to be happy about the early departure because when we got home, I walked into the kitchen to find my mom in tears. I couldn't believe it. I was devastated. When she told me that granddad was in heaven, I asked if I could go and see him. I remember she broke down trying to explain how that was just not possible. Cut to about 4 or 5 years later, I've just started secondary school and I'm over at a cousin's house playing footy in the back garden. As we're kicking the ball back and forth, the subject of the conversation somehow gets how my granddad died and I realize in that moment that I didn't actually know how he

died. I assumed my cousin didn't know either because why would he? But apparently he did know and that's how I found out that he'd taken his own life. I didn't find out why for another 10 years or so and the details aren't that important to be honest. Just know that this little newsflash gave me a soul-crushing mixture of freaked out, terrified, and depressed. Me finding out caused a bit of behind-the-scenes drama between my mom and aunt, but it resulted in us taking a visit to a place called the Hilbury Islands. Lying at the mouth of the Dee Estuary, the Hilbury Islands are an archipelago of three islands consisting of Hilbury itself,

and two smaller islands called Middoway and Littleay. My granddad's ashes were scattered on Hilbury, as it was a favorite fishing spot for him and my great-uncle Ralph. Apparently, they used to spend weekends at a time up there when they were kids, and apart from a few summer homes and a lighthouse, the place is basically uninhabited for nine months out of twelve. Looking back at it, it must have seemed like they were kings of that place and a big part of that is the fact that Hillbury is one of just 43 unbridged tidal islands that can be reached on foot from the mainland of Great Britain. This means it's only accessible on foot

when the tide is out and the tide only goes out once a day for a couple of hours. Miss the window and you're well and truly stuck for just shy of 24 hours, which later presented us with somewhat of a problem. So on the day of visiting Hillbury, I was just happy to be spending time with the cousins. Sure the occasion was a bit of a heavy one, but family still has that insulating property when you're young, doesn't it? It was the middle of the summer, unseasonably warm even for the UK, so for a while there, I didn't have a care in the world. We trotted along the wet sand, running back and forth, splashing in little puddles. It was great. But that all

changed once we actually got to the island and my uncle Ralph, granddad's brother, started to wander off on his own. My mom and aunties all huddled together to watch him, all going quiet and urging us kids to do the same. The whole expedition then took on the distinct atmosphere of a funeral procession, all silent and reverential, which gave a gut-punch reminder of why we were actually there. Then my great-uncle shouted something at the islands. I know you're here, Freddy. In hindsight, what happened that day is this weird mix of wholesome and heartbreaking.

My uncle Ralph had to be in his 60s by this point, but going back to that island made him feel like a kid again. It made him feel close to the brother he'd lost, so much so that he evidently felt like he could sense his presence. As an adult, yeah, heartbreaking. But as a kid, it scared the life out of me. Uncle Ralph was like the supreme authority. If he felt my granddad's presence on Hillbree, then his spirit must have been hanging around. I remember grabbing my mom's hand and quietly asking her, is granddad Fred really here? She was struggling to hold back tears by that point. I hadn't been to the funeral since I was so small when he died and I suppose all that was just catching up to her as she shook her head and told me no. But the thing is, there was something about the way she said it,

something that made me think that she was lying to protect me or something. You have to understand, I was only 12, but I was smart enough to realize that I had been shielded from something bad and I mistook her no for that same informational shield. So as far as I was concerned, my granddad Fred's ghost was actually haunting Hilbury Island. I was scared, really scared in fact, but I didn't think we were in any danger. I mean, he was my granddad, he loved us, and that meant his ghosts wouldn't hurt us, right? Besides, I was with the family, if anything happened, they'd protect me. So, the trip to Hilbury came and went much like that, very tense and emotional but otherwise uneventful.

Uneventful until we tried to get back across the land bridge before the tide came back. I remember my auntie starting to say things like, we need to start getting back soon, the tide is due to be back in an hour. And since there was no messing about when it came to that sort of thing, we got a wiggle on and got walking back across the sand. We had at least 50 minutes to spare. This is according to my auntie anyway, so there's absolutely no reason why we should have been worried about the tide coming in. We should have been back on dry land for 15 to 20 minutes before any water started sweeping in,

but instead, something very different happened. As you can imagine, the walk back across the sand was considerably less jovial than the initial crossing. Gone was the playful, carefree attitude of jumping in puddles and instead, we all walked by our respective mums, so firmly in the grip of the funeral atmosphere that had descended. Uncle Ralph walked ahead of the group with everyone having agreed to just leave him be for a while and I was roughly in the middle with my mom. Then I remember just looking out to sea and watching as this little baby wave came washing over the sand at us. There wasn't any kind of outright panic and there never was I suppose but everyone understood what was going on.

The tide was coming back in way earlier than we'd expected and it was coming fast. It definitely caught us by surprise but like I said there was no real panic because we were never in any real danger. I know that takes a bit of steam out of my scary story

but to be honest that's not what had me so freaked out afterwards. I know this might sound crazy, I was 12 so give me a break, but I got it into my head that somehow it was my granddad's spirit making the water come back in, because he wanted to drown us so we'd join him in the afterlife or something. Yes, I know in hindsight it sounds hysterical, and it is hysterical, but all the mystery and the grim legend surrounding my grandad's death, coupled with how my Uncle Ralph seemed convinced he was there somehow, it was really, really freaking me out.

By the time we were back on dry land I was practically hyperventilating, but I couldn't tell anyone what was wrong because I knew it had upset my Uncle Ralph, which then just made me even worse because there was no one to reassure me that I was just being daft. I realize now what was really happening, is that I was having nothing more than a panic attack, all because I was young, superstitious, and scared. There was never any threat, never any actual danger to us. The whole thing was in my head. But that's just the thing about being a kid, isn't it? There's an intensity of certain fears that just don't survive into adulthood,

not in the same way. And sometimes the silliest things, or more specifically our misunderstanding of them, can terrify us to an extent that the event is burned into our memories. Forever. So my dad is from Scranton, the world's least attractive place name, but my mom is from Cape Town in South Africa, which is honestly one of the most beautiful places I've ever visited. Trust me when I say that as a biracial millennial, a country's messed up history is always in the back of my mind. And there are still shocking levels of poverty and injustice which obviously need to be dealt with. But I love going over to visit my mom's side of the family and seeing a strong black middle class emerging from a country that literally used to be the most racist place on earth. I don't know, it gives me hope.

But anyway, the first time I visited I was 11 back in December of 2012 and although it ended up being an incredible trip that I have a bunch of cherished memories from, one particular incident ended up being the scariest of my entire childhood. So one of the things that had me and my little brother so excited was the prospect of going on safari. We were both obsessed with Disney movies at the time, particularly The Lion King, so you can imagine how thrilled we were at the prospect of seeing real life Simbas, Timons, and Pumbas. But the reality of safaris is that if you don't bring a pair of binoculars, you're guaranteed to see almost nothing. I'm deadly serious about that too. Like the first time that blew my mind was when our jeep's guide pointed over to some trees and was like,

look, there's three giraffes feeding from those trees over there. When I looked, I literally saw nothing but a bunch of trees, and I was so confused for a few moments until one of the trees moved its neck. They were almost perfectly camouflaged, hiding in plain sight almost, and that's when I realized the savannah is less like a kingdom and more like a battlefield. The remainder of the afternoon went fantastically and although our parents' digital camera was almost always on full zoom, we managed to get a few half-decent pictures of the wildlife. I remember being a tiny bit disappointed because in my naivety, I figured it'd be more like a

petting zoo than a live-action version of Where's Waldo. But right as we're coming to the end of the safari, we rounded a corner and boom, there's a whole herd of elephants right next to us. I actually gasped. I think half the jeep did and it was without a doubt the single most majestic thing I've ever had the pleasure of seeing, awe-inspiring in the very sense of the word. But then suddenly, everything went horribly wrong. So the jeep we were in was the last one in a convoy of three, and when we came across the elephants, all three jeeps slowed to a crawl so we could all get photographs. Then as we're about to move on,

one of the elephants steps out of their little formation and starts to slowly follow us down the track. All the tourists were like, oh my god, look, he wants to join in with the safari. And I have to admit, I thought it was so wholesome making an elephant buddy like that. But this particular bull elephant was showing us both his ears at the same time. And if anyone reading knows anything about elephants, they know that this is basically a challenge. Bull elephants challenge each other from time to time and generally speaking,

one of them will back down before it comes to a clash of tusks. But if neither of them back down, one of them inevitably charges. So while us tourists are fawning over our new friend, the guides and the jeeps were getting very, very nervous. And the way my mom tells it, as much as they were trying to hide their anxiety, the way they were talking to each other on the radios was a dead giveaway. As the jeeps started to speed up, so did the bull elephant, and after a few minutes, it became quite obvious that this thing not only wasn't happy with us, but it actually wanted to fight. Then when it let out this

rip-roaring elephant trumpet that seemed to scream out, come at me, bruh, everyone realized this guy's intentions were not good. And this is where the trauma comes in, because almost the whole time my mom had been singing this old British song, I think it's British anyway, that goes like, Nellie the elephant packed her trunk and said goodbye to the circus. Off she went with a trumpety-trump, trump, trump, trump. She was singing it to my little brother, who was still only about five or six at the time, and definitely wasn't appreciating the safari as much as the rest of us. So to keep him chill, mom kept quietly singing to him, talking to him, anything to keep

him from throwing a complete tantrum. Then as the situation is getting more and more tense and the people in the jeeps are getting more and more scared, my mom starts singing this song again to keep Ty, my little brother, quiet. This meant that one of the scariest moments of my life, where I thought I might actually be crushed to death by a charging elephant, was soundtracked by this uber-dumb British nursery rhyme. Obviously, we all got out of there okay. The jeeps ended up doing like a synchronized speed up and get out of there kind of thing, and with a sudden rev of the engine, we left that elephant in the dust.

But before we escaped, there was this moment where as we got faster, so did the elephant. And it was as incredible as it was terrifying to see the raw power that thing could generate. Like we were getting faster and faster, but for a few seconds, the elephant didn't get any further away, like it was just matching our speed almost effortlessly until we finally picked up the speed to finally get away. As you can imagine, everyone in the jeep was pretty shaken up by such a close and tense encounter, and I can certainly speak for my little brother who was almost totally freaking out even when we got to a safe distance. No matter how much my mom sang that dumb old song, Ty just kept sobbing and wailing, like he was just a conduit for all the fear everyone was feeling.

The whole thing amounted to one isolated scary moment in a trip that was otherwise pretty life-changing. It didn't ruin anything, no one got hurt, and when we tell it these days, it's like 60% funny story, 40% scary, but I still remember that feeling of terror I felt, even all these years later, when I watched what had once been a big, cuddly cartoon become a real-life monster. I grew up in the super middle class area of my hometown. All townhouses and nice restaurants, but it bordered some really rough neighborhoods. All thanks to the school zoning, a lot of my high school friends lived in the nearby projects, so I'd go over there to hang out after school and on weekends. We had our little group of friends, but we were

familiar and friendly with a few of the other crews that were into some considerably naughtier things than us. For example, there was this guy Mike, and although we didn't hang out much, we always stopped to say hi to him and his boys if we ever saw them in the streets. But like I said, we rarely hung out with them because, for fun, they liked to steal cars. It might sound crazy when I say it wasn't malicious, but it's kind of true. Mike and his crew would like steal a car, burn rubber for a while, then park it right back where they had found it before the owner even knew it was gone. I remember one time hearing about how they felt so guilty about stealing one lady's car that they parked it up where they found it, but not before they topped off the gas

tank to replace what they burned. They were crazy like that, but they weren't bad guys and besides, we were just dumb teenagers at the time time so we thought that it was just cool to do. Anyways, it's summer break after our freshman year of high school and me and my boys are just wandering around acting like fools but otherwise keeping out of trouble. I remember one of us had managed to use the fluff of his top lip to trick some old gas station attendant into selling him a pack of Marlboro. So, we were headed down to this piece of scrubland we knew about to smoke up. About five minutes away, we started smelling smoke from somewhere but like, black smoke.

So, we're all like, uh oh, whose apartment is on fire? But we keep walking, seeing nowhere on fire so we just get more and more curious as to where the fire is coming from. Then we see two of Mike's boys just tearing it across some yards, sprinting as fast as their little legs could carry them. We shout over to them and although they look over, they don't stop. They don't look happy to see us like they usually would, they just keep running. So immediately we're like, oh god, what hood rat stuff have they been up to? And it wasn't long before we put two and two together and figured out that the fire might well be something they did. Then right as we get to the desolate plot of land we'd been planning on going to, we see it.

Just this ball of flames under a brick wall. Then when we get closer, we realize the fireball is actually a burning car. We were pretty shocked. I'd never heard of them doing anything like that before. It was always illegal but relatively harmless fun. Why set a car on fire when they could have just returned it like they normally did? You think they crashed it? I remember someone asking, but no one could be sure. We just waited and watched as the fire department showed up to put out the fire, closely followed by the cops. I remember we thought about running, but how it was pointless.

It'd just make us look guilty. Eventually, when the fire was out, the cops walked over and we just front as best we can, telling we don't know anything about the car or those that set it on fire. I think the cop knew we were lying. I suppose you just get good at picking up on them when you hear so many because he just acted like we were withholding information, telling us that we'd be in a lot of trouble if we were protecting the guilty party. And we just shrugged it off. It wasn't like it was the first time we'd lied to the cops.

It wasn't even the first time we'd lied for Mike and his crew. But then out of nowhere, the other cop comes over to see how it's going and his partner's like, these kids know something alright. They're just tight-lipped. Then when the other guy responded, our response told them all they needed to know. Don't want to snitch, huh? The other cop said. Well, as long as they can sleep at night

because whoever's kid is burnt to a crisp in that thing isn't going to be sleeping for quite a while. I remember the sinking feeling I felt in that moment how the color must have drained from my face because I could feel it leave my face. One of Mike's boys had been in that car when it caught fire, the other two just ran when they found that they couldn't pull him out. Then get this, we came to find out that the kid who burned to death in the car was Mike himself. He'd been the driver and the front end of the car had basically pancaked when he'd apparently deliberately crashed it into

a wall. What he did that for I don't know, maybe he was high or something, but either way his legs got trapped, the car caught fire, and he burned to death. I guess his boys were just so scared and shook up that they just ran. And Jesus, thinking about it later, I realized that if he was conscious when they were trying to free him, and he started burning before he passed out from the smoke, those guys would have heard him screaming as he burned. It was a whole thing, man, all up in the news for weeks after. Mike's boys turned themselves in after a while and I think they were so messed up that they just couldn't live with themselves. Ended up getting I guess I'm just trying to say how Mike didn't deserve to die like that. And if I had to label one memory from my childhood as being the worst or most traumatic, it was watching that car burn, not knowing one of our friends was burning in it. Back during summer breaks when I was a kid, I was pretty much glued to my mom during the daytime.

Everywhere she went, I went too, as I guess she just didn't trust me to stay home alone. I can't blame her, I was definitely a little menace when my age was still in single digits. But actually, maybe she should have left me home alone because taking me everywhere with her resulted in the single scariest moment of my childhood. So one day, we head out on a grocery run real early in the morning and since I was still half asleep, I pretty much refused to get out of the car. Since she was only planning on being a couple of minutes at the most, she agreed then scurried off into the store as I closed my eyes and decided to take a nap. Oh, and important point, I climbed into the backseat to do this, then cuddled up under the blanket that my mom kept back there.

Keep this in mind for what comes next. The next thing I know, I hear the car door opening again, so I open my eyes thinking, wow, that was fast. And that's when I see that the person who just sat down in the driver's seat is not my mom. It's some dude with a shaven head, and I still remember all the scabs on the back of his head as he started doing something under the dash, something which I now know was hot wiring or whatever you want to call it. I remember being so scared that all I could do was watch thinking, I don't know you, what in God's name are you doing my mom's car?

I didn't expect him to start it because even though I was incredibly young, I knew that he had to have those special keys to make the car move. But then out of nowhere, the engine starts, after which the guy shuts the door, starts driving my mom's car out of the parking lot. Only then did I start to scream, because it hit me that I might never actually see my mom again. This random guy wasn't just stealing my mom's car, he was stealing me too. The moment the screams left my mouth, the guy slammed on the brakes so hard that it almost threw me off the back seats. He spins around and I'll never forget how this guy had actual facial tattoos. These are scary enough to see on another adult but since I was only like a kid at the time, I just figured this dude was a straight up demon.

He looks at me and then just screams, Get out of the car, kid! I didn't even have to be told twice. Even though I was still in my PJs, I practically jumped out of the car, still bawling, and just ran towards the grocery store as the car drove off. I can only imagine how horrible it must have been for my mom to have her kid come sprinting into the store in floods of tears, screaming, mom, mom, someone just tried to take me away, then having to piece together all the info to realize that she almost lost her only son. These days, I totally take blame for the whole thing. I shouldn't have been such a lazy little brat, and the whole thing would just be a non-event to me.

It'd be the day our car vanished, not the day I almost accidentally got kidnapped. I always tell my mom not to feel guilty about it as basically all is well that ends well, right? But still, the whole thing definitely tops the list of my most frightening childhood memories. I didn't have a great childhood. I'm not one to complain about it. My parents did the best they could, but we ended up living in some pretty terrible places with not so nice families. Then right around the time I started secondary school, the kids I was hanging out with at the time started smoking cigarettes. Yeah, they were like 11 or 12 and they were smoking. Not just taking performative puffs on sticks either, I mean full on smoking like troopers.

And being the divvy that I am, I joined them on more than one occasion and they basically taught me to smoke out by this old World War II pillbox. Then one time we all go out to the pillbox and this kid gives us all a ciggy from the pack he'd stolen from his mom. I thought he was being a bit generous but I wasn't one to complain. I just didn't think I could finish off a whole cigarette on my own since just a few drags on one had me feeling pretty woozy the previous few times. But I figured, a few tokes, I can peg it out, smoke the rest of it later. The next thing that had me kind of suspicious was how weirdly loose the cigarette seemed, almost like it had been tampered with somehow.

Now, I know, I know, huge alarm bells are going off in the head of every right-minded person listening. But honestly, at like 11 years old, I couldn't even imagine what it might have been tampered with. I was really naive. I didn't know what hash or merry were. I didn't know about anything other than ciggies and beers. So I'm looking at this ciggy and then I look up at the lad who gave it to me and I remember asking, Have you done anything to this ciggy? He says no. I say okay, then light up and start puffing. Immediately I start coughing but my friend reassures me that

it's just the last one in the pack. I'll never forget that. He said it like it was totally normal to have one loose, scrabby ciggy in the pack like it was tradition or something. So I tried a few more puffs but started coughing again. So I gave up on trying to smoke it, tossed it away, then asked for some of my friends. I know something was definitely going on when he seemed annoyed that I'd thrown away my ciggy and just when I was trying to work out what he might have done to it, I started feeling very, very funny indeed. Everything started to tingle, my eyes felt all puffy and my vision started to ferris wheel with each eye going in the opposite direction. I tried to talk but words just wouldn't come out and my tongue felt like it was swelling up in my mouth and suddenly I just got so thirsty I could barely think about

anything else. Then no matter how many deep breaths I took, I just couldn't seem to get enough air and suddenly I found myself lying in the grass. Like I literally couldn't walk. I had no idea what was going on and when I started begging my friends to help me, they looked terrified and just ran away like I was dying or something. I can't stress this enough. I really did think I was about to die even when my dad rushed onto the scene to take me back home. My so-called friends had been decent enough to run and get them but all they said is Pete's feeling sick and Pete fell down. Just a vague idea of what was actually going on. So my dad's scared and I'm so terrified I'm just in tears when he picks me up, goes to run off and stops.

I remember how he snipped my clothes and hair all studiously for a moment and I almost started to get aggressive with him because I remember I was so frustrated that we stopped moving. It was a weird experience because I felt like I was in some strange euphoric dream state and I really felt like if we stopped I was going to get very angry. It was such a weird experience and it was at that moment that he rushed me to the hospital and it was the subsequent time that I spent in the ER that my parents found out and later revealed to me that the kid had actually dipped the cigarette in some sort of formaldehyde embalming fluid and essentially given me some form of PCP, which for those that don't know, in some instances can make someone act with schizophrenic-like side effects. My parents said the doctor said I was really lucky that I didn't continue to smoke, as it may have had even more serious side effects effects even though as time went on I still felt very on edge in my time at the hospital and after the time I got out. My dad told me it freaked my mom out so much that all she

wanted to know was how a kid my age had gotten his hands on that stuff and I was forced to tell them about my friend. In which case the police visited his house forcing his hand to reveal that he'd seen his younger uncle that lived with him using that stuff prior. I don't know what became of that kid and his family as I'm not sure if my parents had continued to press charges or how everything with them actually transpired but the whole thing had just been apparently one horrible prank in the kid's mind. And although I'm not entirely sure if it was out of malice or some spirit of experimentation, that little prank amounted to one of the scariest memories of my entire childhood. Okay, so... I was a weird kid, and I mean like weird.

I was the kid who was scared of his own shadow, terrified of germs, scared of dogs. I was just generally a nervous wreck. Then one day, one of my friends tells me some urban legend about alligators in the sewers that could swim up the drain pipe and eat you while you were taking a poop. Now, I was never attacked by an alligator and I'm pretty sure the whole story is just made up, but try telling that to 8 year old me who was subsequently terrified of toilets. And not like terrified of toilets so I'd just be nervous while taking a whiz or whatever. No, I'm talking terrified like I stopped going to the bathroom altogether. Holding my pee was tough, so I had to find places to go. School urinals,

the bathtub at home, or just like behind a tree in the park or whatever. But holding my poop proved to be actually kind of easy at first, and I remember the first day or two passing with very little in the way of pain or discomfort. I think it was only towards the end of day three that I started getting these sharp clenching pains in my gut. I honestly thought my poop was just being absorbed back into my system or something. It's poop, it's soft, not like rocks or whatever. I know, I know, it was stupid thinking but I think I was like six or seven at the time, so go figure. Anyway, sharp clenching pains, they just got worse and worse, but still, I won't go.

I know it sounds crazy, but in my head it was like suffer a little discomfort or be eaten ass first by a sewer crock. And when you put it that way, of course you don't poop, and of course you wait until you have a literal medical emergency from not going to the bathroom. I'd have to call my mom to ask her what exactly it was I ruptured down there but it was painful and it required immediate medical attention. Lights and sirens like kind of medical attention. I still remember this one doctor examining me, prodding at my tummy, and getting this cry of pain and response out of me. He then looks me square in the eyes and says, Young man, when was the last time you went to the bathroom? When I told him like a week prior, the guy was like, oh my god.

When he obviously realized the giant mystery mass inside of me was this giant ball of feces. Long story short, after that, they knocked me out and conducted two operations on me. One to stop the bleeding from the rupture in one of my intestines, or something again I'd have to look into, and the other to extract all the poop out of me because it really had basically just solidified up inside me. People kind of laughed about it these days and I don't blame them, but at the time I was just convinced that I was going to die. And I think maybe the worst part of that was the humiliation of knowing how people would find my death either horrible or hilarious. The The Summer Before I Started Middle School

The summer before I started middle school, me and my buddies were hanging out around the monkey bars in the park when some guy comes up and says he's a gymnastic coach. He offers to teach us how to hang off the bars then do like backwards flips so that we landed on our feet. He helped my buddy do it first and since it looked kind of cool, the remaining two of us decided to give it a try. Then, while he was helping us do the flip, I remember the guy grabbing my butt real hard in the process of helping me land, and he did it in a way that, even at such a young age, I was like, that seemed unnecessary. And here's where I give the obligatory speech about trusting adults,

not realizing that he crossed a line, yada yada yada. But the point being, although I got a weird feeling about the guy, I couldn't exactly go complaining about every adult I disliked, or I'd be constantly complaining about 90% of my teachers. So anyway, the guy tells us we have a lot of raw potential, and that if we wanted to get some more practice in, or maybe even become part of his gymnastics team, we could meet him across the town the next day in some gym he owned. We respond, sure, maybe we'll think about it. And the guy promises to come back and see us sometime. I wasn't looking forward to the prospect, but I didn't look forward to much of anything back then. Anyway, a few hours later, I'm back at home having dinner with my parents when

one of them asks how my day was. I start telling him about this and that and how I'd been hanging out in the park and that's when I start telling him about our little run-in with the gymnastics coach. In the process of telling him what happened, including the grabbing and the invitation to his gym, I notice that my mom and dad started to get this increasingly horrified look on their faces. Then by the end of the story, my dad has the cordless phone in his hand and he's calling someone, and my mom is writing down my physical description of the guy, insisting I tell her every last detail of what the guy looked like. Dad called the cops, then called my buddy's parents, and although at the time I didn't

quite understand what the big deal was, in hindsight, I think we got really, really lucky. After that, we ended up all getting these big talks about stranger danger, which obviously we found pretty horrifying. But the real tragedy was that we weren up all getting these big talks about stranger danger which obviously we found pretty horrifying. But the real tragedy was that we weren't allowed to hang out at that park anymore, not without adult supervision anyways. And that sucked because they didn't let us do tricks and stuff on the monkey bars. Only as an adult with kids of my own do I understand the raw terror that our parents felt, and as much as it sucked that we had to have a chaperone to the park for a few years after, the alternative would be considerably worse. When I was around 8 years old, I was playing hide and seek with a few friends.

We grew up in quite a small town in Croatia, one in a very rural area, so lots of trees but also lots of construction because of a new road that was close by in the 90s. So on this day, the place we were playing hide and seek at was a half-built structure on the edge of the forest. I ran outside looking for a place to hide that wouldn't be expected but that was still on the grounds of the forest. I ran outside looking for a place to hide that wouldn't be expected but that was still on the grounds of the construction site as per the rules. I thought I was being so smart but it was one of the dumbest things I've ever done because I walked right into a very deep hole that I had no idea was there. Even worse, the thing was full

of brambles so not only was I stuck but any kind of movement, even calling out for help, had tiny little needles stabbing me all over. I was also finding it difficult to stand up because I'd broken my ankle, but I was so full of pain and adrenaline at the time that I wouldn't realize this until later. I'm calling out for help over and over again and eventually my friends coming running to me see me stuck down there in the hole. They turned pale when they saw me down there and it was then that I realized how much I was bleeding from all the little cuts and scratches. I must have looked like a little Jesus with a crown of thorns, blood all over my face and arms and no wonder they were horrified.

Anyway they ran off to find some people to help as this was way before cell phones or smartphones so they actually had to go find these two guys who just so happened to be driving by, flag them down, then hope that they had some kind of rope or cable so I could climb out of the hole. Unfortunately they didn't but they must have gotten across how urgent it was probably by telling them how badly I was bleeding because the two guys came running having decided to use one of their long coats as something for me to grab onto it actually worked but the one guy had to actually grab the other by the legs to lower his torso down into the hole and I mean it was really

that deep I'm still in a lot of pain but I summon the will to just suffer through, stand up, grab onto the coat and that's when I realized something was seriously wrong with my ankle but I could still use my one good leg to scramble up as my arms clung to the jacket. I was cut to pieces, bitten by ants and still had thorns stuck under my skin, but I was just so happy to be out of that hole. To be continued... me during my childhood. I remember it was a Saturday morning during the summertime and my mom took me and my brothers out to get breakfast with our grandparents. After we'd eaten, we decide to all go over to their place and I ask my grandpa if I can ride with them. Of course they say yes, so I hop into their car, wind down one of the rear windows, then rest my head in the opening like a dog or something, like with my head on the one side. Grandpa tells me not to stick my head out too far and of course I'm careful not to. But then the whole journey was awesome because I've got the wind

rushing through my hair. I feel like I'm flying, generally just having a great time. Then when we get to my grandparents house, grandpa shuts off the engine, then starts closing the back window with my neck still in it. This was one of the automatic windows too, meaning when you stop the car and push the button one time, the whole window came up so you didn't have to sit there at your destination with your finger leaning on the button for like five whole seconds. It's supposed to be a feature of convenience, but it ended up almost murdering me. I let out this horrified scream, and Grandpa just rushed back to the car to stop the window from closing. I'd never, ever seen him move that fast before. He legitimately was terrified that he was going to kill me,

which only made me more terrified in turn. Obviously, everything turned out okay, but good god, if it wasn't a seriously close call and my grandparents were always overly careful about stuff like that in the future. It was a pain in the butt sometimes, but whenever I got tired of all the precaution, all it took was one little reminder of that incident with the car window and I suddenly remembered how it was always, always better to be safe than sorry. To be continued... years old and although I loved swimming, I wasn't particularly good at it and mostly stuck to the shallows while the bigger kids played in the deep end. I remember watching them, getting kind of jealous, watching them diving to the bottom of the pool and back and thinking that was incredibly impressive. So in an attempt to impress all the older, cooler kids, I start paddling into the deep end to make an introduction. I then remember stopping,

then like reaching down to touch the bottom of the pool. I don't know what I was thinking, but I immediately go under and end up swallowing some water on the way back up, which then has me coughing and spluttering. It was embarrassing enough with the older kids laughing at me, but then when I realized I just couldn't stay afloat I really started to get scared. I remember bobbing above the water and waving at my sister trying to get her attention to be like help but all she did was wave back. Not maliciously of course I think she just figured I was being an idiot but in that moment I figured oh god I'm not getting any help. And although I was only six or whatever, I can remember that feeling of horror like it was yesterday. Luckily the pool's lifeguard had

his eye on me the moment I started to venture into the deep end and was Johnny on the spot when he saw me starting to struggle. He throws in one of those floaty thingies at me before diving in himself and helping me back into the shallow end. I'm pretty sure I cried like a baby and I was really cautious of the deep end until I properly learned how to swim. Even today, the ocean kind of terrifies me and I know it's probably all just deeply rooted in that whole almost drowning in like nine feet of water thing, but it's weird how fear like that sticks with you well into adulthood. One of my earliest memories and most frightening childhood memories was the time my mom almost got kidnapped in Italy.

Well, she wasn't really kidnapped, but it pretty much looked like she was, and all that will become clear in due course. So we're walking through the streets of Naples in Italy. Me and my dad are walking ahead while my mom and older sister were walking behind us. Me and my dad step to the side of this really narrow street to let this younger lad on a moped pass, and as we watch him pass us and draw closer to my mom, all I see is her hitting the stone beneath her before she starts getting dragged away by the moped which is revving at full speed away from us. My sister screamed, my dad jumped into action and in my mind I was watching the kidnapping of my own mother unfolding before my eyes. I can't remember screaming or crying or

anything like that, but I was so young that I'm assuming I did. I just have this really vivid memory of my mom's body almost rippling as it was dragging along the cobblestones. Like I said, in reality, she wasn't being kidnapped. The thief on the moped had just grabbed her by the handbag and was attempting to steal it. But my mom, being the true child of Yorkshire that she was, she kept hold of this expensive handbag, determined not to lose it. And with it being so expensive and therefore so well made, the strap didn't break. And what should have been a quick snatch and run turned into something pretty bloody scary. But even the thief must have been scared too because

at some point, the way mom tells it, he looked behind him, sees that he might actually drag a woman to her death over a handbag and just lets go because he doesn't want the smoke. Mom had some horrible scrapes and bruises on her when it was all said and done and she had bandages on her for the next seven days of the holiday but honestly I was just so grateful that I still had my mom and that some Italian bandit hadn't stolen her away from us to be sold in the underground mother's market. One morning, back when I was seven years old, I was waiting for the school bus on this real clear summer's day. Even that young I remember it being pretty picturesque and as if it couldn't get any more wholesome, some mom and her baby appear about fifty yards away. Mom is cycling while her baby is strapped in one of those bike seats behind her.

It was obviously a nice enough morning that mom figured she could run whatever errand she had on her bike and both looked like they were enjoying themselves immensely as they rode past. Then all of a sudden, I think mom tried to cycle in between the curb in a speed bump and she goes flying right over the thing's handlebars. Obviously the baby is strapped into the seat but must have taken a nasty bump on the way down because then it let out this ear-splitting scream. I couldn't have imagined a more horrifying sound than that and then the next second, the mom toppled it. She was so full of fear and worry that she actually ceased to sound human for a second as she howled, my baby. It was primal, the kind of fear only a mother can

feel for a child. I'm pretty sure people rushed to call the cops or whatever because the adults around us just burst into action to try and save the day. The school bus turned up before any first responders did but it showed up maybe a minute or two after the fall so hopefully the lady and her baby weren't waiting too long. To this day I have no idea what happened to that kid, if it was okay or not. I assume so since I didn't hear anything from my parents or them talk about something in the paper and I don't even know if it was a boy or a girl. But good god, do I remember their screams, even all these years later. It was a hot summer's day, I'm walking around to my friend's house and when I looked in the distance, I'd have sworn I could see like a

pile of red popsicles lying in the road. Like you could see all the shiny red then the little off-white sticks coming out of them. So in my little kid brain I'm thinking, oh jackpot, maybe some ice cream truck dropped them or something. But when I get closer, I realize what I'm looking at is actually a dead cat. I think that poor little dude must have been run over maybe two or three times by as many different cars. It was just mush. All apart from his little cat head which had somehow been spared most of the damage. It was the look on his little face that screwed me up.

He just looked in so much pain. I ran straight back to my parents' house and just erupted into tears. I'd never seen anything as messed up as that, and honestly, I don't think I have since. I was in high school in the best shape of my life. I wasn't an athlete or anything, but I was growing into a woman's body, 5'8", tall, and a long youthful body almost completely made of muscle. And for that short period of my life, I was actually interested in maintaining myself, so I started a morning routine of going for a walk before breakfast. I lived in a neighborhood adjacent to this great park where I spent my life growing up.

Soccer, practice, dates, you name it. I believe that by hanging upside down on the monkey bars once a day before breakfast, that would stretch my spine just enough to keep growing taller and to alleviate any compression that might cause pain as I got older. On a hot summer morning before 10am I rolled out of bed, got dressed and headed for the park. I don't think that it's necessary to describe the area beyond the fact that it was completely surrounded by houses. It was a pretty safe spot. The parking lot comes first between my street and the park itself. In the lot I could see a white van. The park district has vehicles that look just like it for things like picking up litter, sanitizing the playground, and bringing out the mowing equipment. I thought this van was here to

trim trees or something so I paid it little attention and headed for those monkey bars. Before I could make it to the playground, a voice stopped me. Hey. A man called from the driver's seat. A second voice came from the passenger seat. Come over here. I walked away, disinterested, but knowing that two men had rolled their windows down to watch me and talk to me made me feel self-conscious. I didn't want my shirt to roll up while I hung upside down or stretch my hamstrings and give them a show of any kind that would give them the satisfaction. These were grown up men and I was in high school and needless to say I felt like prey and I knew it. Pretty creeped out I decided to go for my routine walk, determined

not to let two idiots change my workout. A woman has a right to go about her business. And that fear turned to anger as the white van with the windows rolled down and crept alongside me. I was on the sidewalk, so a safe enough distance from the van on the road. I can't remember what they were hollering at me, but you can bet that it was degrading and not at all what grown men should be saying to a minor. My anger boiled up inside and before I let them get away with making me feel so violated, I decided to express myself too. I shot my middle finger high into the air and wagged it around. Now here is where the big oop happens. I know

that this road darts into several no outlet neighborhoods and turning into one, especially if you're not around here like these guys were, means that you're going to U-turn and come back around. And that's exactly what they did. As soon as I saw the white van accelerate angrily and swoop into the adjoining street, I knew that they were about to come back for me. My stomach dropped and I knew that I had only seconds to hide. No, I wouldn't reach the park in time. I knew that by the time that I had reached it, they would spot wherever I was going and probably attack me. I was close to a turnoff into another neighborhood where I knew Mr. D had

lived. Mr. D was a police officer and whose son happened to be dating my sister at the time, so I had his number and I never ran so fast in my life. I dove behind a conifer tree in his front yard and made myself as small as possible in the shadows. Sure enough, that white van came from the opposite direction, inching down the road at only five miles an hour. The windows were rolled up this time, probably to make it easier to get away with stuffing a screaming girl into the back without anyone hearing. They stopped at the intersection where I disappeared. I took my phone out and texted Mr. D. Hi, it's me. There are two guys following me and I'm hiding in a tree. Help. I watched through the pine needles as the guys pulled over and got out,

talking quietly and looking around. I hated them, just watching as they talked about me. The front door swung open and Mr. D came out in full uniform. It turns out that I had texted him while he was leaving for work. He didn't look for me, but stamped down to the end of his driveway and looked down the street. Seeing those two men notice a cop staring at them and watching that white van speed away was a magnificent sight and clearly very telling of their intentions. Now, the second time that I was almost kidnapped on that curb happened that same summer but this time it was raining lightly. It was dim and kind of muggy outside so I remember that no one was outside except me.

I started jogging regularly in the evening and that day was no exception. I thought that the rain would keep me cool and enhance how much longer I could go. And indeed I was helped somewhat by the rain, for I had been running for a while and wasn't that tired yet. I kept my eyes focused on the sidewalk in front of me but I could see the park slide past me in my peripheral vision. I was on the opposite side of the street, just like the last incident. A pretty beaten up olive green sedan came rolling quietly up the road with its headlights off. I thought that was weird, but knew that it would soon pass me. The sedan was in the oncoming lane, so we were face to face for a few meters and I noticed that it

slowed down significantly before pulling over to the curb. I was running towards this parked car which already rang my alarm bells. My suspicions flared into overdrive as the driver's side door opened and a tall bald man built like a refrigerator came out of it and crossed over to the passenger side. But I tell you, I amazed myself in that second. Before he'd even crossed in front of the first headlight, before my foot could finish another rhythmic step of a long jog, my brain sent a flaming hot shiver of adrenaline through my body so fast that I actually sprang up into the air when my foot landed and pushed me off the pavement. I spun around in mid-air and darted in a new direction away from the man. The phrase fight or flight ceased to be a figure of speech as I actually witnessed it transform my

body and put my conscious self into autopilot. And if there's something I learned that day, it's that you can't choose fight or flight. Your body will do whichever it wants automatically. You might be programmed to be a fighter or you might be someone like me, whose flight mode is so powerful that it thrusts you into space like a glitch in the matrix. I didn't spring in the direction of the sidewalk. No, that was too dangerous. He would just follow me in his car. I actually saw houses whirring past me as I made my way through backyards and patios. And I wish I could say I never ran so fast in my life, but as you recall, I had already run for my life once before and about that fast. I dared to look over my shoulder and I could see a dark blur of a large human maneuvering

unnaturally through backyards, directly on my tail. I don't know how, but I was able to outrun him. I think it was my knowledge of the neighborhood, having lived there all my life and knowing which houses had a fence, which ones would lead to more cover, and which ones would lead to dead ends. I burst into my house and blabbered the whole story out to anyone who would listen. To be blunt, no one really seemed to care. It's not like I had evidence of this happening and because there was room for the possibility that I misinterpreted his stopping and getting out to maybe ask for directions or check on a tire, that's exactly what my family chose to believe. And for a long time I felt angry. Angry that these men came to my turf, my home, my neighborhood and made me fearful.

I couldn't think of any worse way to violate someone even if I wanted to, but men like that do it in their free time. I stopped working out after my second close encounter with abduction. I guess I look fine as a 23 year old shut in but that's mainly thanks to my strict diet and unfortunately I don't know when I'll be able to feel comfortable working out again as those dark associations that I have with those men and going out on a jog, it just creates this underlying sense of anxiety anytime I think about doing it. I live next to Yellowstone National Park, which in itself has drawn millions of tourists each year. Part of the reason I'm writing this is merely a warning to people who decide to visit during the summer months. Last year in the summer of 2020, me and some of my buddies decided to go

have a night out and do some camping out near a spot that we had been to multiple times in the past. After all, this was right after things started to become normal again and lockdowns were being lifted. I decided to head up to the camp spot early in an effort to make sure my gear was still set up from earlier that day. I did this as an effort to preserve the spot as it's first come first serve. Therefore, with everything in hand, I left my house right before sunset. We were all supposed to meet up within the hour so I didn't really have any concerns of being by myself. I then began my 30 minute drive up to the location. When I finally arrived I immediately noticed my tent and everything inside was gone. Now just for some context, I staked the tent down

in multiple areas just to be sure it stayed for the period I was gone. Inside was my sleeping bag and a few other miscellaneous items I left just to keep it weighed down. However, everything, literally everything disappeared as if it was never there in the first place. I looked around and even the stakes and rocks I placed on the outside were missing. I immediately knew something was terribly wrong because I didn't see any campers on the way up. Also, keep in mind I don't have cell service as it's a couple miles back into the wilderness. I then decided to drive back down from where I came to get service and get a hold of my friends and let them know what happened. Needless to say,

I wasn't happy with the situation and knew that whoever took my belongings were still in the area as it had only been there for an hour or two. However, my friends insisted that I stayed and at least hang out for a few hours as it took weeks of planning. So once I made sure everyone arrived, I then decided to go around the area in search of any sign of footprints or indications that maybe these people were close by. As you can guess, I wasn't able to find anything. I eventually played it off and decided that I would just look for it in the morning and contact the forest service to report it missing. I also didn't want to ruin the party for everyone and decided to stay. In hindsight, this was by far one of the worst decisions I could have ever made.

As the night went on, everything seemed fine, so I thought. Around one or two in the morning, most of my friends decided to call it a night. I ended up sleeping in my truck. This was perhaps one of the better decisions I made this night. That, along with always making sure to bring my bear spray and sidearm for protection from unexpected guests. I eventually fell asleep, however it's important to note that I was still a bit on edge as only a couple of hours before all my belongings were taken. I decided to leave my window rolled down a bit just in case I heard anything creep up on us in the middle of the night. After about two hours of me being asleep,

my worst nightmare came true. At first I just heard something moving around outside our camp. This was enough noise to wake me up and I immediately froze and didn't move whatsoever. Therefore, this was partially because I knew whatever was making the noise was large, not just a raccoon or smaller creature. I then was paralyzed just listening intently to whatever was happening outside our camp. My first thought was that it was probably a bear. We also had sightings recently in the area, and at one point I swear it could have only been maybe 20 or 30 yards away.

Also another key point I noticed was there was absolutely no other noises. Usually there's grasshoppers or birds, but it was completely and utterly silent. Now, in a wilderness, that's never a good sign. It means there's a large predator or something of the like in the area. Meanwhile, it's pitch black outside and our fire had completely gone out. After about 15 minutes of not hearing anything, I decided I just needed to stop being paranoid. But just as I was about to fall back asleep, I saw something to the right of our campsite. It was just a few yards away from our fire pit and probably about 20 yards from me. To my absolute horror, it was a person.

I immediately freaked. This was no average person either, let alone the fact that it's three or four in the morning and you're in someone's campsite. This person was wearing what I made out to be some kind of mask. I got a very good look at whoever it was and it was a deer skull on their face. They were wearing a black robe and that's about all I noticed. I didn't want to leave my truck and confront this person so I did what I thought was best. I turned my truck on and began honking the horn until all my friends were awake. I rolled down the window and told them we need to get out of here immediately. After seeing what I saw, they did exactly that. Meanwhile, this person hasn't moved yet, mind you. And just as I thought it was bad,

this situation started to get even worse. More of these figures began to appear in front of us through the trees, wearing the same outfits as mentioned earlier but with multiple different masks. I immediately put my truck into reverse and began speeding away. They began walking closer and closer but luckily I was able to drive out of that spot in time. As I began to speed down the road out of there, three more of these figures appeared off from the side of my truck, this time with a dog and way more aggressive than the previous ones I saw. They began throwing rocks at my truck and chasing after me. At one point they were literally right next to my passenger window until I accelerated

even more and eventually lost them. As I looked back in my mirror I saw only one figure left, just simply peeking and staring at me behind a tree, and this image will forever be seared into my head. From this night on I refuse to ever go back up there. I've never, ever spoken of this to really anyone. Even when I was around my friends that experienced this we just never really had the courage to talk about it. It was just so surreal. It's been over a year now

since this happened and all I can say is that I believe these people were in some sort of cult. I heard some other stories about similar events happening and even cattle completely disappearing in that area. It's very barbaric and you wouldn't think that such a beautiful national park that attracts so many people year round would have such dark and disturbing secrets. My advice to anyone that decides to travel to these mysterious and preserved parks of intrinsic beauty would be to always bring protection of some kind. Likewise make sure you let others know about your plans and never go alone. There are hundreds of missing person reports across the national parks inside the United States,

and I could have very well been one of them if I had stayed just a few minutes longer. Nature has a way to attract very different types of people. Some want to explore and push themselves to their limits. Meanwhile, some simply don't want to be seen and lurk in the darkness of night. A former Green Beret once told me that the key to survival was always being aware of your surroundings and listening to your gut. If a particular situation doesn't feel right, chances are it's not. Stay safe, everyone. When I was 19, I was a marine and had stupidly used my military perks to get a home loan and

bought my first house. I moved a barracks room worth of stuff into this place that seemed to me like a palace. Of course, I went out and bought some bar stools, a futon to sleep on until I got a bed and some used coffee tables for my TV. I also had a dog with me. I was unpacking my meager belongings in the living room and noticed a car had pulled into my driveway and blocked me in. I walked out and there stood a man offering to sell me a home security system. The man was dressed in khakis and a polo with a name tag that I can't recall and the car didn't have a logo on it.

It should have been a red flag for me but I figured that some people in the job didn't drive company vehicles. He gave me his card. I don't even remember the company he told me he was with to be honest. Cue the friendly salesman giving me his pitch about needing a system and all the perks that would come with being able to wash the exterior of my house at any time. As a low ranking military member I knew I couldn't afford yet another thing so my mind was working to try to get this man to go away. I even considered ninja chopping him or whatever it is that we marines do in hand to hand just to get him to leave. But I'm a sort of passive person. I suppose

too nice. Nah, we'll call it polite. I won't be rude to someone doing their job. I've been in customer service so I could relate. I tried politely declining his offer after he had tried to show me some stuff on his iPad, but you know how persistent these types can be. I'll admit to my own stupidity when answering his questions, like giving out too much information. Do you live here alone? No, I live here with my wife and our large three dogs. At least I added in the large part. Her and her dogs hadn't actually moved in yet and hers were just fat,

though they were more vicious than my own good boy. But two women living together probably seemed like easier targets. I also mentioned being a marine when he asked. He had seemed a bit shocked but wouldn't be deterred. What kind of security system do you have? My dogs and me? Not the best answer I could have given. I wasn't exactly intimidating. I mean, I would be terrifying if I had a gun or something. I've been using them my whole life and I've never missed a target, alive or inanimate.

If you would invite me in, I can show you the best places to set up cameras. He mentioned more than a few times. Each time made me more and more creeped out, thinking that he was wanting to potentially rob me, not that there was much to take. And despite being an assault victim, all I could consider was a possible burglary and made sure that we stayed away from my house while we talked. We were outside for about 15 minutes total, me spending most of that time trying to politely get away from him and retreat inside. I wound up at my wits end with social niceties and just walked away, leaving him standing alone in my front yard. I walked into my house and

locked the door. He got into his car and left, and I thought nothing more of it. After some unpacking, I couldn't do much, I had nowhere to put most of it. I ate some junk food and put together the futon. I got it all decked out with my fluffiest blankets, made sure the doors and windows were locked, and went to lay down in the living room. Looking back, I'm not sure why I didn't put it in the bedroom. They all have lines and the rooms take a bit of getting to. Perhaps I wanted to be near an exit. For some context, my back door is a double glass pane door. At the time, I didn't have curtains on it, but I did have blinds in the kitchen window. My kitchen,

living room, and dining room are all connected, but there's a wall in the living room that I strategically situated my futon against so it couldn't be seen by the back doors or the front door window. Call me paranoid, whatever. I had been laying down for a few hours and at about 11, my dog got off the futon and went to the back door. My dog is large and looks like a Rottweiler in coloring. He's a coonhound mix, but I guess city people don't have hunting dogs. But he's never heardonhound mix but I guess city people don't have hunting dogs. But he's never heard anything in his life. He'll greet strangers at the door with a tail wag and hardly barks.

He stood back there for a bit and whined a few times. I ignored him, it was probably just a squirrel. But then he started growling, a sound that I'll never forget. It sent terror straight through me as I sat alone in the dark. I had only ever felt that fear once when a mountain lion screamed and I realized that I was powerless against nature. But that's a story for a different thread. The point is, these sounds are designed to scare you, and it petrified me. I was frozen and wanted to wimp out, to hide, to call the cops, but I realized if someone was out there, they'd for sure see my phone light and know where I was. So while my dog stayed stationed at the back door, I talked myself up just enough to move off the couch and investigate, still scared out of my mind. I slunk to the kitchen and grabbed a kitchen knife, one of the only utensils I had,

thanks ma, and crefted the kitchen window. I was squatting amongst the cabinets so I couldn't be seen from any windows, bouncing a little trying to gear up to peel back the blinds. My brain was telling me irrational things, horror stories that I had read come to life. To be real, I was ready to just cower and give up. I'm not a brave person, I was in communications for God's sake. Pretty far from any life-threatening situation, well, not one that involves people at my house. And my one safe space, my hideout, my protection from anything outside wanting in. I've always been afraid of home invasion. It stems from an incident when I was younger that isn't even really worth mentioning further. The point being, if someone dares enter my safe place, it's not safe anymore.

I thought I couldn't get scared more in that moment, but then I saw a male figure in my backyard and my heart dropped. It wasn't very far from the window I was looking out of. He was bold enough not to wear anything over his head and I saw the blonde hair in the moonlight. It only took me a few seconds to recognize the security salesman in the dark. He was on the edge of my porch, watching my back door, watching my dog. I jumped up quickly, climbed over the bar counter and turned on the lights as I went towards the back door to let my still growling dog out in hopes that he'd at least get rid of the man, if not injure him. No dice. As soon as the lights came on, he had just enough time to go jump the low part of the fence to safety before

my dog even got off the porch. I didn't sleep that night. My dog sat on the futon with me, calm as could be, having done his job. The next morning I filed a police report, but I couldn't tell his name or what company he was with, having lost the car that he gave me. They sent some patrols through the area and I found out that all legitimate salesmen should give an ID upon request. That night, I had two friends stay with me, ready for him to come back to either A. try to rob me or commit some more nefarious acts, or B. try to scare me into home security. He didn't come back, and I haven't seen him since. My dog hasn't growled like that since either, but I'm terrified for the next fact that I don't want anyone

ever thinking that I or the person the story is about is crazy. Although saying this actually happened sounds very cliche, I can assure you the following stories are true. Now before I begin the first story, just a bit of background. I'm an intern for a church that does work at a Navajo reservation site helping the community on people's homes like roofing, repair, repainting, and interior fixing. Eight to five with good pay and nice people so overall I'm happy with this. And as a bit of a disclaimer, I'm not trying to offend Navajo tradition in any way. This is just a first-hand story on what is currently happening on my trip. Over the past two months of the internship, I've begun to grow fairly close with some of

the residents on the reservation. Like one lady in particular I got to know pretty well was the superstitious type. Like she said that to never be outside at night or other random seeming things to me like that but the biggest taboo I knew to never mention, mainly because I was told by my superiors, was Navajo folklore like skinwalkers. However one day it was very different in the sense that the question was just burning within me. I was on my lunch break after wrapping up painting parts of her house and she sits next to me on her porch and we talked for a while but I finally feel comfortable enough to ask her about any folklore about werewolves or anything of that sorts. I didn't really expect a response. I thought maybe she'd quickly say no then change the subject but if anything I was more scared I may have offended her.

But to my surprise she turns her head, looking towards the outside scenery, hesitates but then says, Yes, I know some and I've experienced it too. She then proceeds to tell me a description of the apparent equivalent to a werewolf. To paraphrase, she said, Werewolves look like normal people but masked in white paint, covering their face, arms, and chest. Their whole body is white as a corpse, covered with black symbols quite possibly related to devil worshipping. More specifically, they are gravediggers and necromancers as well. They dig bodies up to steal jewelry, although they may perform other acts to

corpses as she quickly strayed away from going into too much detail about that point. Werewolves also get their power from the devil. This is how they're able to possess such supernatural strength and endurance. I was surprised to hear this, although I figured werewolves wouldn't look anything like that in Twilight or Scooby Doo. Although, deep down, even I thought she sounded a bit nuts. Before I could ask any more questions about these werewolves, she began to tell me her own interaction with these supernatural beasts, and her story still gives me chills. She explained that one day, her and her husband were driving on the curvy roads alongside the mountains, only to find a woman with her face covered by her hands, and was kneeling in the middle of the road, appearing as though she was crying.

The woman looks up towards the car's headlights to reveal the very same white paint and sacrificial symbols mentioned previously. Her husband honked his horn and quickly slams on the brakes only to be too late and hears the loud cracking sound of the woman's bones and the splash of blood all over the windshield. Once her and her husband stop the car safely and process what in God's name just happened, they quickly run over to the spot where they hit the woman. However, once they reached the spot, there was no body, but not only that, there was no trace of blood either. Just as a side note, this part of the reservation had some cliffs but it was relatively flat land so

it would be obvious to tell where someone is, especially if they just got hit by a car. Puzzled by what the possible explanation could be for this occurrence, her and her husband drove back home trying to neglect the thought that they just witnessed a werewolf. However, being the non-paranormal believers they were at the time, they tried to just close this occurrence off as them just losing their minds. And as interesting as her story was, this got me thinking. Is it possible for this werewolf story to be true? Or is this her own way of describing a skinwalker or other supernatural phenomenon because she didn't think I knew what a skinwalker was.

This question kept circulating through my head, so as you would expect the following nights made it harder for me to sleep comfortably, and because of that, during the work days I would feel more and more mentally drained and almost paranoid. At the end of the week at around 6, I was sitting in the car driving back to the church site and was in the mental state of mind where I was half awake and half asleep. My buddy was driving and claimed that he wanted to pull over to the gas station that was near the church to grab a couple of snacks to munch on during our debrief time in our cabin. Since I was too tired to argue, I said fine and laid my face against the window and tried to doze off while waiting for him. However, I had the weirdest feeling that I was being watched, so naturally I opened my eyes and looked out the window, but I saw nothing. However, when I turned my head out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a white figure, just as the woman described previously.

I looked back and nothing was there, but I swear I saw something. Since it was beginning to get darker outside, I quickly sat up in my seat to readjust my vision, but when I looked back out the window, it was almost as though the figure vanished. Perplexed, I stepped outside the car and looked around, but there was no trace of a creature even existing. My buddy comes back to the car and questions around, but there was no trace of a creature even existing. My buddy comes back to the car and questions me what in God's name am I doing. Debating whether or not I should tell him, I decided to just say, oh, I'm just getting some fresh air. Let's head out.

The following days have been even worse for me. My mood is getting worse, I'm feeling way more paranoid that something's out there and at night I can almost swear that I hear screams in the distance. Everything outside just looks a hundred times scarier too because there is barely any outside light besides the moonlight so everything has more of an exaggerated appearance. But believe me, I know I sound crazy. But the worst part is that if I tell anyone, they'll think I'm crazy too. So I've been debating whether or not I actually saw a werewolf the lady described, or if it was just my tired eyes playing tricks on me. I hope someone can find some sort of answer to this werewolf mystery,

or if you have any similar paranormal stories like these, please do share. I'm trying my best to become more aware about the paranormal. If I find anything, then I will give future updates about any more encounters or odd discoveries. Until then, I suppose I'll be lacking on sleep. I live in a city with a public transportation system. They've been extremely short-staffed and more often than not you have to call to make sure your bus is even coming. On weekdays, during business hours, the public transit operator will order a lift for you to get to work if your bus isn't showing up or if they're short a driver. Tuesday I'm at the bus stop after checking multiple times if my bus is coming only to find out that it wasn't. They ordered me a lift and this nice

older gentleman was my driver. We had casual conversation and he started to ask personal questions. I'm a bartender and I'm super friendly already so I didn't think his questions were ill-intentioned. Told him I'm not married and that I'm pretty much a loner. I basically go to work and go home and spend my time with family. He then says, I'd marry you in a heartbeat. Again, I'm just thinking that he's being funny or nice I asked him to drop me off at the downtown grocery so I could pick up some things that I needed for work When we stopped, he said he was joking that he's married and has a son my age Asked if I was interested in maybe meeting him Since I have a terrible track record, I figured it wouldn't hurt meeting someone out of my circle And comfort zone, so I gave the man my number and we parted ways.

The next morning he texted me and asked if I needed a ride to work. I told him I didn't have to do that and that I was sure my bus was running. He said it would be his pleasure and that he'd pick me up at my house at 3pm. Then about an hour later he asked if I wanted to have lunch with him before work. I told him I was busy and that I couldn't do that. He said okay, see you at 3. He shows up right at 3 and lets me know that he's outside. While I'm finishing getting my things together I open the door and he's starting to walk up my stairs to my house.

I told him I was ready and we could head downtown. When I get in the backseat he turns around and says that he has a confession. He told me from the time I took off my mask his heart danced like a butterfly. He said that he hasn't been able to stop thinking about me since the day before and that he'd love to spend time with me and that he'd pay me for my time if I spent a day with him. That's when I started to feel super uncomfortable. The whole ride was making me cringe but know that when you're in a situation like that with the predator, playing nice is sometimes safer than freaking out. He continued on the entire ride about how he loved me at first sight and wanted to make me his Lebanese queen. As we got closer to downtown

I started to feel relief. He dropped me off at my hotel and said see you tomorrow. That evening at work I checked my phone after a bust happy hour and he's texted me a couple of times. He sent a picture of the hotel and said that he'd wait for me to get off to give me a ride home. I told him I already had a ride but thank you anyways. Thursday morning, I'm out running errands with my mom and sister. He texts me and asks how early he can pick me up because he can't stop thinking about me. I asked him to please stop and that I was with family. He continues to text me all day and evening, begging to see me and telling me his heart is aching to see his Lebanese queen. I just kept saying to please stop.

A Friday morning is where stuff hit the fan. He tells me he loves me no matter what. He said I told my wife about you and that I'm in love with you and I want a divorce. I told him to please don't do that and that it wasn't right to treat his wife that way. He said it wasn't my fault, they were drifting apart anyways. Then he said I'm picking up for dinner at 5.30 and I'm not taking no for an answer. I ignored the messages during the day and just went about my off day. At around 5.25, my video doorbell rings and he's standing on my porch for at least 15 minutes. I told him I wasn't home and that he should leave. He continues to text me and even

begs to come pick me up from my parents. I was home the whole time, but I was just too scared to let him know that. I eventually called the non-emergency police station but he had already left by the time I got through. I filed a general report but technically they can't do anything unless he's standing on my porch threatening me. They advised me to make a report through Lyft so I did and I haven't heard anything since then but honestly that was one of the most threatening and creepy moments of my life. I've also attached the doorbell footage so you can get an idea of what he's like. To start, I'm a 21-year-old female, about 5'2", have a few tattoos and I work in a medical office. Our office closes at 5pm and usually I lock up the door after the last patient leaves around 4.55pm.

I was extra busy yesterday and ended up forgetting to lock the door when I stayed a bit late. A tall man walks in, early 60s, scruffy beard, about 5'10 and reeks of alcohol. He immediately walks up to me and says, I need a ride home. I don't have a car. Can you call me an Uber? I'll pay for it. And then he slides me his debit card.

I thought, what the heck, sure, good karma for the day. I open up the app on my phone and ask him for the address. He tells me and I let him know that it'll be about $20. I order it and tell them that they'll arrive in about 15 minutes. He says thanks and heads out the door to sit in the rocking chairs on the front stoop. I lock the door behind him and started cleaning the patient rooms for the next day. After I was finally done, I grabbed my things and clocked out. I always leave through the back door because it's the closest to the parking lot. I open the door and take one step out and there he

is, standing outside, seemingly waiting for me. He blurts out before I can say anything. Hey, how far are they now? I unlock my phone and tell them they're about nine minutes away. Okay ma'am, he says and I walk back into the office. I call out for the doctor. He's a larger man at six four and must work out at least four or 5 times a week, I felt safer asking him to walk me to my car. He of course says yes. The doc walked me to my car and that was that. After I got home I checked the status of the ride and it said cancelled. The guy was charged $18.50 for not being able to be picked up at the location. Weird, I thought. Oh well, I did my part and went to bed without it entering my mind again. The real issue came the next day. I come into work

at 7.45am and I'm usually the first to arrive. I let myself in, turn off the alarm and get ready for the day. Everything is normal for a while. 8.30 rolls around and he walks in. The same guy from the day before. He's well dressed this time and I can see car keys in his hands. I quickly duck behind the counter and rush to tell the doctor about the weird guy being back. The doctor practically scrambles out of his office and sprints to the lobby. He asks the man if he needed help with anything and the man says, uh, no, I'm not a patient. I just want to talk to the nice girl with the tattoos. The doctor replied, no, if you're not a patient, then we can't help you. Please leave. The man scoffs and storms out. He gets into his vehicle and sits in the parking lot right in front of the main entry door. About five minutes later I go back up front and realize he's still there.

By now the doctor's angry and fed up. He calls the cops and the police trespass him from the property. No charges repressed. He didn't technically do anything wrong. He may have been completely harmless but overall it just seems sketchy that he had a car after all. I also looked at the address he gave me and it's the address for Walmart. My work is now implementing the buddy system which I would recommend all workplaces do. No one leaves alone and we stick in groups.

You never know what people may want to do to you. When I was 12 years old, I got an unusual opportunity. I was able to be involved in a study abroad program where I would live in England for several months, from a very small town in the US originally. The program was run through my middle school and I went over to England with a group of around 15 other 12 year olds. Before we went to the homes we would be living in for the next few months, we ended up staying in London for about a week to do some sightseeing. When we got there, we were staying in a small hostel downtown and my school would essentially rent rented out the entire hostel for the kids and for the adults that were chaperoning the trip. If I remember correctly, there were two

adults with us. Every day we would have a scheduled activity, then we would have a significant amount of free time where we were allowed to explore the city as a group with just the kids and no adults. The second day we were there, my friends and I were out together and we ended up stopping to look at some kiosks that had souvenirs. We were about a block from our hostel. I was around the back side of the kiosk, it would look like I was alone and I feel someone grab my arm. I turn and see a middle-aged man, seemingly homeless, looking at me and says, hello there, pretty little girl. In the creepiest voice I'd ever heard,

I immediately darted around the other side of the kiosk back to my friends. Hello there, pretty little girl. In the creepiest voice I'd ever heard, I immediately darted around the other side of the kiosk, back to my friends. Before I could even tell them what happened, he came around and got super close to me and said, you can run, but you can't hide. I'll find you. And then he walked away. I immediately grabbed my friend and started pulling her back towards the direction of her hostel. I was crying when we got back there and told our chaperones what had happened. They essentially brushed it off and didn't do anything. Every day we were in London from then

on I would see him one to three times a day when we were out. He'd never get close and never say anything but he would always be smiling while watching me. Every time I would see him I would point him out to either one of the chaperones or another kid in our group. On the last day we were there, we were getting ready to leave and we were catching a train from London to Leeds. While we were waiting at the train platform I hear, Bye little girl, I'll see you soon. And I turn around and sure enough, he's there. He quickly leaves and again no one in my group really does anything, except for the other kids,

they were all equally freaked out. I never saw him again after seeing him on the train platform, but I still remember his voice. Every time I think of it I get a shiver down my spine and think about how close I was to danger. To be continued... problems so we had subs most days. This happened a few months after she came back. One day my dad was in the grocery store and I was waiting outside for him. I was sitting on a bench when one of the substitutes we had came up to me. There was a gym across the street and he looked like he had just come from it as he was wearing workout clothes and was holding a large duffel bag. He knew my name and started talking to me about school. Me being young and naive, just thought that he was being friendly, and didn't realize anything was off.

After a while, he sat down on the bench and got really close to me. We had been talking about a book that I was reading for school, and then he started telling me that he had a signed copy of it in his car, and that he would really like to show it to me. I know I'm stupid, but at that point point I still really didn't think anything was off. He kept on mentioning his car and that he needed to drop his bag off but he'd really like to continue the conversation and asked if I could walk with him. About 20 minutes into the conversation, which I know I know should have been a red flag, what teacher talks to a student in public for that long?

My dad finally came out and freaked out when he saw a random middle-aged man talking to his teenage daughter. When the substitute saw my dad, he introduced himself as my teacher, but then left really quickly. Somehow at that point, I still didn't feel off until a week later when I was reading the book that we had been talking about and something finally clicked in my head. I started freaking out. He was huge, well over 6 foot tall and he could have easily overpowered me if he got me into his car. Plus we were mostly by ourselves in the parking lot. Also he could have had anything in that duffel bag. I think the final thing that confirmed his intentions was when a few weeks later I had stayed after school to talk to a teacher and was taking a shortcut through one of the campus

buildings. I was the only one in the hallway and looked into one of the classrooms and saw him. We made eye contact and he yelled my name. I started running down the hallway as fast as I could and he started screaming at me to wait, he needed to talk to me. I didn't stop running until I was a few blocks away from the school. After that he kind of disappeared. I never really saw him again. I really wanted to report him but I actually had no idea what his name was. None of my friends did. I feel especially bad about this because what if he's done this to others since then?

I guess one silver lining of online school is, as a substitute he's probably out of a job and the lockdown would make it much harder for him to predatorize children. This This is an example of one of my sister's ex-boyfriends who couldn't get over being dumped. It got to the point that we had to file a restraining order for five years. I really have no clue how it all works. But my father had a second line of work back in the days of dial-up internet. We hooked up a phone for it and it was usually mixed up with Kmart's service desk number by one digit. My sister treated it like her private phone and that annoyed my father and I since we used it for its intended purpose, online work. I used it to download music at the time with Napster, mostly Japanese rock music since no

place had it in town. I was also learning Japanese and research for classes. One night while I did homework in the office, my sister asked if the phone rang at any point since I was offline. I told her no, but of course within an hour the phone was ringing. I answered to a guy demanding to talk to my sister. I sighed and went to get her. She asked me to leave the office and close the door. I don't know what happened exactly but my sister went to get my father and the phone was disconnected and then had an old fashioned answering machine attached to a tape recorder that was the next call when connected. This went on for about two weeks.

Her ex would call, leave some tirade and then hang up, call again, leave another tirade. Another night I lost my cool and wanted to get online. Each time I tried, her ex would clog the line up preventing a connection. Then one time I was online and he got the busy signal. He showed up our house banging on the door, demanding that we let him in. I was home alone one day and saw him through a window. He didn't see me though. He got no answers as I refused to get off the computer. I also had the other phone, a wireless handheld, with me calling my dad who called the police. When the cops came and took my sister's ex away, he was freaking out and had no car, so we had no idea how he was calling us

since cell phones in the 1990s were expensive and who he was staying with since his mom threw him out. He was also registered as a runaway by his dad, apparently. He also attempted to get in the house using the back door and garage and each had, at the time time alarms set. When he couldn't get in through the front door he tried other ways which was weird considering that it was broad daylight. No neighbor called the police other than my father. Days later we got the restraining order which of course her ex violated by calling us non-stop thinking we only had the voice message machine connected to one phone and didn't think to realize that we had two of them. He was sent to a mental health facility after that.

I suppose some guys just don't take rejection well at all. To be continued... notification bell to be alerted of all future narrations. I release new videos every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 7pm Eastern Standard Time. If you get a story, be sure to submit them to my subreddit, r slash let's read official, and maybe even hear your story featured on the next video. And if you want to support me even more, grab early access to all future narrations for just $1 a month on Patreon, and maybe even pick up some Let's Read merch on Spreadshirt. And check out the Let's Read podcast, where you can hear all of these stories in big compilations and save huge on data, located anywhere you listen to podcasts. Links in the description below. Thanks so much, friends, and I'll see you again soon. Vi er ganske mye.