The Lets Read Podcast - 177: HE WANTED TO WEAR MY SKIN | 24 True Scary Stories | EP 165

Episode Date: March 7, 2023

This episode includes narrations of true creepy encounters submitted by normal folks just like yourself. Today you'll experience horrifying stories about Monsters, Smalls Towns, & the Middle of Nowhere 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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and the population hasn't exactly ballooned since, but as of 1970, the population has been steadily on the rise. However, between the years of 2000 and 2010, the town saw its first population decline in more than 40 years, with almost a thousand people picking up sticks and moving elsewhere. So what could be to blame for such a drastic drop in the population? Well, it might have something to do with a man named David Parker Ray. Born on November 6th of 1939 in Belen, New Mexico, David and his older sister Peggy grew up in the care of their paternal grandfather. Their father was a drunk, and a violent one at that, often visiting the children while under the influence of alcohol. David recalled a time when his father gave him the gift of an adult magazine depicting violent imagery.

Naturally, David yearned for the presence of his absent father, and given that the magazine was one of the few gifts his father ever gave him, he cherished it. The impressionable young boy became fascinated with these images, and just like any male child of his age, he wanted to be just like his dad. The introduction of such concepts to David's psychology were devastating to his social development, as he found it impossible to communicate the ideas in his head with his peers who attended the nearby Mountaineer High School. The social awkwardness led to David being bullied by a handful of his fellow students, something which further compounded his deep-rooted personal problems.

Following his high school graduation, David enlisted in the US Army and worked as a general mechanic in motor pool before later receiving an honorable discharge. During this time, David was married and divorced four times, and although it's not clear why each of these divorces occurred, it's quite evident that he had a great deal of difficulty maintaining romantic relationships. In the months that followed his final and perhaps messiest divorce, David Parker Ray had something of a midlife crisis, and spent more than $100,000 on a special project he would come to call the Toy Box. The Toy Box was a modified semi-truck trailer with a plain white exterior, but inside, it was anything but plain. Ray had spent a huge chunk of that $100,000 on completely soundproofing the trailer as well as making the thing almost impenetrable and inescapable.

He then spent another sizable amount on an old gynecologist chair, the kind used by special doctors to determine the well-being and health of a woman's reproductive organs. The chair comes complete with leg supports, additions, which David modified to be more like leg restraints. On one wall of the trailer, David mounted a tool rack, adorning it with a variety of whips, chains, pulleys, straps, clamps, surgical blades, saws, and even manacles designed to keep a person's legs spread. David has also outfitted the trailer with a number of torture devices,

including a portable generator he used for electroshock torture, and detailed diagrams showing methods and techniques for inflicting the maximum amount of pain. Yet even in light of such a disturbing collection of toys and tools, perhaps the most disturbing thing about the toy box is the fact that David had basically turned the entire ceiling into one giant mirror. Not only did he want to torture and violate his victims for hours on end, and killed up to 60 different women and girls, with almost all of them being residents of New Mexico's Sierra County. The things he did to them are frankly unspeakable,

and it's suspected that many of his victims simply passed away as a result of the brutal torture, long before Ray had any intention of killing them. He confessed to setting dogs on his victims, drugging them with cocktails of sedatives and hallucinogens to exacerbate their terror before he subjected them to days of pain and violation. When he became bored with his prey, David would inject his victims with a combination of sodium pentothal and phenobarbital, an amnesic cocktail designed to basically wipe

their memories. Then he'd drive them out into the desert, kick them out of his car, then move on to planning his next abduction. According to David, he did this over and over again, using a simple but effective modus operandi of either visiting a nearby bar to spike his victim's drinks, or impersonating a police officer in order to place them under false arrest. This worked time and time again, and if his confession is to be believed, David Parker Ray is probably the most prolific serial offender in the history of the United States. But his reign of terror came crashing down when he came across one victim who proved much more resilient than most others. Her name is Cynthia Vigil Aramilio.

In March of 1999, Cynthia was approached by David in the parking lot of the Blue Water Saloon in the nearby town of Elephant Butte. Now I'm not casting any aspersions on Cynthia or the choices of her past, but it's a good chance that she said yes when David asked if she'd sleep with him for money, as she didn't struggle or complain when he announced that he was an undercover police officer and that she was under arrest for the solicitation of being an escort. David then placed Cynthia in the back of his car, where she must have assumed he was about to drive her to a nearby police precinct, so we can only imagine her horror when she realized she was being taken to truth or consequences in the toy box that lay hidden

in plain sight. If Cynthia didn't start to resist when she saw the trailer, she most certainly freaked out once she laid her eyes on the horrors inside it. Then, either using some kind of sedative or by using brute force, Ray knocked Cynthia out, then got to work restraining her in the modified gynecologist chair. When Cynthia woke up, she heard the sound of a tape recorder playing a pre-recorded message. It was the voice of David Parker Ray. Hello there, the tape said. Are you comfortable right now? I doubt it. Wrists and ankles chained, gagged, blindfolded, disoriented and scared too, I would imagine. Perfectly normal under the circumstances. But for a little while at least,

you need to get yourself together and listen to this tape. I'm going to tell you in detail why you've been kidnapped, and what's going to happen to you, and how long you'll be here. I don't know the exact details of your capture, he continued, because this tape is being created in July 23rd of 1993, as a general advisory tape for future female captives, but it's based on my experience dealing with captives over a period of several

years. Now, you are obviously here against your will and you're either very scared or very angry. I'm sure that you've already tried to get your wrists and ankles loose, but you can't, because you've been snatched and brought here for us to train and use you as a slave. Sounds kind of far out, right? And I suppose it is to the uninitiated, but we do it all the time. It's going to take a lot of adjustment on your part, and you're not going to like it. But I don't care about that. You're going to be kept chained up

like an animal and used until such a time as we see fit. Me and my lady friend are very selective when we snatch a girl to use for these purposes. It goes without saying that you have a fine body and you're young. The lady friend David was referring to here was named Cindy Hendy and later received a sentence of 36 years for her role in the toy box torture. Hendy would often act as a kind of scout, singling out vulnerable young women who might not be easily missed. She also participated in the torture from time to time but was nowhere near as sadistic as David Parker Ray. Here, David explained to his captives,

your status is no more than of one of the dogs or of one of the animals out in the barn. The tape continued. And like the rest of our animals, you will be fed and watered and kept reasonably clean. We take four or five different girls each year depending on our urges. We're always looking. Occasionally some sweet little thing will be broke down on the side of the road, walking, bicycling, jogging. Anytime an opportunity like that presents itself and it's not too risky, we'll grab her, even if we've already got a captive in the playroom.

After all, variety is the spice of life. Although you're going to be a lot of fun to play with, I will get tired of you eventually, but if I killed every girl we kidnapped, there'd be bodies strung all over the country. I don't like killing a girl unless it is absolutely necessary, so I've devised a safe alternative method of disposal. After we get completely through with you, you're going to be drugged up real heavy with a combination of sodium pentothal and phenobarbital, both hypnotic drugs that will make you extremely susceptible to hypnosis, auto-hypnosis, and hypnotic suggestion.

After that, you're going to be kept drugged a couple of days while I play with your mind. By the time I get through brainwashing you, you're not going to remember a thing about this little adventure. You won't remember this place, us, or what has happened to you, and there won't be any DNA evidence because you'll be bathed. After that, you'll be dressed, sedated, and turned loose on some country road. Bruised, sore all over, but nothing that won't heal up in a week or two. The thought of being brainwashed may not be appealing to you, but we've been doing it a long time and it works. And it's the lesser of two evils. I'm sure that you would prefer that

in lieu of being strangled or having your throat cut. Just when you think the tape can't get any more disturbing, David begins to lecture his captive on the improbability of them being rescued. Undoubtedly, somebody's going to be looking for you. There might even be a missing persons report, he says before stating. But nobody's going to be looking for you here. There are not going to be any knights in shining armor coming to rescue you. You are strictly on your own, and I bet that's a very scary thought. As for escaping, I'm sure

you'll try to figure out a way. That's human nature. Consequently, you are going to be kept in an environment more secure than a prison cell. A steel collar is going to be padlocked around your neck. It is a long, heavy chain that is padlocked to a ring in the floor. The collar will never be removed until you are turned loose. It's a permanent fixture. As I've already said, you'll be fed and watered on a regular basis. not much but enough to keep you healthy. During the first few days, until you adjust to it, you're going to feel weak and you'll be hungry all the time, but I prefer to keep you in a weakened condition anyway. I realize that being abducted and forced into slavery is a hard pill to swallow.

Some girls really have a lot of trouble with that and I'm sure you will too. But face it, you can't get away. You can't say no. You won't be able to struggle or resist. A scary thought? Yes, but you simply have no other choice but to take it. There's not many rules and they're very easy to remember, but you're still going to make mistakes. Every slave does. But I don't like repeat offenders. It gets me very upset. Some girls tend to be a little rebellious, and I sure wouldn't advise that, because it will get you in serious trouble. If necessary, I'm capable of doing things to your body and torturing you in ways that you can't even imagine.

The playroom is equipped with a full set of surgical instruments which I have had occasion to use and will again as necessary. If you bite me, I'll pull your teeth out with pliers. If you scratch me, I'll pull your nails out. It may sound harsh and cold, but if you give us too much trouble, or if you pose any kind of threat to us, I won't have any qualms about slicing your throat. Towards the end of the tape, David seems to have taken on a sickeningly reassuring and perhaps supportive tone, urging his prisoner to survive. Be nice, keep your mouth shut. Learn the rules and survive, he says. No matter how painful it is, nothing that we plan to do to your body will cause any serious or permanent damage. I'm not lying to you or trying to make it sound easier because

that would be pointless. I'm just telling you like it is. As far as needles go, they'll always be sterilized. The clamps are going to hurt, but that won't cause any permanent injury. They don't even break the skin. David then finishes with, just take it day by day. Be smart and be a survivor. Don't ever scream. Don't talk without permission. Be very quiet. Be docile and obedient and by all means, show proper respect. Have a nice day. We can only imagine how utterly terrified Cynthia would have been, having been forced to listen to such a thing,

and for just the 72 hours that followed, she was subjected to some of the most nightmarish physical and psychological torture imaginable. On the third day of her captivity, David had to spend the day at work, so he left Cynthia in the care of his accomplice Cindy Hendy. At some point, Cindy walked into another room of the trailer to answer a phone call, leaving her prisoner temporarily unsupervised. By that point, Hendy was getting far too comfortable with Cynthia's obedience and, in a white-hot moment of realization, Cynthia noticed that her captor had left the keys to her chains on a nearby table just within her reach. She reached for them, lifting the keys

from the table as quietly as possible before attempting to free herself. But right as Cynthia was making her escape attempt, Cindy Hendy walked back into the room, flying into a rage when she saw what was happening. A vicious struggle ensued, with the two women scratching and biting each other as chains rattled and the trailer rocked. Cindy managed to fight her way out of Cynthia's grip for a moment, grabbing a nearby lamp before smashing it over Cynthia's head. The captive woman was dazed and bloodied, but in the brief reprieve, she too had managed to grab a weapon, and when Cindy lunged at her again, Cynthia plunged an ice pick into her captor's neck. Cindy collapsed to the floor, gurgling as blood leaked into her airway,

but Cynthia didn't hesitate. She unlocked her chains, took the padlocks off the door to the toy box, then hurtled towards the nearest highway wearing nothing but that steel slave collar that David had forced on her. Cynthia soon arrived at the home of a good Samaritan who took her in, called the cops, and consoled her while they waited for them to arrive. It was the end of a three-day nightmare, one she'd never fully recover from. But thankfully, her valiant escape signaled the end of David's decades-long rampage. The police used Cynthia's testimony to swiftly track down the location of the toy box and took both David and Cindy into custody. They were detained, questioned, and charged, but in the course of the police investigation, a shocking web of familial

collusion was discovered. David Parker Ray had actually videotaped the torture of some of his victims, compiling a chilling library of homemade horror films. They were supposed to be for posterity, but they ended up being used as evidence against him. One of the girls on a videotape from 1996 was found to be named Kelly Garrett, who police managed to track down thanks to the tattoo on her ankle. Kelly then told police that on the night she'd been abducted, she had a fight with her husband and decided to go out drinking with friends. One of these friends was named Jesse and Jesse just so happened to be the daughter of David Parker Ray. Not only was Jesse the daughter of David, she was also his accomplice and she later admitted to deliberately taking Kelly to the Blue Water Saloon

her father's favorite hunting grounds. While they were there Jesse drugged Kelly's drink with intoxicants provided by her father and as Kelly staggered outside feeling nauseous and woozy she was rendered unconscious by a blow from behind.

After days of torture Kelly only escaped because David believed he'd crossed the line and tortured his victim to death. However, upon noticing that she was still breathing, he slashed her throat, then dumped her body unceremoniously at the side of the road. He was later amazed to find out that she had survived the ordeal, but was surprised it hadn't made the news. This was because, to put it bluntly, no one believed Kelly's story. Her husband accused her of cheating on him and filed for a divorce, while local police seemed to put it down to a lover's quarrel and failed to properly investigate the incident. David Parker Ray's trial was a long

and tumultuous affair, but in 2001, he accepted a plea deal to serve 224 years in prison for the abduction and torture of three young women, Cynthia and Kelly being two of them. Then, on May 28th, 2002, David was taken to the Leah County Correctional Facility in Hobbs, New Mexico to be questioned by state police concerning his involvement in a number of other crimes. He died of a heart attack before the interrogation took place, collapsing in front of correctional officers, never to arise again. Ray's daughter, Jessie Ray, also was tried on charges of kidnapping and was eventually sentenced to two and a half years in prison and was released sometime in the mid-2000s. Cindy Hendy, on the other hand, after becoming eligible for parole in 2017, was eventually released in 2019. This is the same woman who gladly smashed a lamp over another

person's head simply because they dared to be free of her tyrannical sadism. And now, she's free to walk the streets, the same streets that are walked by those she chose to victimize. What I'm about to tell you is the darkest secret I know. I'm from a little town in the Midwest and in that town is a cute little chapel. In the back of that cutesy little chapel there's a small memorial to a family of four murdered by mysterious transients who were never caught. They were all home one night when this guy broke in, then he killed the entire family while they slept. Mom, dad, son and daughter, all dead within just a few minutes of each other. As you can probably guess, the murders absolutely devastated our small town. I was only in elementary school when it happened, but I can still remember

the vigil, the funeral, and the ceremony that surrounded the unveiling of the chapel's memorial. It was a completely random, avoidable tragedy. An act of malice perpetrated on us by some shadowy outside evil. Only, that's not what actually happened. What really happened is like an open secret. Something we all know, but no one ever says out loud. It's like that because we need to protect our community. At least, that's what I was told, but I'm not sure how lying about it actually helps us.

It's just a veneer, a phony facade of small-town tranquility. What's the point of pretending we're a quiet, happy town when the reality is far from it? Okay, I guess I've been blue-balling you all over what actually happened, so I'll just get right to it. On the night in question, the family had dinner, watched some TV, then at some point after 9pm, the parents put their kids to bed. The dad usually stayed up with a glass of scotch after mom and the kids went to bed. He'd watch football or baseball highlights,

binge a few late night shows, you know, typical dad stuff. But he never got up off the couch that night. The whole cover story was that the family had been killed while they slept and technically that's true, but it's always painted like they were all sleeping peacefully in their beds when they were killed. But that's not true. A few hours before they were murdered, the family had sat down to dinner. I don't know what they ate exactly, chicken pot pie or whatever, but I know what they had for dessert because that day, the nine-year-old daughter of the family had made everyone some of that strawberry cream flavored jello pudding. The way I imagined it, it probably wasn't the nicest dessert they'd ever had. But geez, if my kid appeared to show a

passion for cooking, baking, really anything, I'd feign enthusiasm and clear my plate. Who cares if they got the powder to milk ratio off by a little or used a whole bunch of extra sugar when there's already a ton in there. Only, the reason it tasted off is because the nine-year-old girl had poured in a ton of NyQuil Max Strength into the pudding mix. I don't know exactly how much she put in there or how much the parents and brother actually ate, but it was enough to pretty much knock them out so the daughter could put her little plan of hers into action. You see, the reason why they never caught the mysterious transient hobo murderer that chose to randomly break in and murder the family is because there never was one. After her family were all passed out, the little girl went into the kitchen and took a big old knife out of a drawer

or a block. She then walked into the TV room where her dad was asleep on the couch and cut his throat. From what I was told, she cut his throat so deep and wide that he couldn't scream. All he could do was put his hands to the wound, wonder why, but he would have been dead in mere minutes. After that she went upstairs and did the same to her mother and brother, just opened them up right there in their beds. This all happened on a Friday night by the way and no one even suspected anything had happened until Sunday morning when none of the family showed up to church, but even then they might have their reasons not to attend. Could have been out of town visiting family, maybe a none of the family showed up to church. But even then, they might have their reasons not to attend. Could have been out of town visiting family, maybe a spur of the moment

vacation. Besides, this is the kind of town where everyone knows each other's business, but they also know well enough to stay out of each other's business, if that makes any sense. The point is, no one visited this family's house until Monday afternoon, like 50 something hours after the murders had occurred. The kids hadn't shown up at school, the parents hadn't shown up at their jobs, and from what I understand, the cops basically spent the morning piecing together until they realized the whole family was missing. Obviously, the first place to check out was the house itself, so a couple of sheriff deputies roll up to check in on them. What they found is pretty hotly disputed among our town's residents and depending on who you talk to about it, one of three things happened. The first scenario is that the nine-year-old daughter had taken their own life after the gravity of what she did set in. After that, the whole thing was covered up just to avoid all the

painful media attention a case like that might get. That's the simplest explanation, and I know Occam's razor tells us that's the one we should believe, but that's not what I think happened. I understand why people might want to cover it up. Having something terrible like that get out into the news would tear a small town like ours apart. But terrible crimes like that happen way more than we'd like to acknowledge, and the news always gets out. So, what was so terrible about these murders? I mean, even worse than they already were, that made people actually keep quiet about it. Like even in my case, I think I might be the first person to tell an outsider

this stuff, maybe ever, but even so, the culture of silence that seems to be like encoded into our DNA, it means I can't quite bring myself to give you the names, dates, or places. And that's because all the fallouts, the media circus, maybe even the prison sentences handed out, they all be on my head. But anyway, back to the stuff I think might have happened. The first alternative theory is that when the cops broke in, the girl made like she was the lone survivor, tricked the cops into getting close to her, then tried to attack them. The cops tried to safely detain her, but she had that same knife she'd used to kill her parents, and in the chaos, one of them just shot her. At least that's what I think. Definitely the

less inflammatory of the two alternative theories, but not the one that makes the most sense to me. I buy a trigger-happy rookie who just saw the knife and opted for self-preservation, but not being able to restrain a nine-year-old girl. Seriously? I don't know. No one who propagates that theory was anywhere near the family's house to be able to hear any gunshot and trigger-happy noob cop or not, but I refuse to believe they wouldn't call for EMTs after they'd just shot a nine-year-old. Then, once county EMTs are involved, the chance at a cover-up is long gone because

there's a whole bunch of paperwork involved. And then, there's a second alternative theory, the one where the EMTs don't get called because everyone's already dead when the cops enter the house. No one saw the nine-year-old daughter at any point that weekend, meaning she didn't leave the house to buy groceries, visit the diner, nothing like that. So, what was she eating? And how did she die? According to some, the answer to both questions is pretty messed up, and the worst thing, they're the same answer. The nine-year-old died after attempting to eat the body of her dead father. She died because trying to eat her own dad made her sick, sick enough to not be able to hold anything down, water included. I'm not a doctor,

so I can't exactly say how that would actually kill a person, maybe dehydration, but by the time the cop kicked down the family's back door on that Monday afternoon, the little girl was dead, lying in a puddle of her own vomit and liquid feces. I know it's an awfully convenient coincidence that both officers who found the family retired and moved out of town shortly afterward, are the only two people who knew the truth just packed up and left without leaving behind any means of reaching them. But at the same time, I can see why two young small town cops just couldn't handle what they saw that day. I mean, if the second alternative theory really is to be believed,

seeing something like that would be enough to drive you mad. As you can imagine, this isn't something I can really talk about with many people. Me and my high school friends used to talk about it every so often, but always in hushed tones and never out in public where older folks might hear us. And now that my parents have passed and I live, well, someplace else, it's not like I can just roll back into town and start asking questions. They'll just put up that same wall of silence that I saw whenever anyone asked what happened. Darn tragedy. Such a shame.

Hope they catch the guy one day, they'll say. Then one day, when everyone who knows the truth is dead, the comforting lies they told about their murders will become just another version of the truth. All that evil that found its way into the body of a nine-year-old girl will all just be forgotten. And maybe, just maybe, that's exactly what needs to happen. prepaid MasterCard when you purchase Kumo RoadVenture AT52 tires. Find a Kumo TreadExperts dealer near you at TreadExperts.ca slash locations.

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19 plus to wager Ontario only. Please gamble responsibly. If you have questions or concerns about gambling or someone close to you, please contact Connex Ontario at 1-866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with iGaming Ontario. I grew up in this podunk town in Nebraska, and in the 18 years I lived there, only two significant things happened. The first thing, and probably the best thing, is that I was born. I know, you're all very welcome. But the second, and perhaps the worst thing that ever happened in our town,

was when Kevin Meyer set his garage on fire. Or rather, maybe what Kevin did constituted the worst thing that never happened to our town. And if that doesn't make any sense, bear with me. All will become clear over the course of the next few paragraphs. So it was a Sunday night and I was in my freshman year of high school at the time. So still at that age when me and my friends would go out on our bikes for an evening. You know, good old wholesome fun. We're just riding around when we see another kid

from our class riding down the street at top speed. We stop to say hey and in between panting breaths the kid's like, oh my god guys, the Myers garage is on fire, come look. We then hurtle down the street at full speed, following the kid from our class until we're faced with this raging inferno that used to be the Myers family garage. Only right as we get there, we're immediately told to keep back by the cops and firefighters on scene. We thought we were already at a safe distance so we're kind of confused but did as we're told. Only then we start hearing all these pops and bangs coming from the garage and the firefighters trying to put the flames out suddenly ran for cover.

I had no idea what was causing the little bangs, but if it was scaring the cops and the firefighters, then I figured I should have been scared of it too. I actually thought the Meyer house was about to explode or something and so did my buddies, so we had no problem getting out of there quick, riding home and telling our parents about it. The next morning at school, all the kids were talking about the fire, mainly because Kevin Meyer hadn't showed up to any of his classes. Some kids were spreading rumors saying they'd seen the paramedics loading him up onto an ambulance and he was so badly burned that he was just a smoldering husk.

Others said that he and his parents had gone to live with relatives since the fire had made their house basically unlivable, which is the story I believe because I figured there'd be actual confirmation if anyone had died. But then the next morning, there was confirmation. News reports said that firefighters had recovered one body from the burned out garage, while the surviving family members were staying with relatives and had asked the media to give them some space. So, on that Tuesday, we knew someone had died, but we had no idea exactly who. The Myers had three generations living in that house, and Kevin was one of four kids. A bunch more rumors began swirling and it

was only the following day when our high school principal called us all in for a special assembly that we actually got any concrete answers. I remember the whole school filing into the gymnasium where the county sheriff and a handful of deputies were all stood in front of the bleachers, each of them with a real serious look on their faces. Once we were all seated, the principal opened up by saying that the county sheriff had something important to talk to us about, and as he stepped forward and took his hat off, I swear you could have heard a pin drop. We knew it was going to be something about the Meyer family, but exactly what it was, I'd swear I'd never have guessed in a million years.

I'm not about to pretend I can remember what the guy said word for word, this all happened almost twenty years ago now, but this is basically the gist of it. Folks, you've all heard about the fire over at the Meyer place, and I'm sure you've all heard about the tragic loss of life. Well, I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you, but your classmate Kevin was the one who passed. There was a kind of rolling gasp across the gym and the sheriff paused for a second before continuing Now, we're still trying to figure out how the fire started So we're inviting anyone with any information on Kevin to please step forward

You don't have to do it now You can call my office whenever you like and we can have a more discreet conversation. Please, if you have anything to tell us about any strange or unusual behavior Kevin exhibited in the days before the fire, I implore you to step forward. That was the first clue we had that something was really wrong. I guess they wanted to handle the whole thing with kid gloves and I can totally understand why they might want to shield us from what they already knew. The initial reaction was one of total shock and grief. Kids were horrified that one of their own had died in such a horrible way. But if the cops had told us what they'd really found in there, I don't think people would have been nearly as sad.

More like angry. It took two more days for the truth to come out and by that time, the town had decided to defer responsibility to our parents. There was a town meeting and I remember that because my parents asked me to do my chores before they returned and all I did was play perfect dark for like two hours. When they got home, I thought they'd be mad that I hadn't even put a dent into any of the stuff I had to do, but they weren't mad. They had these weird but sad but intense looks on their faces, exactly the same ones they had when my grandpa died suddenly. They sit me down in the TV room and ask how well I knew Kevin.

I tell them not much, that I had Spanish class with him, but that we never talked. They then start asking me a bunch of other questions, if Kevin ever got mad at me, if I liked him, stuff like that. In the end, I just straight up told them it was obvious they knew something about Kevin, and that I'd rather they just told me that it was him taking his own life or something because I was old enough to handle the truth. Turns out, I was not old enough to handle the truth. Kevin hadn't taken his own life. He'd accidentally blown himself up trying to make a bomb. Apparently, he wanted to test his method out by making a

test model, but as he was putting it together, he somehow detonated the thing and made it enough of a bang to kill him before setting his garage on fire. At first, it had looked like he might have just been a firebug, you know, like a pyromaniac. And he was just screwing around with an accelerant or something. That's why it took a few days for the cops to be sure of what happened. They had to go over the burned out garage and go through Kevin's stuff to try and work out why he did it. The cops then found a journal Kevin had been keeping. One where he'd basically laid out his plan to build a bomb, and put it under the church one Sunday morning while it was full of families. The cops wouldn't say exactly what the rest of the journal

consisted of, only that it made for highly disturbing reading and that there were several references to the Columbine massacre of the year before. Mom was crying by the end of the talk, and Dad was the most shaken up I'd ever seen him. That kid wanted to kill almost the entire town, and let me tell you, if he'd hit the church around the upcoming Veterans Day service, he'd have killed like 90% of the people in our town all in one fiery blast. And the most aware I ever got for an explanation was just, the kid wanted to hurt people, or he wasn't right. No one really bullied the kid or gave him a hard time,

he was just crazy, I guess. But I also thank God that he wasn't smarter, and that he didn't, like, put a little more research in or take a little more care, because if he had, he might have wiped our entire town right off the map. To be continued... called Marble in North Carolina. It's kind of a family heirloom, one we're reluctant to get rid of since it's where our family originates from. And I think another reason we haven't sold it is that there's a very interesting story attached to this place. Well, interesting to the neutral observer, but it must have been pretty darn scary for my grandma who was the one to actually live through it. So it's the summer of 1998, two years before I was even born and my grandma is out at the cabin on her lonesome. My grandpa passed before I

was born but almost every summer they were together, my grandparents would go out to that cabin and just spend two weeks with nobody but squirrels for company. After Grandpa passed, she carried the tradition on as a way of dealing with the grief, and that's how she came to be there, alone, in like June or July of 98. Now, she didn't have a TV out there, but she did have an old radio she used to listen to her old radio plays on some now-old defunct station. This station, like most others, used to take little breaks for news broadcasts and one day she hears about these bombs that had been going off in Georgia and Alabama. The cops had a suspect they wanted to talk to but he'd gone on the run and was possibly hiding out in the hills of his home state of, you guessed it, North Carolina.

The news guy then gives a brief description of the suspect, which was, I don't know, medium height, dark hair, lightish eyes, and says the guy's name is Eric Rudolph. My grandma used to say that the name stuck with her mainly because of the Christmas song about the reindeer, and she found herself whistling the thing even though it's bad luck in the middle of the summer. Anyways, a few hours go by, the sun goes down and grandma is just chilling in the cabin doing whatever grandmas do. Then all of a sudden there's a knock at the door. Grandma wasn't expecting anyone and the only neighbors she had were like a mile down the road, so it's with understandable trepidation that she got up and walked towards the cabin's front door.

Upon opening it, she sees a guy of medium height, wearing a baseball cap, with lightish eyes and a dark mustache. Grandma, being the kindly soul that she was, wishes him a good evening and asks what she can do for him. Good evening, ma'am, he says. I'm so sorry to bother you, but I need to ask you a small favor. He goes on to ask my grandma if she has any food she can spare. His story being that he also owned a cabin in the area and had come out to visit his property.

Only because he'd set off after work and forgot to pick up groceries for his cabin, he ended up being without food for the night. The way grandma tells it, the guy was just so darn polite with her that she just like instinctually invited him inside without really thinking it through. She usually kept her pantry stocked with all kinds of dried and canned goods, so she always had something to spare, and she says filling up this guy's backpack with jerky and peaches when she looks up at him and stops. I didn't catch your name, Grandma said. My name's Bobby, ma'am. Bobby what? Grandma asked. Bobby Randolph, the guy replied.

Randolph. She said that name rang alarm bells in her mind. It wasn't quite Rudolph, but it was awful close. Close enough for her to get this real bad feeling down in the pit of her stomach. Bearing in mind, this is way before cell phones, and the cabin didn't even have a landline connection to it. The most effective form of outside communication Grandma had was a freaking flare gun, and if her situation was as bad as she thought it was, a flare gun wasn't quite going to cut it.

So instead, Grandma played along. She knew if she just played dumb, gave the guy some food and led him on his way, she could drive into the town first thing in the morning and tell the cops who had stopped by at the cabin. But then, right as she's about to politely ask him to move along, he says something like, Actually, I got a small favor to ask. Do you have anywhere

I can lay my head for the night? My grandma always said there was like this stalemate moment where she looked at Bobby, saw the wild desperation in his eyes, and tried her hardest to keep her cool as she said, I'm sorry, I just don't have the room to spare. Then Bobby reaches into his jacket, pulls out a pistol and says something like, I'm sorry, I was hoping you wouldn't say that. Then nods to the gun and says, don't make me use this. For those of you that haven't figured it out already, the guy at her door wasn't Bobby Randolph or whatever dumb fake name he'd given her. The man in her cabin was Eric Rudolph, the Olympic Park bomber himself. Grandma says it was one of the scariest experiences of her life, but not for the reasons you might think.

You see, she said she was never afraid to die. She was in her mid-70s at the time and I think she'd squared things away with God a long time prior. Instead, she said the scary thing was how weirdly normal this guy was. Even after the metaphorical mask came off, the guy remained polite and cordial with my grandma and even offered to help out with chores and stuff in the morning. Obviously, she told him she was more than capable of looking after herself, and she definitely didn't want the FBI thinking she was okay with him staying there overnight. But even so, he wasn't anything like the unhinged maniac she had imagined after hearing the news

report. My grandma used to say the only time he really gave a hint of who he was or what he'd done was when they said grace before they ate dinner. She could never remember exactly what he said, only that it was something about how the righteous will prevail. This was a guy who'd just tried to kill literally hundreds of people in a series of horrific bomb attacks, so I can understand why hearing him basically referring to himself as righteous really creeped her out. Hey, it creeps me out just thinking about having to eat dinner with him. I don't think I'd be able to eat a bite, so it might not come as a surprise to hear that grandma barely touched her food. She barely slept that night either. She took the bed while Eric apparently

took the floor and the whole time she expected to suddenly hear rotor blades when some chopper mounted spotlight lit up the house like it was Broadway. But nope. No FBI guy showed up and she says she must have nodded off in the end because all of a sudden, it's light outside and Eric is nowhere to be seen. She said she was so exhausted from that whole thing that for a second, she wandered around the cabin like, did I dream that? And then she finds this note on a countertop, one scribbled in pencil that just said, thank you, God bless, and she knew it had actually happened. I know this isn't your typical scary story because despite having to share her cabin with a verified monster, I don't think my grandma was in any serious danger. Maybe if she tried to call the cops or something,

maybe if she like forced his hand, then maybe he'd have actually hurt her. But she was old, she was no actual threat to him, and he knew well that the cabin had no phone line and nothing like that, or he wouldn't have showed up there in the first place. She even said it herself, she wasn't scared to die, and she just sort of knew he wasn't about to hurt her. But like her, the thing that creeps me out and my sister out about grandma's close encounter is how normal the guy seemed. We like to imagine that terrorists and people like them are these vile, evil, soulless monsters that just stew in their own hate all day.

Maybe that's true for some of them, but the idea that the evilest of us are just like us, that's what really scares me. The small Wyoming town I'm from has this old bridge nearby, one which all the kids say is haunted. There aren't any ghosts there, no haunting apparitions that suddenly appear as you're trying to cross it at night, but take it from me, it is haunted. And the only way anything can ever really be haunted. Because a long time ago, two girls from our town happened to be walking across the bridge when a car with two men in it pulled up next to them. They asked the girls if they wanted a ride home and they accepted. Only instead of giving them a ride home, the men did terrible things to the girls. Beat them, violated them, just god awful things. Then when they were done, they threw both girls off the bridge and into the water below.

That's a hundred foot drop, by the way. No one has any right to fall that far into those choppy waters and live to tell the tale, but somehow, by some pure miracle, the older of the two girls washed up on the riverbank a few miles down, coughing up the lungful of water she had in her before limping off to get help. It was a huge story. I mean, I was only just a kid at the time, but I remember the aftermath of it like it was yesterday. The girl who survived ended up leaving Wyoming, and I'm not anyone who could blame her for wanting to escape the memory of something like that. But then, years later, she came back. She had a husband, or maybe he was her boyfriend, but I know they had a kid with him, and

that it was probably hers. And at the time, I figured she maybe just gotten past what had happened to her, and that she wanted her kids to be close to its grandparents or whatever. Everyone was glad to have her back, I remember that much, and for a while, the small family seemed to be settling in nicely. Then one day, I remember my wife getting a call from one of her friends she worked with down at the preschool. The surviving sister and her family had been out walking near the old bridge, and as her baby daddy had put it, one minute she was there, the next, she was gone. She'd come all the way home with her new family in tow, she had everything to live for, but one look at that drop down to the river

and all those horrible memories must have came rushing back to her. I think they call it survivor's guilt, when you just can't reconcile walking away from something that took a loved one or a friend. I've heard it's the same thing that drives military veterans to taking their own life, just thinking they deserve to live when someone dear to them didn't ever get to come home. To me, what happened out at that bridge, like 20 something years apart, it's scarier than any horror movie monster you can think of. I think it might be scarier than any real life serial killer too. The bridge called her back to it. I don't know how, but it did. It's like she wasn't

really meant to have survived that first fall. Like she'd somehow cheated death. But in the end, she gave up what was owed. An inescapable fate. Yeah, I guess I think about it way too much. But can you blame me? Maybe it's not just the bridge that's haunted by what happened. Maybe I am too. The story takes place in the late 90s. At this time I was living in the upper Midwest, a state near the Canadian border to be more specific.

Ever since I can remember I have had a deep love of hunting. The actual act of taking an animal's life was not something I enjoyed, but the thrill of the pursuit, not to mention the tranquility of nature, was a thing unparalleled. Either it's something you understand or you don't. I can't describe it any better. While unfortunately health problems and age have limited my ability to take to the woods as I used to, during this time I never passed up a chance. Deer was my main prey.

However, on more than one occasion, I accompanied some friends out west to hunt elk and moose. These trips always required more walking than I preferred, so after the third year I decided to bail out and focused on my beloved white tails. The reason I mention so much about hunting is because the incident I witnessed occurred on one of my many hunting trips. At no point during that day was there any hint at what I was about to experience. I set out just before dawn and sat at the base of my favorite tree.

It was surrounded by bushes on three sides, thus creating the perfect hide. I remained there until just after 9am, at which time I decided to do a little tracking. I did eventually come across some sign, but determined it was too old to do me any good. I continued nonetheless and ran into a small lake I'd never seen before. The area I had stumbled into had been closed to hunting until just recently. Being the first man to hunt this land in God knows how long made this trip worth it regardless of whether I bagged a buck or not. The day this occurred just happened to be unseasonably warm. Happening upon the lake seemed like a divine gift, at least at first. Midday was generally accepted as a bad time to hunt. I figured I'd

do just as the deer usually did and bed down for a while. I unloaded the round from the chamber and set my rifle against a large oak and approached the lake. I pulled my handkerchief from my vest pocket and squatted down to dip it in the hoped for cool water. Now fully soaked, I raised it to my forehead and squeezed it. The water ran down my face and I instantly felt relieved. There was another thing I noticed though. A strange smell emitted from the liquid. I paused and just assumed it was the sweaty bandana and continued cooling myself. While I was there, I figured I'd go ahead and top off my canteen. Just as I lowered it to fill, I caught sight of something alarming. Less than a foot below the surface, the face of a dead deer stared back at me. This explained the smell.

No woodsman worth his salt would drink water containing a corpse. It would be a guaranteed trip to the hospital and a long miserable battle with his innards. I was greatly disappointed to encounter such a stomach turning scene in such a beautiful setting. My first instinct was to wash my hands and face with soap and some fresh water from the canteen which I quickly did. As for the hanky, I dug a small hole and buried it. Certainly not a necessary measure but I didn't want to take any chances. Now I was curious.

I decided to walk around a little and examine the lake a tad closer. What I found was of great concern and more than a bit bewildering. With each step I took I would see part of or all of a dead animal in the water, just about every member of the animal kingdom currently inhabiting the US and a few I couldn't identify and they were rotting in that lake. More than a few beautiful large bucks lay just under the surface. One had such a large, luxurious rack it reached a good foot out of the water, and never before had I seen such a sight of carnage in my life. Briefly I assumed they had been shot by poachers and disposed of, but

at least the animals I could see clearly had no visible injuries. The longer I stayed there, the creepier my surroundings became. I could probably chalk that up to my mind getting to me, but it made no difference. I had to get away from that lake right then before I ended up taking a permanent nap alongside my fellow animal cousins. There was one thing I had to do first though. I returned my pack and dug through it until I came across a small glass vial I kept among my small accessories. As carefully as possible I lowered it into the water and filled it. I closed it as tightly as possible and sealed it into an empty sandwich bag. Once again I made sure to wash my hands well.

I had a friend who was a well respected professor at a nearby university And my plan was to get him to test it More for my curiosity than anything else After my trip ended, I did just that I gave him a brief description of what I'd seen and left him the sample He promised to get it back to me when he could Not once did he show concern As usual, I returned to work, and time flew by. I wasn't able to get back to my buddy for another month or two,

and on a quiet Saturday morning, I rang him up. I could tell he sounded a bit nervous. Initially, he tried to tell me that the sample was normal. It didn't seem right, but he was the pro, not me. I continued to describe how strange the scene had been. Small talk, mainly, and soon he was trying to convince me to forget about it. The urgency in his voice bothered me greatly, but I did let it go. Perhaps there was something he wasn't prepared to say over the phone, and some secret science-y stuff, I don't know. I wasn't sure.

The call soon ended, and I put that question on the back burner for the time being. Months had passed by and I began to focus on more family related things. Christmas was quickly approaching and the family and me had lots of shopping to do. On one of these occasions I caught sight of my old friend. I hadn't intended to grill him about anything in particular that morning. The two of us were less than 20 yards apart and I called out to him. He visibly turned and made eye contact before turning just as quickly and hurrying away. I must admit I was a bit taken aback in the moment. We'd known one another for over 30 years

and he'd never avoided talking to me before. In fact, he was usually the fella to instigate a discussion. Despite being somewhat hurt about it, there wasn't much I could do. Another old friend had passed from my life. Oh well, so is the plight of man. That year quickly ran its course along with another. Three years passed until I was able to get back to that part of the woods. This morning would go much differently. As I broke through the trees, I believed myself to be lost. Surely I had to be lost. The surroundings had greatly changed in the years since. The massive pond or lake, whichever you chose to call it, was gone. There were small signs of the area past, but had you not known it,

you wouldn't have picked them up. I did double check my map to be certain of my location. My time in the army had transformed me from a middling to darn good navigator. The map I held in my hand even showed the once existing lake, there was no doubt. That stinky, horrid pool of death had disappeared. I can't say I was sad to see it go. Nonetheless, its disappearance was just as strange as its existence, perhaps even more so. From then on, I would follow a destructive path, one that only served to alienate and harm those close to me. In the many years since that whole nonsensical event took place, I still struggle with what I had encountered that morning. While a body of water being a source of death to those creatures around it is not unheard of, the events that unfolded in the months and years following are really confusing and agonizing to me. My friend and I may not have

been as close as we once were and perhaps forces in his life beyond his control drove us apart. But when a large body of water disappears into thin air with no reasonable explanation, that's a jump in reality I'm just not prepared to take. I'm not an excavator or engineer, heck I'm not even much of a gardener, but I do know one thing. It takes a lot of organization and equipment to fill in a natural lake in the middle of nowhere. It takes even more talent to make it look like it never happened. Somebody somewhere wanted that cursed body of water to be gone and forgotten.

Their identity will more than likely never be known to anyone outside their group, nor do I think of this little puzzle of mine matters much in the overall scheme of things. Nonetheless, I couldn't allow it to slip away unnoted into the depths of history. Now that I'm a sick old man with no one left to tell my story, I'm putting pen to paper. Included with my account is the original map showing the location of the Phantom Lake. To whatever poor soul discovers this envelope, I beg you don't repeat the same mistakes I made. You may be the new keeper of this information, but it doesn't mean you must share it. I advise you to keep your mouth shut and play nice. I regret that I didn't. You may be left in peace if you do Ultimately what you choose to do with this story

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From tires to auto repair, we're always there. TreadExperts.ca slash locations. From tires to auto repair, we're always there. TreadExperts.ca Deep in the middle of nowhere America in the early hours of March 3rd, 1980, a girl is born. She was the apple of her parents' eyes. From that day on, she could do no wrong. Every birthday was a celebration of her greatness. As she grew into womanhood, she stumbled not once. Her beliefs were always in line with modern thinking and her opinions were never the wrong ones. If you were to ask them, her folks would put her on par with the angels, as near as to divine and beautiful as humanly

possible. This is all BS, of course. The girl was never honest with her elders, not fair to her peers. In school, her grades were average at best. Her awkward fumblings with boys were well known. No one around her age respected or liked her. There were a few she controlled through fear, but in time, even they would break away. The child was nothing like the divine creature her parents viewed her to be. You ask, how do you know all this?

We see, I was foolish enough to marry her. I'll refer to her as Alicia from here on. Alicia and I had known one another since middle school. We'd grown up not far apart. Her beauty was a truly breathtaking thing to behold, but it was her only redeeming value. For some strange reason, I was the guy she chose. Over time, I'd come to discover why. Her upbringing had made her an abusive narcissist.

This was a major turn-off for most guys on her level. I guess guys on my level were more susceptible to her feminine powers. She knew she had me on the hook from the beginning, but not once did she abuse me the way she did everyone else. I'm not sure I would have broken it off if she had. The relationship had its ups and downs like most do. Every few months we'd get into an argument and break up, only be back together soon after. Anytime society robbed her of something, which was often, I was the one there to prop her up.

Maybe at the time I actually believed the world was out to get her. She certainly did. Through every bit of drama I never considered life without her in it. That's certainly why I followed her to community college, despite being accepted to Stanford. I honestly thought that we'd be moving there after two years anyway. Per usual, she barely survived those two years. The grades were terrible, and she had to appeal after flunking out of her first semester. I would do all her homework after that and drill

her relentlessly until she passed. She was never really stupid, she'd just been raised to believe everything was hers by right. At the end of that time period she took a terrible job for her friend's interior design company. When I brought up moving to California she claimed her job was too important to give up. After a lot of inner conflict, I gave up my dream of Stanford and found a nearby university to attend. Four years would fly by. I continued on with school while she bounced from one dead-end job to the other. Our first daughter was born along this time. Alicia took a long time to bounce back mentally, but when our second daughter arrived three years later, she seemed fine.

By then, I was teaching at the high school. A last-minute death in the staff meant I was filling in as a wrestling coach too. This meant I was spending less time at home. Alicia had long since quit working to raise the girls, a situation I had no problem with. Unfortunately, this gave her time to brood. She began accusing me of having an affair. The saddest aspect of all this was the fact that I still loved her just as much as the day we met. I never once thought of other women. The accusations broke my heart. The claims of cheating had been going on for almost six months. Strangely, one day they all stopped. Two days passed until I had a free day to spend with

her and the girls. Everything was great all throughout the day. She even cooked me a wonderful dinner. Afterwards, I was so exhausted I let her know that I was turning in early. I expected this would make her mad, but she looked angry. I should have known things weren't right when she tucked me in. She'd never been the type to do that, not even for the kids. It didn't set off any alarms at the time though, and soon I was sound asleep. At some point I was awakened by a sharp pain in my chest. I fought to wake up. I also noticed a pounding sensation. I finally got my eyes open and I saw a form on my chest banging

on it repeatedly. I was in that state where I wasn't sure if I was dreaming. Waking up was strangely difficult but I eventually managed to do it. With my eyes wide open now, I could tell that form was Alicia. I couldn't understand what she was doing, but I knew it hurt. I summed up all the power I could and pushed her off. I ran my hand across my chest and felt a wetness. It took a second to realize that she had been stabbing me. That was when I began to panic. She was already attempting to mount me again, but I fought her off. I knew I had to get away. My legs felt like I was running through the mud, and I didn't know why. I did make it to the door before she jumped on my back and renewed her attack.

My survival instincts had kicked in now, and I slung her to the floor, but she sprung back at me. I impulsively struck her twice across the chin which knocked her out cold. I'm still amazed at what I did. It was something I know I couldn't have done in any other circumstance. This gave me a chance to get a phone and call for help. Our oldest had been awakened by all the noise. She noticed the blood all over me and began to cry. I covered it up by saying

I'd spilled ketchup on myself. I'm not sure she bought it, but she did go back to bed when I asked her to. By now I could hear Alicia trying to escape from the bedroom. I was in no condition to stop her. I now know she had drugged me. I ran into the hall bathroom and locked myself in. Only now did the blood loss begin to affect me. The dispatcher did her best to keep me awake, bless her heart, but within a few minutes, everything went black. When I regained consciousness the following day, the pain was agonizing. My yelling alerted a nurse who came in and adjusted my IV. Not much happened for a few days. I remember short spurts of consciousness, but not much more. On the fourth day, I awoke on my own, still uncomfortable, but feeling better.

A nurse arrived and let me know which buttons did what. She left and returned a little while later with breakfast. It was the first time in my life I'd ever had grits. I was so hungry I devoured everything. After lunch is when the cops showed up. I certainly wasn't expecting what I'd heard. It turned out that Alicia tried to rush the responding officers with a knife and they shot her. She had survived and was recuperating just down the hall.

And on a positive note, my girls were staying with my mom. I thank her to this day for having the presence of mind not to bring them to me. This all happened in 2008, and I wasn't able to fully explain the entire mess to them for a few years. For the sake of brevity, I was released later that week, and Alicia was transferred to the county jail a few days later. She soon took a plea and agreed to 15 years. With all that resolved, I tried to focus on my daughters.

I've been fortunate enough to have two supportive parents who've helped me out a lot. Sacrificing my teaching job was something of a disappointment, but administration gave me a regular 9-5 arrangement. My oldest is nearing graduation and her sister isn't far behind. I'm amazed at how well they've handled everything, especially growing up in the womanhood without a mother. Alicia reached out to them once or twice, but they refused the invitation. I'm never bad to talk to her around them, even after what she did. The choice had always been left up to them. At the end of the day, I think Alicia is the one who suffered the most from all of this.

Listen, I'm not making her a victim. She was 100% responsible for her actions, but I know for a fact being away from her daughters was torture. The wounds she received never fully healed. The few times I did speak to her, she made mention of her constant pain. Then, just as she was nearing the end of her sentence, she contracted COVID and passed away. It definitely wasn't an ending anyone deserves. Not even her. The older I become, I'm less and less capable of ignoring my prior bad actions.

I recently turned 36. It's no longer possible for me to hide what I took part in or act as if I don't feel an indescribable level of guilt. I'm writing this anonymously to confess my crime in some ways. My fear of prison equals only to the loss of my family. Being separated from them would be a fate worse than death. Had I not become sober, the truth would have probably died with me, and this is going to have to do. Once a story is posted, the account will be abandoned and left to the whims of Reddit. Contacting me will just be a waste of time, and it's better if you simply read this and go about your day. This confession is made for my

own sake alone, and nobody needs to act on this information, and you'll garner no benefit in doing so. My troubles likely stem from my childhood. My parents, unlike many of my friends, remain married to this day. Punishment was never unwarranted or excessive, but it was the only real time I was given attention by my father. He merely existed as a financial resource. Even now, we have no real emotional connection. I include this information only to illustrate the feelings of emptiness I've carried for most of my life. On the other hand, I could have been bored emotionally stunted from the beginning. I suppose the reasons matter little when you get down to it. To most, they will be

nothing more than cowardly excuses. In either way, what I'm about to say is disgusting and should be viewed as such. I know what I did was wrong. The real problems began when I left home for college. Not being particularly smart put me at a considerable disadvantage. My grades were already low before I made friends of the locals, but it didn't take long for me to begin my long slide down. For the sake of anonymity, I'll call these two guys Mike and Kevin. We met at a local dive bar that served us underage. My parents didn't drink, and I've only ever drunk once in my life before college. This gave me a very warped relationship with alcohol.

From the start, I drank until I barfed, every time. That's probably why those two liked me so much. I had no off button once I got started just like them soon enough i was doing drugs with them i don't mean a little pod either i dove right into the deep end and barely treaded water for the next 14 years you can guess what happened by sophomore year i was kicked out i didn't bother to tell my parents. They just kind of guessed after I stopped coming home for holidays. Honestly, I'm actually glad it happened. I'm not left with the crippling debt most of my peers have, but anyhow, I began doing small jobs and selling drugs to get by. Things like coke and X mainly. Partying became the sole focus of my

life. My personal drinking and drug use was growing out of control and this resulted in the story I'm about to share. I'd like to think I wouldn't have done anything like it otherwise. It took place on one of my booze and dope filled binges. I was with Kevin. I'm not sure where Mike was. I don't guess it matters anyhow. I do recall that we'd been getting high since around lunchtime. It was already way after dark when we got to the bar. Just by chance we ran into another guy from the neighborhood. He was a few years younger and had that little brother annoying hanger on vibe about him.

As the night drew on this kid got drunker and drunker. He became very verbally aggressive with us. I'm not sure if he thought he was being funny or felt tough. It didn't matter. After an hour of this, we'd had enough. When he stumbled off to the can, we started making plans. Not to kill him, but give him a butt kicking he'd never forget. He returned and we invited him along to get some coke. He was down with it but we had other plans though. We all piled into my car and drove out to a quiet place we'd been to before. I didn't see it coming from what I could tell. Even as we stood before him preparing to beat him up, he was still asking about the blow. I believe I was the first to hit him. After that, no one was keeping score. In retrospect, a sober me would have stopped far

sooner, but neither of us were anything close to it. The beating went on for about five minutes. To our credit, I don't think we kicked him in the head. Like I said, it was just to teach him a lesson. When we were done, we flipped him over. He was still breathing. I remember that specifically. I also recall the rattle sound in his throat as he did. In our drug-addled minds, we thought it was so funny to leave him out in the middle of nowhere. So we leaned his battered body against a tree and left him there.

Not once did I think he was dead or close to it. I'd been beaten far worse in the past and partied the next day. Speaking of the next day, the horror of what we'd done hit me hard. I tried to justify it in my mind. When I could no longer do so, I got high to forget. This went on until I was able to ignore it. We weren't sure if the beating would be enough to stop the kid from coming around. We hoped it would, but if it didn't, we hoped he'd at least keep his tongue in check from then on. Drugs were the only reason we'd hung out with him in the first place. When he disappeared, I don't remember anyone missing him or even mentioning him after that. This incident was a mere blip in my downward spiral of alcohol and drug addiction.

I was able to put it behind me in a terrifyingly quick amount of time. Several more instances would occur, but none reached the level of depravity that this subject did. Years would pass in a blur. My so-called friends would sell me out the first chance they got. Even then, that night was never mentioned. Although I may sound bitter about what they did, jail would prove to be a godsend. Unable to get high for the first time in years, I was forced to face my problems. All but one. For a long time, I wasn't sure if it even occurred. I know now this was just my brain's way of coping. Now that I've been clean for over four years, the truth of that night is becoming more transparent by the days.

There hasn't been a night in the last year that I haven't relived it in my dreams. Perhaps nightmares would be a better word. Last night was the final straw. Awaking soaked in sweat and screaming as my wife called me was the end of the road. If I didn't at least tell someone what happened, I would soon go mad. Telling my wife isn't possible. I would rather die. She knows some of my past, but I'm sure hearing this would destroy her love for me. That is a sacrifice I would make to no one. You may have noticed I had never stated whether the victim in question died from that beating. The truth is, I don't know. I've been too afraid to search out any information. Being certain would probably drive me to make an irrevocable choice.

A choice that would positively destroy my family. For the time being, I have to hope this confession may alleviate at least some of the crushing disgust and guilt I feel. If it does, what I do doesn't affect you in any way. Therefore, the reader's part ends here. Whether or not you think about this matter the seconds after you click away, for the good of yourself and those you love around you, think twice before you step onto the path of drugs and alcohol. My wife should serve as an example to you. I once considered myself a kind and decent person. I'm sure you can see that drug use has stripped that from me. If you don't care about yourself, remember, there are others who do. What follows happened to me in the summer of 2015.

To the average listener, this tale will sound ridiculous and implausible. I assure you every bit of it is based in fact and I was the individual who experienced it. I pray you'll be able to suspend your cynicism and take my story to heart. At the center of it lies a terrible truth and paying attention to it may prevent others from going through what I did. Those of you who remain, I thank you for your time and ask you to share my story with anyone you believe may benefit from it We start after college graduation in 2014 I found employment as a legal assistant in a southwestern state All had gone smoothly for the first year and there was no indication I was in any danger going forward

One quiet July evening I was leaving the office after working late. This was not uncommon when the firm was working large scale cases such as class action suits. I was on my way to my car when a van drove up alongside me. Two men wearing ski masks jumped out and held me while one put a fabric bag on my head. My hands were then zip-tied behind my back and I was hurled into the van. The entire incident couldn't have lasted more than 30 seconds. No one spoke as the van sped away, not even me. I was too terrified and didn't dare ask what was happening.

Ignorance seemed preferable to certainty if you get my drift. Several minutes passed until my captors began to talk among themselves. Unfortunately, they were speaking Spanish, a language I knew very little of at this point. This is when I began to try and bargain for my life. I'm almost completely resigned myself to the fact that I'd be violated, but dying wasn't something I wanted. I wasn't sure if they'd understand me, but I was sure going to try. Slowly and clearly as possible, I expressed my desire to live and reminded them that I could not identify them. Once they were done doing what they wanted, they could let me go without fear of being arrested. Just to be thorough, I added that I couldn't understand their language.

This was when the van stopped moving. I heard the doors open and close. It appeared I was now alone while my captors discussed my fate outside. However, the longer I sat and listened, I could hear the breathing of another person. I began to call out to them, hello, hello. I repeated this five times before a voice told me to shut up. This person had to have been a native English speaker. He had no accent, but then again, that could just be my American prejudices showing through. I don't know for sure. Maybe ten minutes passed and I heard the doors open again. I assumed that they were about to do their business.

As the seconds ticked by, my heart pounded harder and harder. I started to consider my position. If I wanted to survive, I was going to need to stay as calm as possible, no matter how horrible things became. Then again, maybe I won't want to live when it's all over. I supposed it was possible, but at that moment in time, all I wanted to do was see my parents again. One of my captors began pulling at my blouse. Okay, it's starting. You can do this. Just pretend you're somewhere else.

My breathing started to quicken. I repeated these thoughts in my mind despite the dread that I felt. The way he was undressing me was confusing. I couldn't understand why he was lifting my sleeve. When I felt the poke of the needle, I realized what he had been doing. All my self-control went out the window and I began screaming and thrashing. I was going to go out fighting. It took less than a few seconds before everything went black. Waking up was a very disconcerting experience. I must admit I was a bit disappointed with the afterlife in which I found myself. Not only did I feel like a truck had hit me, my surroundings looked exactly like the state that I'd been killed in.

My hands had been unbound and the bag removed, and it soon became obvious I had not been murdered. Rather, I must have been put under and then dumped. There didn't appear to be any signs of assault either, which posed a big question. Why abduct me in the first place? Don't misconstrue my words. I was overjoyed not having been ravaged, but my captor's intentions were just confusing. What was I missing? After a brief self-assessment, finding my way home seemed wise, so...

As they say, I was just some Yankee in the desert, basically the middle of nowhere. Luckily for me, I stumbled upon a road and got picked up before dark. My ride left me at the nearest police station and I recounted all I remember to the detectives. With a new lease for life, I did my darndest to carry on as if the whole mess never happened. It took me some time before the realities really hit me. I was able to fake it at first, but I found myself breaking out into sobbing fits at work for what I thought was no reason. In my mind, nothing bad had happened to me so I shouldn't have PTSD. I turned out to be wrong. Only after attending counseling for several years have I come to see just how damaging the abduction had been to me mentally. I'm determined not to let

my fears beat me. So far, I'm getting by. Only time will determine if I'm able to fully heal, so perhaps you guys could pray for me. I'm sure you're all wondering what became of my kidnappers, and the truth is rather disappointing, I'm afraid. Out of the estimated four to five men present at the time, only one man had been identified, and not even he is a certainty. The police were always just a step behind him. Any hopes were dashed when his body was discovered dismembered in the desert. I've heard no other names mentioned so I'm not optimistic. As for the reason, there seems to be a bit more to chew on.

Just a few weeks after my kidnapping, a girl was abducted from her work across town. She was the daughter of a Mexican official. Unfortunately, she was never released. This incident led the cops to believe I was grabbed by mistake. Something as simple as a confusion over the north and south ends of a street almost cost me my life. I ask that you keep the family of that poor girl in your thoughts this year as you join together to give thanks. Never let someone tell you small mistakes can't add up to something large and life-changing. The image of that day is permanently burned in my mind. It was September 3rd, 2002.

Our country was still grieving from the attacks the year prior and patriotism was at a two decade high. I'd just met my wife at a friend's birthday party a month earlier. Everything was looking rosy for me. Work was my only weak point and when I say weak, I simply mean I was stuck in a rut. Not good, nor bad. A day or two before Halloween, I saw my chance to further myself in the company. There was an amazing opportunity opening up in Mexico City, but if I wanted to take advantage, I had to fly out as soon as possible. After discussing this with my boss, he gave me the okay to pursue it. I immediately purchased

a plane ticket for midnight and landed just as the sun rose the next morning, and according to my contacts, the man I was planning to meet wouldn't be available until after 8am. I took advantage of the gap in time by taking a nap. When I woke up, I took a quick shower and climbed into my best suit. I was about to make the most important contact in my life, and looking my best would be of the utmost necessity. As the time approached, I called down to the front desk to get me a taxi. I reached the lobby where a young man showed me to my ride. I was feeling good that morning and in retrospect I made a big mistake. Foolishly I tipped the clerk a $50 bill. His eyes almost blew out of his head. In light of what happened I'm almost positive he was the person who sold me out. From the hotel, the taxi driver took me to my meeting. We made small talk

along the way. He agreed to wait for me. I estimated the meeting wouldn't be more than an hour and he seemed happy for this. As for the meeting itself, it probably could have gone better, but my goal was ultimately achieved. I returned to the taxi and we began the return trip to the hotel. My mood was somewhat darker and I avoided any conversation. I was in the process of texting my boss when the car stopped abruptly. This caused me to be slammed into the back of the seat.

Naturally I was livid. The curses came fast and loose from my mouth. Just as I regained the seat positioning, I noticed another taxi was parked in front of us. The driver of my car was silent. This didn't stop me from asking what was going on. I now realized that he was well aware of what was happening and may have played his own part in it. If I hadn't been yelling like a madman happening and may have played his own part in it. If I hadn't been yelling like a madman, I may have noticed the guy standing outside my window a little sooner. I just happened to catch a flash in my peripheral vision. When I looked over, I was met with a gun pointed right at me. I wasn't sure what was going on, but I raised my hands to indicate I was no threat. The guy holding the

gun yanked my door open and demanded I give him my money. I quickly complied. While this was happening a voice in the back of my head was praying he wouldn't notice my watch. It was very special to me. It belonged to my father. He was gifted it by my mother on their 25th anniversary. I received it in his will when he passed in 97. Under normal circumstances I wouldn't wear something so valuable, especially in Mexico, but it had been good luck in the past and I needed it on this trip. All this caused me to hesitate when the gunman started yelling watch and broken English. I tried to pretend I didn't understand.

He grabbed at my wrist with his empty hand instead. I stupidly yanked my arm away and he drove the pistol into my guts. Everything went into slow motion. I watched in horror as the hammer on the revolver began cocking back. He clearly wasn't messing around. I managed to get the watch off before the gun went off. He let off the trigger just in time as far as I could tell. He ran back to the other taxi and they tore off down a side street. I was just beginning to see that I had been taken into the middle of nowhere. Not a soul was around and the buildings were barely standing upright.

Had I been ten years younger I probably would have fought back. The environment and the taxi afterwards was chilling. I could see the driver's eyes darting back and forth in the rearview mirror. He didn't dare speak. He had to know I suspected him. Why hadn't he been robbed also? I now had an important decision to make. Was I going to the police or just returning to the hotel and then going to the airport? I was stuck between two decisions. It's no secret the Mexican police are corrupt. For all I know, even they could be complicit in the robbery. The angry side of me said to confront the hotel clerk. I took a few moments to consider my options and chose to cut my losses and just get out of Mexico. I told the driver to return to the hotel if he wanted to be paid. This wasn't my first rodeo after all. I never carried much cash on my person.

What I left behind would be all but impossible to find if a hotel employee went snooping. Upon our return, I ran up to my room and retrieved the taxi money. I paid him without a word and he took off just as silently. It was now time for the clerk to feel my wrath and he greeted me with a fake smile and asked how things were going. In a calm but aggressive voice, I mentioned the robbery. I had no time for his false sympathy and informed him how his accomplices had gotten away with a mere $30 in cash. There was no way I was going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how badly the loss of my father's watch hurt me. He tried to deny it all, of course, but I wasn't hearing it. Not once did he offer to call the police. I told him that I

knew what he'd done, and that I was going to make sure everyone I talked to was aware of what was happening in this hotel. I closed by calling him a low-life scumbag and made my way from my room. It wasn't much, but it was going to have to do. I went back to my room and gathered my things to leave. I paid for the hotel beforehand, and my plane ticket was a round trip. I had no further need of that place and its staff. There were several taxis waiting outside the hotel. I grabbed one and he drove me to the airport and I had no further problems from then on. I had waited to

notify my boss of the robbery until I returned to work. He was horrified, as you'd expect. I also made sure that he knew I was never returning to Mexico again. He could fire me if he wanted, but there was no amount of money that could draw me back there. To his credit, he was cool and understood my reservations. My next call was to the man I'd gone there to meet. I wasn't contacting him for any updates as much as letting him know that I'd be passing off any future dealings to another team member. When he inquired why I told him about the robbery and stress that I held him in no way responsible for it. He didn't say much other than he understood and we ended the call. I must admit I was somewhat shocked when I heard that he

had agreed to the deal. Even better, he would be coming to the US in the future as to prevent any further threats to our employees. I can't say for sure, but I kind of think he may have felt guilty although I made it clear I didn't blame him. We've never talked about it and that's fine with me. I'd rather forget about it myself. This will be my last time discussing the matter. There was one last call I had to make and it was the hardest The sadness in her voice upon hearing of the watch was crystal clear Mom said she didn't blame me but I could tell it hurt her soul to hear that

It was the first time I can remember crying since second grade I've since purchased another day-Date made the same year and had it inscribed with the same words as Dad's. I wear it every year at Christmas, and that's all. Mom loves seeing it, but I'm well aware it will never be a true replacement for the original. We'll be right back. You can get it from Tread Experts. Conquer rugged terrain with on-road comfort. Until June 15th, receive up to $60 on a prepaid MasterCard when you purchase Kumo RoadVenture AT52 tires. Find a Kumo Tread Experts dealer near you at treadexperts.ca slash locations.

From tires to auto repair, we're always there. TreadExperts.ca We're always there, train experts of C.A. The idea to travel the country arose early in my senior year of high school. A teacher suggested I read On the Road by Jack Kerouac. I became so engrossed in the book that I was already planning my trip less than halfway through reading it. Originally the idea was to take the trip once I'd finished college, but after some sage advice from my dad I decided to move it up. Do it now, life has a bad habit of getting in the way as you age. With my folks support I took a gap year and headed out the day after graduation. My parents believed I was traveling on a greyhound.

I had other plans, however. I rode the bus only as far as my first stop and got off. From there, I'd see the US the same way my folks had. I was going to hitchhike. Along the way, I had a few strange encounters and more than one near-death experience. What follows is perhaps the worst of them all. On this day I was traveling through southern Missouri. As night approached, the elderly gentleman that had picked me up some five miles prior said he was going to have to let me off.

I believed he lived nearby and didn't want me to know where. I was just happy for the ride. I bid him goodbye and he drove away into the setting sun. Probably half an hour passed as I walked along the road shoulder, my cheap headlamp lighting the way before me. This section of road was in the middle of nowhere, thus very little traffic passed me. The sun had long set and the temperature seemed pleasant. I felt well rested and wasn't going out of my way to catch a ride. Nonetheless, an old pickup soon passed me and pulled over about twenty yards ahead. I stopped and watched for a moment just to be sure he was stopping for me. He must have realized this.

The driver hung his left arm out of the window and waved me forward. I began jogging toward the truck. I was almost at the bumper when the truck lurched forward a few yards. This is a common joke that drivers play on hitchhikers. I'm sure you've seen it on at least one movie. I tried to be a good sport and laughed it off. Once again, I began quickly approaching the truck and once again the truck lurched forward a few yards. This was the part of the game and I continued to be light-hearted about it despite

actually getting very annoyed. This is usually where the joke stopped and the driver let me in. Unfortunately, my new friend didn't follow the rules. This time, the driver let me get up to the passenger's door and looked over at me. Before I could get a word out, he slammed on the gas and screeched away. I was fed up by this point. Without thinking, I made a massive mistake by giving the guy the finger. It's a thing I'd seen a million times growing up, and I'd never seen anything other than a few cross words given in exchange for it. However, for some reason, now that I've grown older, I've come in contact with more and more people who react with outright fury to this

gesture, and I'd just met one. I was standing still as the truck began slipping off into the dark, but as soon as I stuck up my finger, the dark was illuminated by taillights. At first I thought he was trying to lure me in again, but I soon realized he was making a three-point turn and coming back. A sick feeling began churning in my gut. I had a collapsible baton that I carried for protection and slipped it from my bag. I thought he may be coming back to start a fight. The strange part was that as he grew closer to me the truck got faster and the grill was aimed right at me. I had estimated it was until he was roughly 20 yards away and closing fast that I turned and ran.

For all intents and purposes I was now running for my life. I tried to shake him by cutting into the field alongside the road, but he followed. Then I cut across to the other side. That side was enclosed by a metal tubular fence I had to quickly climb. To my amazement, he plowed the fence over like it wasn't there. I looped back around and out onto the road. He was now very close. I could feel the heat of his engine on my back. I could also feel my body beginning to wear out. One misstep or stumble and I'd be smashed. Perhaps another ten seconds later, I noticed a turn off coming up on my left. When I was close enough I cut off the pavement and down the road.

Up ahead there were some bushes and a wooded area. I summoned up all the power I had left and pulled away. I reached the trees and dove into a ravine. I switched off my headlamp and crawled down under some fallen trunks. It was the first time since this all began that I felt safe, but still, it wasn't quite over. I laid as still as I could and tried to slow my breathing. I could hear the low rumble of the truck's engine passing just yards away. All of a sudden, the woods lit up like a summer day.

Unknown to me, that crazy redneck had a spotlight mounted on his truck. The beam passed by my hiding place more than once. At one point I was sure he had seen me, but he never did. He gradually got further and further down the road until I felt safe enough to move. Over the course of that night, I crawled deeper into the woods. His light would pass by my hiding place occasionally, but I was now too far away to be seen. Around 4am, I finally heard the engine rev up and the tires screech as he sped away, this time for good. I remained in my last hiding spot until well after dawn. The chase had so worn me out that I fell asleep despite still being terrified. And just after 10am I quietly and carefully stepped from the trees.

This guy wasn't anywhere I could see but I stayed off the road for the rest of that week. Early that Sunday morning I got a ride from a family going into Oklahoma for a rodeo. I kept my pursuit to myself, though. I didn't want to lay my problems on some complete strangers, and as we passed into Oklahoma, I let out a big sigh of relief. I'm sure they thought I was crazy, but they were too nice to say anything. That night on the road still haunts my dreams occasionally. My meeting with the family begins a new interesting chapter in my own on-the-road story, but I'll save that for another time. Let's just say I spent a night in the hospital after a run-in with a nasty bull.

Until we meet again, friends, stay free and never grow old. After my discharge from the military, I had a lot of trouble adjusting. My wife could tell I was struggling especially hard one morning and suggested I go for a walk in the nearby woods. To her credit, it turned out to be the best thing for me. I had forgotten how peaceful nature could be. I walked aimlessly for a while until I came upon a log and sat down. I'm not sure how long I sat there just taking in all of God's creation. I do know that I didn't want to go back. The only thing awaiting me was screaming children and the overwhelming crush of responsibility. And that's when I came up with an idea. Reluctantly, I returned to the house and pulled my wife into the bathroom so we could talk. We each took a seat and I

explained my plan to her. She agreed without hesitation, and that was the second I knew she was too good for me. With her blessing, I gathered my kit together and hoofed it all the way back into the woods. For the next three days, I camped and explored almost every inch of those woods. I lived off the land, taking only what I needed, and when I emerged, it was like being reborn. From that point on, nature would be my retreat. Another year passed, and I continued my little escapes, as my wife called them. I initially stuck close to home, but I soon began to crave a new environment. This brings us to the focus of my story.

Not far from me was a large tract of forest used by motorcycle and ATV riders. I'd been curious to check it out, but wanted to wait until traffic decreased with the arrival of colder weather. When the time arrived, I packed up all my kit onto my old Honda quad and began my journey. I stuck to major trails at first. As I became somewhat comfortable with my surroundings, I cut off onto an older, long, unused one. It was about 4pm when I came across this open area near a creek. I made camp and watched the sunset from a chair I'd made with my own two hands. The next morning, I was getting water when I noticed an old shack setting off under some trees just on the other side of the creek. I planned to check it out after a quick breakfast. Things got away from me and it was

almost lunch before I got around to it. I didn't expect there was much to see, but noticed the windows had been covered with burlap, a sure sign of use. I decided to approach from the back. I picked up the tracks of a large automobile, like an SUV They were very fresh, probably no more than a day Upon the front door I saw that two padlocks had been placed there No more than 30 seconds passed before the sound of a truck echoed down the road I didn't realize I was running until I had reached the tree line I was hiding and didn't know why either.

I watched as a white Silverado parked in front of the shack. The passengers stayed inside for almost a minute. Then, almost in unison, two men stepped out from the Chevy. Both were armed with carbines and wearing armor. The two men stood guard while a third man stepped from the front passenger seat and unlocked the door. The driver soon joined him after, followed by the two lookouts. This had to have been cartel business and now I was trapped, stuck between a path to safety and a group of potential heartless killers.

I'd always assumed they'd work this side of the border, but now I had proof. An hour passed and still no closer to escape. The two guards were doubtlessly watching from the windows, just waiting for one little move. The sig on my hip would do little against two men with rifles. If I was found, my family would never know what became of me. There was no way that I could do that to them. I had no other choice but to sit tight and wait. Fortunately, my respite soon came.

The group of men exited the building, one carrying two duffel bags. The guards took one last look around and the Sheff Chevy disappeared back down the same road it had arrived on. No sooner did the truck disappear from sight that I bolted from cover back across the creek. I gathered my things and gunned my quad back to civilization. The long ride allowed me time to decide my next course of action. I could act as if nothing had happened or go to the cops By the time I arrived home I'd made my choice I drove my truck directly to the sheriff and told them what I'd seen I had no proof of any illegal activity per se but they told me that they'd check it out

My good deed had been done It was up to the cops now but they told me that they'd check it out. My good deed had been done. It was up to the cops now. Another nine months went by and no news had reached me. My curiosity got the best of me and I took the Honda back out to take a look-see. I took a position not far from my old camp and set up. And I'd be shocked by what I saw. The old shack was no longer standing. Not gone completely,

but from what I could tell, it had been burned down. I decided to take a closer look. On scene, things were much clearer. Not much remained other than some assorted small pieces of metal and charred furniture. I was happy to see it gone, but a little flame of curiosity still burns inside me regarding exactly how it got that way. What had become of the men I'd seen and what had they been doing? I suppose I'll never know. I often remember that little shack in the middle of nowhere and wonder how many forgotten places like it exist in this country, and what awful things may be going on inside of them. If I come across any others, I'll be sure to share them here. I'll see you all out on the trail. So, nearly ten years ago now, my long-term relationship came to an end, and the breakup was just a complete disaster.

Long story short, he dumped me, we were still living together, it turned nasty, and I was heartbroken. Not heartbroken like feeling a bit sad and treating myself to a tub of ice cream. I'm talking full-on, can't-get-out no appetite style depression where I literally couldn't stop crying for days. Not my proudest moment, but I was young and he was my first boyfriend, so I think he can let me off. Anyways, I remember poring through all these breakup themed podcasts and reading and reading all these Reddit posts about how best to deal with a breakup. The one common theme among them, or at least many of them, is that you just have to rebound. You need someone to remind you that it's not the end of the world and there's plenty more fish in the sea.

Ideally, you want a guy that'll worship you, just be that self-esteem boost you so desperately need. I appreciate it might sound a bit tacky just coming out and saying it plain like that, but it is what it is. So, this was right when Tinder had first come out, something like the summer of 2013. My friends had raved about it being a laugh, so I thought, hey, why not give it a go. I downloaded it, made a profile, then got to swiping. After that all I had to do was wait. And as most girls will tell you, I didn't have to wait long. And by the end of that weekend, I had 14 different matches.

And each of them was someone I'd have gone for coffee with. But there was one in particular whose chat game was on point, so to speak. He had this way of making me feel amazing about myself, and maybe because I was so blinded by low self-esteem, I just didn't pick up any weird vibes until it was too late. A big part of his game seemed to be compliments, and obviously that's exactly what I was looking for. But at some point, his compliments seemed to tip over the line of wanting me, and into more like

wanting to be me. He first said something after we slept together for the first time, but it was something like, I wish my skin was as soft as yours. So it was easy to mistake it for a compliment and not like an actual wish. But then, as we're in bed together, the compliments got weirder and weirder. Then he started asking me all these kind of probing questions about what it was like being me. I remember I started answering one of his questions, but then he suddenly cuts me off with something like, It must be so easy being you. He said it in a kind of sad way, like he was actually upset he wasn't me.

I tried to laugh it off and say like it's not so easy, but then I swear to God, he pinches some of my skin enough to hurt me a little and said, I wish I could wear this. I'm not even joking. I asked him to clarify what he meant, just out of pure disbelief really, and that's when he came out and said, I wish I could like, wear your skin. I found myself recoiling, not just because of the light pain of his pinch, but also because of his words. I'd never had anyone say something so creepy to me in my entire life and I appreciate that he said it in the heat of the moment or whatever but after that I found myself feeling increasingly

uneasy around him. I got out of bed, went to the bathroom and when I came back it looked like he'd stuffed something under his pillow just as I walked in. That was the sort of crossing the proverbial Rubicon for me. And I just put on my nice girl act and told him that as much as I wanted to see him again, he'd have to catch a cab home so I could get on with my day. Whatever he'd stuffed under the pillow, I'd deal with that afterward, I thought. So, I got him out of the house, baked a big hug and a see you soon, then rushed upstairs to see what he'd stuffed under my pillow. I was seriously dreading something gross being under there. I don't know what exactly, just something that'd make me wretch as soon as I lifted up the pillow.

But it wasn't gross. It was just my hair brush. But one little detail made my skin crawl just the same. I'm one of those girls who has a lot of hair come out during brushings. I think maybe because it's so thick or maybe it's brittle, but either way, there's always a lot of hair stuck to my brush. But when I pulled that pillow back, there was barely a strand of hair present. That pervert had taken my hair. I just remember feeling physically sick. Like, unclean that I'd actually slept with him. I felt stupid, needy, naive.

Just this huge mix of emotions that ended in me running to the toilet and throwing up. Granted, it was me puking up a load of red wine and cheese from the night before, and it was probably coming up at some point anyway, but the whole hair theft just sped up the whole process. After that, I called a friend and just poured my heart out to them. Then she helped me calm down enough to just block the guy's number in social media. I was worried about him turning up at my place for a while, like, it was so nerve wracking with him knowing where I lived but I guess he had more sense to show up uninvited. After all, he'd gotten his little souvenir So maybe he was satisfied with leaving it there I just hope the next girl he ends up dating isn't subjected to the same kind of weirdness This happened about five or six years ago.

Me and my friends were freshmen in high school. We frequently went into the woods near our school that had some abandoned structures. Sometimes we went in there to smoke, graffiti, or just otherwise explore. It was always a pretty fun time. On a fall day after school, we decided to go exploring in the woods as we would usually do. For the first 10 or 15 minutes into our little adventure, everything was normal. Then eventually we came across a tree that had a dagger sticking out of it. I immediately got a horrible feeling. One of my friends, Nathan, went over to

the tree and took the dagger out and sure enough, it was 100% real. I'm not exactly sure what I was thinking, but a part of me was hoping that it was some sort of gag toy. We all just kind of looked at each other, a little weirded out, but didn't think much of it. Maybe thought someone left it there before we came to mess with it, whoever came across it. That's what we were all hoping for. Nathan put the dagger in his backpack and off we went. It wasn't long after we came across the tree that things started to get weird. I was the first to notice it. There was a man in all black following us, keeping a good distance away. He was always to the right of us, hiding behind some trees. From what I could see, he looked to be of average height, wearing a black hoodie, black jeans, and black boots. I wanted to leave the second that I saw him, but when I told my friends what I had seen, I don't think any of them believed me.

They just kind of laughed it off. Either they thought that I was seeing things, or they thought someone was just messing with us and they didn't feel very threatened by it. By the time we were about 40 minutes into the woods was when they finally saw him. This time he was a lot closer, about 30 feet away from us. I still couldn't make out much detail about his face because he had his hood on and his head down, although I could see he was wearing a white t-shirt underneath his hoodie. Everyone froze for a brief moment, there were four of us, and we just stared, not really sure what to do with the situation. Everyone stood in silence for three very long, very scary seconds

until he ran further back into the woods, behind some trees, until we couldn't see him. I grabbed onto Nathan's arm, who was the closest to me, and said, We have to go. Now. I had a horrible pit in my stomach. At first, we made our way back to the entrance of the woods at a jogging pace. I think we were all trying to downplay the experience in our minds to not invoke pure fear and panic. We kept at that pace for a minute or two until we heard leaves crunching and sticks breaking behind us. We turn around and there he is, trailing us.

We started running and he starts chasing us. I was the one behind the group so the man was closest to me and I could hear his heavy breathing, that's how close he was to me, a whole arm's length away. We picked up our speed and I thought for sure I was going to pass out because I was fairly out of shape but luckily we made it out in about 25 minutes, stopping once or twice to catch our breath when the man wasn't in sight. Once we all got out we just kind of looked at each other, trying to figure out what in God's name just happened. We didn't think about it much after.

I don't think any of us wanted to think about it for too long. Looking back on it now we probably should have reported it to the police in case that man tried to hurt any other innocent kids going into those woods. But unfortunately, the thought didn't cross our minds. I don't know if it was him who placed that dagger in the tree, or why it was there, and honestly, I don't want to think about it. I don't know why he was there, what his intentions were. I'm just glad we got away, and I hope that he wasn't hurt or hasn't tried to hurt anyone else

since. A few months ago, I, 22, was at the local coin laundromat. I went late because I had been studying around 10pm. The laundromat is pretty small, closer to the edge of the beach town I live in. The town is pretty well known for drifters and people experiencing homelessness. Most people are friendly and there is a lot of drug use but I've never felt really scared. Everything was fine and so I went to move my laundry to a dryer. I was listening to music on my headphones but not super loudly. Suddenly I just got the feeling that someone was watching me.

I can't really explain it, I just felt the presence. I turned around and there was a man standing just a few feet away from me. He was some guy with pink hair wearing a full face mask like a ski mask, a hoodie, gloves and sunglasses even though it was dark out. The gloves and sunglasses especially immediately made me feel uncomfortable. I thought maybe he was a drifter, maybe high but I didn't want to be rude. I tried to laugh it off and told him he surprised me. He immediately started talking. A lot of it was disjointed and

just didn't make sense. He was talking about coming up from Brazil to bring his brother money to get a classic car. None of it made much sense, but he would ask me questions and wait for me to respond so I'd try just to play along. I still thought he was probably just high or something, but he was standing between me and the only door and I started getting this gut feeling that he was blocking the door on purpose, not just accidentally as he talked to me. He was getting closer to me as he talked and the feeling got stronger. Logically something was off but mostly I just had this feeling in the pit of my stomach that I needed to leave and keep him talking until I could. I started to edge to the side but he stayed in front of me and the feeling got more intense. I started to grip my keys in attack position just in case.

He talked more and then backed off a little. He took off his backpack which was a child's unicorn backpack and set it on a nearby dryer. I looked over to the door for just a second and when I looked back, he was pulling something I couldn't see out and holding it to the side, behind him where I couldn't see it. But I did see what was in his backpack. Duct tape. Instantly it was just like an alarm went off There was no more worrying about being rude No more second guessing myself that he was just off but harmless It was like this cold numb dread just washed down over me I almost felt calm, like I knew the next steps

Knew I had to do something Time seemed to move in slow motion and he turned back to me Not saying anything anymore and took a step forward I gripped my keys as tightly as possible and tried to mentally prepare for a fight I remember being afraid that I would move too slow or be too weak, like in a nightmare But all of a sudden the door to the laundromat opened and a woman walked in Barely even looking at us as she went to get her laundry. It was like a scene in a movie, a moment of intensity just interrupted

by something innocuous and suddenly it's over. He just turned, grabbed his bag, and left. I was so scared that I just stayed there a minute until I could get my laundry and just go home. I didn't report it, I never knew what to say since nothing had actually happened. But when I think about it, I think the scariest thing is that he left as soon as someone walked in. If he was just crazy, it wouldn't have mattered. I think a stranger's laundry timer saved me from something terrible. I don't go to the laundromat anymore. I joined a laundry service and the extra cost is worth it to never right back. Conquer rugged terrain with on-road comfort. Until June 15th, receive up to $60 on a prepaid MasterCard when you purchase Kumo RoadVenture AT52 tires. Find a Kumo TreadExperts dealer near you at treadexperts.ca slash locations.

From tires to auto repair, we're always there. TreadExperts.ca I live in a town which is quite like a party town. So people come here in the summer to swim in the lake, drink, and partying a lot, then as autumn hits, the tourists go home and the town is silent and peaceful again. Last summer I was in the city center, waiting for my boyfriend to pick me up and go to a trip near the town in the afternoon. I waited in front of the shopping center, so I stood there for about 10 minutes and saw people passing by. Also some friends who just got out of the shopping center and suddenly this old man who seemed to be in his 60s approached me. To be honest, my first thought was that he was a homeless person because he had dirty looking clothes and long dry hair.

Also, he was wearing jeans and a jacket in the middle of the summer, so this was a big red flag to me. To tell about myself, I'm a 20 year old tall sporty built girl with copper red hair. I can say I am pretty harsh with the beggars and creeps, otherwise you can't get rid of them. So this man stood in front of me and asked where are some good restaurants nearby. He spoke in English so I thought maybe he's not homeless and told him nicely about the restaurants. I used to guide Taurus so it wasn't odd to me but the odd thing just happened after this.

He thanked me for the advice and I thought he would go away but he stayed, looked me up and down and he started to introduce himself. He told me his name and that he was from France. He didn't seem to have a French accent and asked if I was waiting for someone. I thought he just wanted to small talk a bit. In my country, not many people speak English well, so they'd rather pretend to not know a word in that language and it would be nice to a foreigner to speak a bit with someone.

So I said yes, and I'm waiting for my boyfriend. He seemed a bit angry after I mentioned my boyfriend. He asked my name and age. My gut told me to get out of there, and I. He asked my name and age. My gut told me to get out of there and I lied about both my name and age. I said I was 16 and I don't look like 20 years old anyways and I wanted to keep my age in the illegal interval, you know, just in case he got the message. He asked if my boyfriend has a car and what kind of car. I obviously didn't tell him so I lied again. How old he was I told him that he was 25.

He's 22. I didn't want to be a drama queen so I pretended to be calm but all my nerves screamed at this point. I looked for some familiar people on the street but no one was there. Suddenly the man grabbed my hand and held it in his hand and asked if I would grab a drink with him. I ripped my hand out of his and told him no, what is he thinking and to buzz off. I didn't wait for him to leave so I was the one who left first and in super speed I started walking to the nearby skate park because I knew some of my friends spent a lot of time there. Also the skate park is right next to the police station.

I didn't have the nerve to look behind me, so I just walked as fast as possible. There was no one I know at the time, but I saw these boys sometimes here with my friends, and there were also some who I saw at the high school a few years ago, so I sat on the bench next to some skaters backpack and then I looked back. The man was on the other side of the street, staring directly at me. The boys at the park approached me because they told me that I looked pale and asked if I was okay. I told them about the man on the other side of the street and when everyone looked at him, they finally got the message and left. My boyfriend arrived two minutes later. I texted him where I was prior and he was in a traffic jam

so that's why he was late but it's not a weird thing. There's a lot of traffic jams here in the summer and so I don't know what that man wanted, what would happen if I didn't go to the park. I thought after that that I overreacted to the whole situation, but I don't know. Something was really not right with that man. Anyways, I'll never forget a look on his face while he talked to me and he just talked so quiet, almost in a whisper. There was clearly something wrong with him. I'll preface this by saying that the creepiness of this is mitigated by the fact that it was daylight. I wasn't alone and it was pretty explainable, so I hesitated to post it here, but it sure shook me up, so I figured I'd share what happened the other day.

I, a 30-year-old female, work from home home currently but had to travel into the office, which is in another city, to pick up some equipment during my shift. I don't have a car and it's a pain to get there and back. The way over was uneventful and up until this point the way back mostly was other than getting stuck behind an open drawbridge on the bus. A bit later I decided to transfer to the streetcar for the final leg home because Google had recommended it would be quicker than staying on the bus. A bit later I decided to transfer to the streetcar for the final leg home because Google had recommended it would be quicker than staying on the train. I got a few stops in when an elderly couple ran for the streetcar asking the driver to wait for them. Fair enough. Behind them, a younger unkempt looking guy also ran for it and boarded through the doors behind me. I was sitting near

the front next to the elderly couple who didn't seem to speak any English, I believe they were Mandarin speakers. I heard some commotion behind me and looked back when the unkempt guy ran up to where I was and started saying something weird and unintelligible to the older couple. At this point I could tell he was off, and the couple didn't understand what he was saying either, and I was at most worried that I would have to defend them against him if he got too erratic. At this point, he started talking to me. Again, he was talking some nonsense I could barely catch, and I tried to ignore him, but he kept getting closer into my personal space, no mask by the way, which is hypothetically

required on this public transport, and started screaming at me, calling me Melissa and telling me to talk to him. Normally I try to ignore people like this since my city has a lot of very mentally unstable people, meth and crack are also big problems in my neighborhood, and making eye contact often encourages them to escalate, but he was way too close at this point, so I tried not to look directly at him and just said, Who's Melissa? I maybe could have handled it better, but I was pretty shaken. He said something like, The female spirit in your male body.

Now, I'm transgender, so I guess he focused in on this and then went on to say like, isn't that right, Duncan? And I told him I didn't know who any of these people were, I didn't know him, to please leave me alone, etc. This went back and forth for a few seconds with him interjecting to all the onlookers who were now staring that we were married and then he grabbed me. I freaked out, told him not to touch me and he just doubled down. At this point we were at a stop a bit closer to mine but not all the way. I got up and knocked on the driver door and told him what was happening and he asked if we knew each other. The guy repeated we were married and I said, could God know? And the driver asked him to leave and he refused. The driver said

he'd call someone. But the thing is, I've seen in similar but less severe situations before and I know what everyone is thinking. If I had to wait on this streetcar, not only would I still be with him, but everyone would be mad at me too for holding up their trip. People here mostly won't help strangers who are in trouble, and in fact they'll be upset at you for inconveniencing them with that. So I made a decision. I was just going to jump off at this stop and try to lose the guy. Naturally he followed me off and started getting more hysterical, yelling what he thought was my full name, saying I was possessed by demons, crying the whole nine

yards. I just started backing away when this younger female law student from the campus nearby who I guess had seen what had happened, walked up and offered to walk quickly with me downhill and make sure he didn't follow. I thanked her and we did, and when we were down the hill on campus and I was sure he was gone, I thanked her again and is sadly not rare either. Men will see you walk at night or even day sometimes and catcall to get your attention. No matter how often it happens, it's not something you can get used to and it's scary to be in that situation. This night I was with my ex walking him home. He was a horrible boyfriend and he got extremely drunk forcing me to walk him home and make sure he goes inside.

I asked him to call a taxi for me because my phone was dead and he agreed and went inside. I stood outside of his apartment waiting but as time went by I realized that the taxi is probably not coming. At the time I thought that they forgot to send a car but I now realized that the taxi is probably not coming. At the time I thought that they forgot to send a car but I now realized that probably my ex didn't even call, he just passed out. It was December and it was extremely cold outside. I was angry at my ex for getting drunk, angry at the taxi company for forgetting to send a car maybe, angry at everything, just angry at everybody. It was almost midnight and if you read my previous experiences you will understand why I didn't want to walk home even

though it was only a 15 minute walk. As I'm waiting I see a jeep park a little further away from me. The guy gets out of the car and leans on it, just staring at me. After a couple of minutes I realize that he is waiting on me to approach him and if I don't, he'll be the one to make the move. I panic and start thinking what to do. I have two options. One is to walk home and risk him coming into my street which is dark and a great place to hurt someone. A 15 minute walk has plenty of time to get hurt. Or my second option is to walk to my grandma's house which is 5 minutes away but the whole street to hers is dark and pretty much

empty. She lives on a street that is mostly stores and offices. She refused to sell her house when other people did so there aren't many houses around her. I couldn't get into my ex's apartment because I had to be buzzed in and it was midnight. I decided to go to my grandma's and start quickly walking. The guy of course gets directly into his car and starts driving behind me. I pretend that I'm on a call in hopes that he wouldn't do anything if I was on the phone with someone. And as soon as I see my grandma's house I start running and quickly go into her yard. Everyone is asleep, so my best bet is to ring the bell because I don't have a key and hope someone might be awake. Thankfully, my uncle is. I tell him someone is following me.

He drives a jeep, and I'm scared he might hurt me. My uncle doesn't hesitate. He runs out into the cold December night in his shorts and t-shirts and sees the guy. He yells to me, is this him? As loud as possible. The guy sees this and pretends he's on his phone and gets into his car and drives away. My uncle calls a taxi for me and waits until the taxi gets there. I thought that would be it. As soon as I got into the taxi, I felt safe and I tell the driver my address and as soon as he turns, we see the car. He tries to follow the taxi. At this point, I have absolutely no clue what his intentions are. Is he armed? Does he want to hurt me because I got my uncle on him? I start crying and quickly explain to the driver what's going on.

He was an older gentleman and I felt like he had been waiting on this moment his whole life. He told me not to worry, that he'll lose him and he won't allow for that guy to see where I live. He did lose him, mostly because the jeep gave up and just left. But that taxi driver got to feel like a hero, and he was, and quarantine was already in place, so I spent a lot more time at home and around home than usual. There is a park very close to my house so one day I decided to go for a little jog. I ran from my house to the park and since I don't have a lot of cardio I decided to take a little break. I noticed that a guy was looking my way but I didn't think anything of it

until I started jogging again and he started walking at the same time. Since I was jogging, I eventually lost him, so I thought it was over. But I was wrong. It's now many hours later and I'm sleeping. When through the window, I notice car lights coming back and forth on my street. The window in my room gives a little view into that street. Now some may think it's normal, but I live in a very quiet neighborhood, so I wanted to see what was going on. As I thought, there was a car that was traveling back and forth on my street. Then, the car stops right in front of my house, and the same guy comes out of the passenger seat, which means there is at least another person with him. Until that point, I was still half awake, but the sight of that same guy looking

up to my window, seeing me, and smiling, woke me up real quick. I immediately close the blinds, which are a tiny bit see-through by the way, and climb into my bed, phone in hand. After a few minutes, I fall asleep, only to be woken up by light tapping on my window. Remember when I said my blinds are a little bit see-through? Well I could make out the silhouette of a man, probably the same guy since there was still car lights in the street, and he was crouched in my window, tapping from outside. The first thing that comes to my mind is to not move and try to pretend that I'm still asleep, not knowing if he could see inside my room or not and then I remember that my room was on the second floor. How did he climb onto the little roof area outside my window?

I have absolutely no idea, but I know that going down is not easy. I slowly pulled the covers over my head and called the police, whispering and telling them that the guy was still tapping. They told me to slowly get out of reach of the window in case he breaks in or something and that they would be there in about five minutes. I crawled out of bed and into the bathroom, where I could see the street behind my house and waited. After a few minutes I hear the knocking stop, then silence, and then a big thump, then more silence, and a knocking at my door downstairs. I was still on the phone with the operator when I heard someone call out that it was the police and that the guy was gone. I told the operator that the police had arrived and they told me to wait. There was silence and she said the police had not arrived yet and to not open the door

under any circumstances. Soon enough she tells me police are now there and that I can go open the door. I go check outside my bedroom window, had a paranoia, and there were in fact three police cars and about five or six officers outside my house. I go downstairs as one of them is knocking and I open the door, thank the operator and hung up. I tell them the whole thing and they tell me that the guy was already gone by the time they arrived, but that there was no one there anymore. In the next few days, I saw officers on my street, but I never got news about the guy or those guys, and the only thing they found was a rope and a small knife. No fingerprints, no guy, no car, nothing. Nothing. I'm an overnight security guard for a large building and parking ramp.

It's generally a really quiet job with a lot of free time, but occasionally I do have to kick out homeless people. It's a horrible part of the job, and I do my best to direct them to the next safest place to sleep. Most people are understanding as they unfortunately go through this a lot. If anything, they want to vent and I try to be an open ear. Our protocol is to ask them to leave, then if they don't, tell them to leave, and if all else fails we have to contact police. I've only once gotten to that step. It's important to note that my general routine at work, I sit in a shack

in the parking ramp for an hour, then I go for a walk around the building, then back to the shack. The doors are all locked but there's an entryway with an ATM that's open 24-7. This is usually where I find people looking for a place to sleep. For more context, I'm a smaller woman and unarmed. On this night, there was a woman trying to sleep by the ATM. I followed protocol and after the first two warnings, I had to contact police. She yelled at me, which was out of the normal but understandable considering her position. It must be frustrating being constantly kicked out of every semi-safe space. The police arrived and because I was a little scared, I always am, I watched from inside the building out of view to make sure they got her out. If she was yelling at me, she was full on screaming at them. This goes on for about half an hour before she leaves the building.

Unfortunately, that's all the cops are required to do, so she makes her way to the bus stop right outside. The problem with this is the bus stop is parallel with my shack. She just sits and stares at me with hatred in her eyes. This gets uncomfortable pretty quickly, so I decide to take another walk. When I'm passing the door that leads to my shack, I decide to take a peek out of the little door window. I don't usually do this, but I felt uneasy knowing that she was probably still in the area and it's a good thing I did. I can just barely see it, but behind my shack I see the slightest wobble.

There she was, hiding right behind my shack. It's not a big thing, maybe a ten foot cube made of large windows and metal right at the entrance to the parking ramp. I have no doubt she was waiting for me. I call the police and just keep watching from the little door window. While I'm waiting she eventually lets out an angry scream, kicks the miscellaneous junk in front of the shack and storms up the stairwell on the parking ramp. For an extra kick of anxiety, the floor above me had a broken door that wasn't locked at the time. Eventually police get there and after some harsh words they get her to leave

again and this time she walks off into the night. What really scares me was what I found on my next walk. There's a mirror next to the door I was watching her from. I couldn't see it from inside, but from this side it was obvious. She had broken the mirror and a large piece was missing. Maybe I've allowed my anxiety to build all this up in my head, but from my perspective, she had taken a large, sharp object, hid behind my shack, and waited for me to walk up. You can tell me if I'm overreacting, but to my nameless potential assailant, I wish you better times and a bed to sleep in, but I also hope we never meet again. When I was younger, somewhere between 5 or 8, a distant family member who was supposedly well

loved died and one of his last wishes was for the final celebration of his life to take place at his childhood home. His son, DJ, decided to respect their wishes and contacted the current owner of the house to ask if a small gathering could be hosted on the premises and entirely outside. As far as DJ and everyone else could tell, the homeowner was kind and understanding and agreed, offering to help out but being clear on boundaries and such. Fast forward to the event itself, my family is arriving, I'd say at around 3 in the afternoon, and I have this horribly anxious feeling deep in my stomach that I can't quite shake. I mention it to my mom, saying something silly that I probably heard on TV about my gut feeling

and my parents shrug it off and tell me it's fine and to come on. I trust my parents so I step out of the car, all dressed in a cute dress and layered in cheap plastic jewelry, think Mardi Gras beads, that I proudly chose myself to appear formal for this serious occasion. My mom, my dad and I all walk towards the backyard, aiming towards the right hand side of the house as the inside was off limits due to it being private property when a man busts out of the front door holding a bat. This is not just a normal baseball bat intended to occupy the children, no. This man busts out of this front door, screams at everyone, talking about how horrible we are and how our family is disgusting, all the while gripping a beat up baseball bat full of

nails. Immediately I panic and my fight or flight, in this case flight, kicks in and I make a beeline to our old blue car I only just got dragged out of by my dad. I jumped in and slammed the door behind me, panicking with tear blurred visionurred vision and an incredibly upset stomach, when I looked out the window and see the man. The crazy man who made the quick decision to target an elementary-aged little girl as he took a swing at the car and hit the area above the back tire, creating a loud ringing and a dent. My dad, who took what felt like 5 hours but was probably only around 10 seconds, pushes the man away and jumps in, my mom following quickly behind.

We speed away from the house and back home, not mentioning a thing except for how proud of me they were for running and that they'll listen to me if I ever have that horrible gut feeling that something is wrong again. Though both my mom and dad kept shooting quick glances behind the car and whispering to each other. My family never discussed this event with me around again, but when I asked my mom what happened years later, she explained that the man decided to do a google search on DJ and found his estranged criminal brother's record on google and decided that this was evidence enough to attack a family during a wake with a nailed baseball bat. We'll be right back. June 15th. Receive up to $60 on a prepaid MasterCard when you purchase Kumo RoadVenture

AT52 tires. Find a Kumo TreadExperts dealer near you at treadexperts.ca slash locations. From tires to auto repair, we're always there, treadexperts.ca. When I was six, I went with my mom, uncle, and grandparents to the airport. My grandparents were taking an international flight. This was in the 80s, so this meant we were allowed to walk all the way to the gate and wait with my grandparents right before they boarded the plane. Times have changed and this is no longer allowed. My mom was sitting with my grandparents having a conversation. My uncle was off getting coffee somewhere and being six years old I became bored of sitting and started to

wander off a little. My mom called me to her and gave me the stranger danger talk and how I needed to stay with them. My attitude was like, yeah, yeah, whatever. Again, my mom got distracted by my grandparents' questions and I began to wander off again. I peeked my head and looked down the hallway. There were people coming and going. And less than 15 feet from me, I saw a creepy man, long brown hair to his waist, dressed in black leather head to toe, beard and a mustache. He was about to open a door, which I'm assuming now was the bathroom. As he opened the door, he looked right at me and waved his finger to me to come there.

I immediately thought of the conversation my mom had with me just a few minutes ago. Plus, the guy looked evil, so I immediately turned and ran back conversation my mom had with me just a few minutes ago. Plus, the guy looked evil. So I immediately turned and ran back to my mom. I said, guess what mom, a stranger was trying to take me. You were right. I don't remember her taking me very seriously. She was helping my grandparents with their tickets and wasn't paying too much attention. When it was time to leave, I took a quick peek down the hall and he was gone. I think to this day, what would have happened if I went with him, and if my mom didn't talk to me about strangers just a few minutes before? I know this wouldn't have turned out good. To be continued... Hey friends, thanks for listening. Click that notification bell to be alerted of all future narrations.

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