The Lets Read Podcast - 178: SHE WAS THE LAST PERSON I EXPECTED | 20 True Scary Stories | EP 166

Episode Date: March 14, 2023

This episode includes narrations of true creepy encounters submitted by normal folks just like yourself. Today you'll experience horrifying stories about Subways, Easter, & Unsuspecting Freaks... 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

Everyone's got a pro. Need tires? I've got a pro. Car making a weird sound? I've got a pro. So who's that pro? The pros at Tread Experts. From tires to auto repair, Tread Experts is always there, helping you with Kumo tires you can trust. Until June 15th, receive up to $60 on a prepaid MasterCard when you purchase Kumo RoadVenture AT52 tires. Find your pro at your local tread experts. Conquer rugged terrain with on-road comfort. Until June 15th, receive up to $60 on a prepaid MasterCard when you purchase Kumho RoadVenture AT52 tires. Find a Kumho TreadExperts dealer near you at treadexperts.ca slash locations. From tires to auto repair, we're always there. TreadExperts.ca I I grew up an avid urbex enthusiast here in New York City. As you can imagine, there are awesome sights here, but weirdly, I'd say more than 50% of the community agree that one of the urbex holy grails is over in Cincinnati. Yep, while Cincinnati is famous for that weird Greek chili or their OG baseball team, among the urbex crowd it's famous for one thing, the Cincinnati subway. For those of you that don't know, the subway was intended as a

replacement for the Cincinnati streetcar system. Construction started around the end of World War I, but then after the Great Depression hit, the project just tanked. What remains is just over two miles of derelict tunnels and stations, making it the largest abandoned subway system in the United States. Cracking the place is like an urbex rite of passage, giving you infinite bragging rights having explored a labyrinth of subterranean tunnels that's larger than some towns. I thought my visit to the subway would be a dream come true. Me and my group planned it for months and I don't think I've ever been so excited about anything. But in reality, it turned out to be one of the most

confusing and terrifying experiences of my life, something I'll never be able to fully explain. As I said, it took quite a bit of planning to get the four of us out to southwestern Ohio. On top of barely being able to afford the gas money, we had to drive my friend's trashy 1990 Chevy Lumina, which was in such a bad way that it had become a meme of itself. It took almost 12 hours to get to Cincinnati, that's including a bathroom break, so even after leaving at like 9am, the very earliest we could muster everyone, it was way after dark by the time we arrived. We were tired, starving, and in no mood to head underground right away. So after a brief discussion, we decided to get a few hours sleep before heading down into the subway. This turned out to be a terrible idea.

We barely got any sleep, so after a few hours we decided to just get some breakfast at 24-7 McDonald's, then hit up the subway while we could still use the darkness for cover. The entrance to the tunnels, at least the one we used, turned out to be right in plain sight. It was just sat at the side of a highway, clear as day, and although the big grey iron doors were incredibly heavy, they proved to be unlocked. And just like that, we were in. Then, one of us switched on their flashlight and for a second, I was kind of taken aback. The concrete walls inside the entrance were completely bare.

Not a single tag or piece of graffiti art anywhere. One of the best parts of urbex is occasionally stumbling across what amounts to a secret gallery. So, to come across a place with no art where I expected it most was kind of disappointing. It didn't set alarm bells ringing or whatever, it was just unusual. Anyway, we excitedly started advancing down the entrance tunnel and find that it branched off into two twin tunnels that ran side by side. Then, after a few minutes of walking, the tunnels opened up into our first abandoned station. You can imagine what this looked like. Wide platforms with support columns, staircases that led to nowhere. It was a pretty cool find and it was there that we found our first piece of street art. Only, instead of being something to admire, I remember finding it distinctly intimidating. Someone had sprayed a huge black figure onto the whole length of one

wall, with its head and shoulders kind of overflowing onto the ceiling. The perspective made it look like it was staring down at you, and it definitely made for an intelligent and decidedly creepy piece of artwork. The logistics of it were downright impressive too. The walls had to be at least 15 foot high at the platform level, meaning someone had probably hauled a ladder down there with them at some point just to spray that blank-faced yeti-looking thing on the wall. After we were suitably unnerved by the big dark figure, we carried on through the rail tunnels, hitting up station after station as we went. Each one had a series of smaller tunnels leading off from them.

Some were just a handful of dead ends. Others seemed to snake off into the darkness for quite a way. But the last station we got to, or at least that I got to, had a ton of different passages leading off from it. I'm guessing we were around the center of the subway system by that point because I read that they'd planned to dig out the central terminal station first then tunnel outwards so everything fit to scale. And given that there seemed to be a tunnel, passageway, or corridor at every compass point,

I'm guessing we were in that terminal station. Despite the creepy street art, we're getting pretty comfortable by that point. The first 10-15 minutes after you crack an old abandoned building can be a real adrenaline rush, and if there are hazards to be aware of, your heart stays pounding almost the whole way through. By that time, our count was in the high 50s, and I go so far as to say that we were pretty experienced. But that experience brings comfort, and getting too comfortable makes you sloppy. Add on to that a bad night's sleep and the sugar crash from having gorged under the golden arches and for me personally, it was a recipe for disaster. It's not a strict life or death rule but generally speaking,

you don't split up when exploring an abandoned building. Sure, you can head off into an adjacent room, dip slightly out of sight for a second, but you don't go off wandering on your own. Not unless you're very, very confident of your surroundings. You hear horror stories about gas sinks, where someone walks into a room and just passes out and dies, all totally silently. Then one by one, their friends follow them into the room, only to join them in death. Little tidbits like that serve as great warnings, but gas sinks are an extremely rare phenomenon that you only get when you're really deep underground. So despite the potential for danger, I think I just switched

off a few seconds and wandered down a passageway on my own. It was dumb, I know, but I swear I didn't walk too far and I remember the feeling of confusion when I turned around and walked back down the corridor, only to find that it didn't open back up into the abandoned station. I stopped and paused for a second, feeling this momentary sense of bewilderment wash over me before I took a deep breath and gathered my thoughts. My crew had to be at the end of the corridor I was looking at. It was only logical. But when I walked down it, still using my flashlight to cut through the darkness, and there was still no station.

I'll admit that I started to panic a little. My voice echoes as I called out down the corridor, hoping my friends might be able to hear me. When they didn't respond, I did what anyone else might do, just went straight into denial. I called out sarcastically, Very funny guys, you can come out now. But no one replied. Then I tried to stop myself from walking down another corridor, but in that brief little moment of panic, I just couldn't help myself. It didn't make sense. I knew how to follow my own footsteps.

I'd done it a thousand times before. But there I was, fifty-something derps under my belt and I'd actually gone and gotten myself lost. I just put it down to how tired I was and how dark the subway was, then reached in my backpack to retrieve my walkie-talkie. We always pack these small things, but powerful radios just in case. We never really had to use them before, but there's a first time for everything, right? So, I got the radio out, switched it on, and began talking on the agreed-upon channel one. Our little pre-agreed protocol was that as soon as someone gets separated, out come the radios.

The guys must have figured I was missing by that point so they must have had their radios out, or at least one of them. But when I talked onto the channel and got nothing in reply, I went back to thinking that they were just playing a prank on me. Then suddenly, my radio buzzes to life with an incoming transmission. It sounded kind of distorted, but that didn't surprise me given that we were surrounded by masses of concrete. But as I'm straining my ears to listen to voices in the static, I realize it's not any of my buddy's voices. In fact, it sounded a lot more like a woman. It was slightly accented, a feminine voice, but I could only make out every fourth or fifth word. Everything else was just garbled.

Yet as I strained my ears and concentrated, I heard the voice repeating something that sounded an awful lot like, Help me. That was the first time I'd ever come to a full-on panic while in an abandoned building, and I had to actually make an effort to control my breathing and keep calm. I told myself that the help me I thought I heard could have been almost any two-syllable phrase, and rationally speaking, the subway was a limited space. Even if I'd managed to get myself lost, there was no way I could stay lost if I just kept moving. So, that's exactly what I did.

I switched on my little headlamp, told myself everything was going to be fine, then just walked off into the darkness. My main goal was to find the station we'd been standing in. That way I could effectively retrace my steps and find my way out of the subway system. But I walked and walked for maybe 15 to 20 minutes and the whole time I failed to find an abandoned station. Or even any of the twin railway tunnels we'd used to get into the place. It was just corridor after corridor. Some of which forked off into two or three other passageways, and no matter which one I took, I never seemed to make any progress. I knew I could walk a mile in around 15 minutes, which meant that I could hadn't found an exit, I felt myself getting that feeling of panic rising up into my chest again.

Just didn't make any sense. The whole way I'd been talking to my radio, trying to raise my buddies, but to no avail. They had to be in range. Those radios were some of the most expensive things we owned, and the only reasonable explanation is the concrete was just too thick for the radio waves to penetrate. But still, even with a semi-rational explanation like that, I found one distinct thought creeping into my head. Something is very, very wrong here. Either something was wrong with me, or something was wrong with the tunnels,

and being a somewhat rational person, I went with the first theory. I remember having to turn back when I wound up hitting a dead end, but after a few hundred feet, I realized I was walking a different layout of corridors than I had previously. Some of them had these cuboid concrete bumps in them, like they were the foundations for some kind of barrier. But then I started seeing them on the ceiling too, these 3D rectangles that looked like they'd been chiseled out of the rock. I hadn't seen those things walking down the corridor the first time, at least. I hadn't noticed them, but then my suspicions were confirmed when I noticed that the concrete ahead of me was all wet, something which definitely hadn't been the

case a few minutes before. That little detail did really bother me, way worse than losing my buddies too. As you can probably guess, underground tunnels and water leaks are a very bad combination, and the discovery added an even graver sense of danger to the situation. After I noticed the water, my pace increased significantly as I tried my best to keep calm, but the further I went, the harder that got. The sound of my wet footsteps had me praying I wasn't heading towards the source of the leak, and that I wasn't about to get hit by some underground tsunami or something. Not the most rational fear I know, but like I said, I was struggling to remain calm. But then, as the tension was really ramping up,

I could have sworn that I'd heard a second set of wet footsteps in the tunnel behind me. I remember stopping dead in my tracks and listening, but the sound didn't continue, so I figured it was just an echo of my own footsteps. Yet shortly after continuing on my way I heard a footstep behind me that was most definitely not in rhythm with my own. Again, I stopped, only that time I spin around on the spot, shining my flashlight into the darkness. I didn't see anything, and the sound of footsteps didn't continue, but I started to get this horrible feeling that there was something just out of range of my flashlight. That then queued up all these questions like, who's down here without a flashlight, and who might follow me and not announce themselves?

The Cincinnati PD had been known to patrol the tunnels and kick out any homeless trying to sleep there, and the urbex crowd tend to hate cops and security guards, but I found myself in this weird position where I actually hoped it was a cop that was following me, and not someone else. I tried to just push on, but turning around every so often when I thought

I heard footsteps began to slow me down. Then I began to hit other obstacles. Those same cubes of concrete I'd seen previously, only they were much larger. Some of them were so big I had to actually step up onto them to get past. It made no sense why they were there either, like they only seemed to serve the purpose of constructing the tunnel. After another few hundred yards, the beam of my flashlight began to illuminate something that just sent my stomach into knots. For absolutely no reason I could discern, the tunnel abruptly narrowed to the point that there was only a very small vertical gap that I'd have to push myself a couple of feet through to keep going. I actually just stood there for a second and said out loud, you have to be kidding me. The only other thing was the worry

that the gap would somehow narrow even further and that I might get stuck trying to get through. But right as I'm mulling that thought over, I heard the sound of footsteps behind me. Only that time, there was no mistaking it. It couldn't have been the echo of my own. There was definitely someone else in that tunnel with me. I called out to them, wishful thinking I suppose, and when the speed of the footsteps dramatically increased, I knew their intentions toward me were not good. Fight or flight kicked in, and in the moment, I chose flight, shoving myself shoulder first into the narrow opening in the concrete before grinding my way through.

The whole time I expected to feel a hand grabbing at my back, and when I finally popped out of the other side, I spun around and shone my flashlight to see who in God's name was chasing me, but there was no one. I knew they were there though, hiding off just to the side, maybe just waiting for me to let my guard down before pushing through after me. Needless to say, I didn't wait to find out if I was right. I just took off along the wet concrete, trying to put as much distance between myself and my pursuer as possible. As I ran, I started to notice a lot more of those weird cuboid structures, only this time some of them were triangular, like little pyramids coming out of the walls, floor, and ceiling. The others had at least looked like they served some kind of purpose, but these new things

looked almost completely random, like they were a glitch in a video game's levels or something. I'd have taken more time to observe them if I hadn't been running for my life, only after a few hundred yards or so the tunnel narrowed off yet again. Only that time, it was like nothing I'd ever seen in my entire life. Now that I think back on it, it was like looking at a piece of tessellated art, like the kind that uses different sizes of the same shape to create a kind of 3D optical illusion. It would have been fascinating if I hadn't been forced to crawl through it on my stomach, not knowing if I was going to get trapped and starve to death in there.

The whole lining of the passageway was ridged with tiny versions of the same pyramid structures and it was so narrow that I had to take off my backpack and shove it in front of me in order to fit through. The little ridges raked at my back the whole way, but my adrenaline was pumping so hard that I could like feel the damage it was doing. It just didn't hurt. And then came the moment where I couldn't advance any further. I could feel the little ridges against my skull, neck, and shoulders. I couldn't push my backpack any further, and I was actually stuck. I was so scared I felt sick,

and I'm not ashamed to say I felt the overwhelming urge to burst into tears. My mom had always told me that I'd eventually get myself hurt if I persisted with the trespassing nonsense and in that moment it seemed like she'd been proven right. Only the thing that made me want to burst into tears was the fact that she might never find out how right she was. I'd never be found because I knew I was somewhere I wouldn't be found just by looking for it. I know that must make no sense, but in that moment,

trapped in the bizarre, intricately chiseled crawlspace, it made all the sense of the world. And just as it was sinking in just how screwed I really was, I heard something moving through the tunnels behind me. I'm not even sure how this really happened because as much as I tried to force my way through the crawlspace, I simply could not go any further. But hearing that person and what I'm assuming was a person moving up behind me, it just sent me into overdrive. I just kept focusing on kicking my legs, wiggling my torso, and pushing my backpack in front of me that I barely even realized I'd shoved it out the other side. Then once I could get a grip of the opening, I let out all the air in my lungs to be able to fit through and pulling with all my might. Feeling myself free of the crawlspace concrete grip was

the second time that night that I almost cried, but there was no time to celebrate. I had to keep moving, only right when I needed it the most, right when I thought I was about to lose my mind with fear, my flashlight started to flicker. I'd replaced the batteries that night in preparation for exploring the subway. There was no way I could have been down there long enough to drain them, and I just lost it, consumed by panic. And I sprinted down the corridor, trying to make as much progress as possible before the flashlight gave out entirely. It started to flicker again and I was running. I actually started calling out,

mom, mom, like she could somehow save me from a nightmarish fate. Then I tripped. And I hit the dirt hard. I felt the sting of the grazes on my forearms mixed with my sweat, and there was this dull ringing in my ear that I first figured was from being knocked unconscious. But the monotonous ringing wasn't anything in my head. It was from a nearby highway, and when I opened my eyes, I saw I was back outside. I have absolutely no idea how I got back outside after tripping in the darkness. When I stopped ugly weeping into the dirt, I looked around for the entrance I'd fallen out of,

but I couldn't see anything. Then right as I'm trying to work out what in God's name just happened to me, I feel my phone buzzing in my pocket as it reconnected to the cell network. And I won't bore you with the whole aftermath. I feel like this whole thing is just a massive wall of text already but the looks on my friend's faces on the ride back as I tried to explain what happened, well, they put me off ever trying to properly explain it to someone. I went to therapy for a few years after a psychiatrist diagnosed me as having experienced a stress-induced psychotic break. I tried to accept that what happened was all just in my head, but honestly, I know that isn't entirely the case.

And for some reason, whenever my mind wanders back to that night, I think of that giant black figure someone had spray painted on the wall. At the time, I had no idea why anyone would spend so much time on something that no one might ever see. But now, I think I understand. Being one of the most densely populated cities on the planet, Tokyo is also home to one of the busiest metro systems in the Japanese capital, the Tokyo Metro, catered to a mind-boggling 2.7 billion travelers during 2019 alone. And the network can get so busy that the metro employs what are known as oshiya, or passenger pushers, whose job is to shove and cram every last commuter into the carriages and ensure that nobody is caught in the doors. Those with an innocent or benevolent way of thinking will marvel at the sheer magnitude of such a system, but others with much more sinister inclinations see such a high concentration of people and have much more malevolent thoughts. And one of these people was Kyota Patori. On Halloween of 2021, at around 8pm Japanese time, a group of commuters were traveling into

Kokuryo Station on the Kiaio Line in Chofu, one of Tokyo's western suburbs. At the previous stop, the passengers of one train car had been somewhat alarmed to see a young man boarding the train who appeared to be dressed as the Joker. He wore a dark blue suit that had just a hint of purple to it, along with a green shirt and patterned tie. It was Kyoto Hattori. Halloween is a widely celebrated holiday in Japan, especially in metropolitan areas, so while it wasn't entirely unexpected to see a person in fancy dress that evening, there was something about this particular young man that seemed to put people on edge. It was something in the way he moved, something in the way he eyed them up while the lower half of his face was concealed with a COVID mask.

He sat far too comfortably next to a fellow passenger, attempting to make eye contact with them, behavior which is considered shockingly rude in Japanese public transport culture. Kiyota persisted and when the 72-year-old man finally turned to look at him, Kiyota reached into the pocket of his dark blue jacket and pulled out a spray bottle filled with hydrochloric acid. Then all their fellow passengers could do was watch in horror as Kiyota aimed the spray bottle at his neighbor's eyes before unleashing a torrent of stinging fluid directly into his eyes. The man screamed, his hands flying up to his face in an attempt to wipe the acidic substance from his now burning eyeballs. Then while the man was blinded and defenseless,

Kiyota pulled out an 11-inch long kitchen knife and plunged it into the man's chest. Some later said that they believed the whole thing to be nothing more than an elaborate Halloween prank, since the holiday is so widely regarded in the greater Tokyo area. But there was something a little too convincing about the way the man screamed, something a little too convincing about the hot blood that poured out of his chest and the smell of it that suddenly filled the air. Then, as Kiyota turned on them, a look of wild hatred in his eyes, the horrific realization hit them like a ton of bricks. This wasn't a prank.

It was real. Panic ensued. People screamed. People ran. All desperate to get away from the manic and the bizarre costume. Yet Kiyota had a plan for those who tried to flee. He reached into his jacket pocket to pull out two more items, a cigarette lighter and a bottle of flammable liquid.

He knew it was highly unlikely that he'd be able to catch and kill everyone in the train, so Kiyota racked his brain for a way to kill as many people as possible that was both portable and economic. And that's probably when he remembered the Daegu subway fire of 2003. While remaining relatively unknown in the West, the Daegu subway fire is widely regarded as one of the greatest civilian tragedies in contemporary Asian history. Shortly before 10am on February 18th of 2003, 56-year-old unemployed former taxi driver Kim Dae-han attempted to take his own life by self-immolation aboard the subway train he was traveling on as it pulled into Jungang-no station in downtown Daegu, South Korea.

The ensuing fire killed just short of 200 people and hospitalized over 150 others. The fire spread so fast that it engulfed two whole passengers' trains in just over four minutes and remains the single deadliest loss of civilian life in South Korean history. The rebuilt Jeonggangno station features a museum and memorial which commemorates the fire and the tragedy made headline all over the surrounding region. Given that the 24-year-old Kyota would have been around 5 years old at the time of the fire, there's a good chance he either remembered it or read about it later on in life while tumbling down some morbid Wikipedia rabbit hole. Either way, the fact that Kyota had thought to bring a means of starting a fire

shows he wanted to kill hundreds of his fellow passengers, not just the handful he would have gotten with a knife and his homemade pepper spray. So now, instead of facing down a bloodthirsty cosplayer with a blade and a spray bottle full of acid, commuters were now up against something they might not be able to combat, a raging inferno and the choking smoke it would birth. Thankfully, the Tokyo Metro system has some marvelously advanced safety mechanisms built into it, and as the now-burning train passed through Fuda Station, one of the passengers pressed the emergency alarm. In response, the train planned to make an automated emergency stop at the upcoming Kokuryo Station. Then while the train was approaching it, another passenger yanked on the emergency

door release handle, causing the train to stop around 2-3 meters before its proper parking position. As the train was coming to a stop, footage recorded by a passenger showed other passengers fleeing to one end of the train as the fire ignited by the attacker erupted in one of the cars. After the train had come to a stop, passengers opened the train's windows and climbed out to escape. Their quick actions prevented what could have been a huge loss of life. But in the course of this rampage, Kiyota managed to stab 17 people before the train

finally emptied out, with the man with the chest wound having been rushed to the hospital. However, either via an automatic sprinkler system or the efforts of first responders, the fire on the affected train car was extinguished before it could do any serious damages. Yet instead of attacking more passengers or attempting to flee the scene, Kiyota Hattori simply sat down on one of the train seats, took out a pack of cigarettes, and sparked one up. There's even a video of this moment circulating online,

one in which Kiyota puffs away on the cigarette as if he experienced some kind of post-coital satisfaction while glaring into the camera. After being arrested, Kiyota Hattori allegedly told investigating police officers that, much like his Korean arsonist counterpart, his plan had been an elaborate method of taking his own life. He cited employment trouble and fallouts with friends as causing him to spiral into a deep depression.

But when he decided to end his own life, he found he didn't have the capacity to go through with it. That's when he discovered that according to Japanese law, he would receive the death penalty if he murdered at least two of his fellow citizens. He couldn't hurt himself, but in the pursuit of his own death, he knew he could summon the will to kill others. It was a horrific attack on a group of innocent, defenseless train passengers whose only crime was to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. In the aftermath, many commenters discuss Kiyota's choice of the Joker costume with some warning that the recent Joaquin Phoenix betrayal had become a beacon for angry, violent young men who seek to unleash their own torment on the world around them. Kiyota's case has yet to go to trial, although it's clear that he won't have his death wish fulfilled

As thankfully, all those wounded that day would go on to make full recoveries Even the 72-year-old stab victim who suffered a punctured lung during the attack It's most likely that Kyota will be condemned to prison Where for a long, long time, he'll be faced with the irrefutable futility and cruelty of his actions. Weird sound? I've got a pro. So who's that pro? The pros at Tread Experts. From tires to auto repair, Tread Experts is always there, helping you with Kumo tires you can trust. Until June 15th, receive up to $60 on a prepaid MasterCard when you purchase Kumo RoadVenture AT52 tires.

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at treadexperts.ca slash locations. From tires to auto repair, we're always there. TreadExperts.ca China's Hainan Province capital of Zhengzhou observed a maximum rainfall of 20 centimeters, and that might not sound like too much, but consider the fact that just 20 centimeters caused a horrifying 302 deaths. The flooding has affected a whopping 9.3 million people and with over 800,000 of them requiring emergency evacuation. Naturally, there are hundreds of thousands of tragic and terrifying stories that have come out of Henan in the past few months, but arguably none quite as horrifying

as those that emerged from the floods of July 20th. Zhengzhou is located in a semi-arid region far from China's coasts, a place where the annual rainfall averages just 60 centimeters. But on July 20th alone, 67 centimeters of rain was dumped on the city's unsuspecting populace, with the water pooling in low-lying areas and flooding many of the city's streets. Zhengzhou University's chief hydrologist Hu Kaihong stated the city's drainage system was built to withstand what's known as a 100-year flood, so named so because they only occurred every 100 years. Zhengzhou's metro system, on the other hand, its subterranean location making it very susceptible to the flooding, was built to withstand a 200-year flood, with its entrances built on raised platforms to negate the effects of the heavy summer rains. Yet, Hu later stated that the Zhengzhou that day was more like a thousand-year flood

and unbeknownst to the subway system's operators, water had begun to collect in a metro yard in a low-lying area of the city. Around 6 p.m. that evening, commuters traveling to the Zhengzhou subway system were well aware of the heavy rain that had been falling, but had already been assured that the system was essentially flood-proof. Yet when all the system's trains suddenly ground to a halt, most of which did so in the network of tunnels, its passengers began to suspect that the system wasn't as flood-proof as they'd been told. Some believed it was simply a temporary fault on the line and that the trains would resume

service in due course, but after an extended period of time went by, the passengers began to grow concerned. By 6.10pm, just over 500 passengers were trapped underground, 500 passengers who noticed that water had begun to pool on the tracks outside their windows. They must have known that the suspension of service was connected to some kind of leak, but none could have expected how dire the situation was about to get, or the horror that would unfold as a result. Slowly but surely, over the course of the next hour or so, the water levels outside the subway trains grew higher and higher. Cell phone videos of the

incident illustrate the elevating levels of concern as anxious humming grows into a crescendo of terrified cries when the waterline reaches the windows of the train's sliding doors. By that point, water had begun to leak into the train carriages themselves, and terrified passengers found themselves having to stand on the seats in order to avoid the still rising waters. By the point that it became too hard to breathe in the train carriages, the passengers knew they had to fight for their lives, and they began to break out of the trains and swim for safety. Many described the terror that they felt as they swam harder and faster than ever before, dreading the moment the water lines slipped over their heads

and only a lungful of oxygen would separate them from a painful death by drowning. We can only imagine their relief as they emerged at the metro system's various stations, wading their way through waste and chest-high waters as the sheer scale of the disaster became evident to them. Elsewhere in the central Chinese city, almost a hundred children had to be rescued from a flooded nursery school, with Chinese state media airing footage of them being floated out in plastic tubs given to them by rescue workers. The first affiliated hospital of Zhengzhou also briefly lost power at one point which naturally made dealing with the flood casualties extremely difficult. However, Chinese authorities were quick to add that power was restored to the hospital within just a few hours

and that the blackout didn't contribute to any of the deaths that day. The floods were such a catastrophe that an entire battalion of the Chinese People's Liberation Army was mobilized after a 20-meter breach emerged in the Luoyang City Dam. PLA High Command was apparently told that the dam could collapse at any time, and if it had, it's estimated that the breach would cause tens of thousands of flood-related deaths. Thankfully, the dam held. But for a while, Chinese social media was aflame with horrifying statuses posted by terrified flood victims. We don't know how to swim. The whole village is about to be washed away, one person wrote,

as the ruination of entire families was documented, each in less than 140 characters. Out of the 500 passengers that were trapped underground that evening, it seems a miracle that only 12 people lost their lives. But those are 12 poor souls who still should be with us today. And although we can argue back and forth on the cause of such dramatic rainfall, questions must be asked when the integrity of a city's public transport system fails so spectacularly and with such fatal results. We can only hope that the lessons of the Zhengzhou subway floods will be learned, and in a thousand years, when the next apocalyptic rainstorm comes around,

we'll be much more prepared to deal with it. To be continued... Let me tell you, that was a wild time to be a comedian. And when you were like me and chose to get the tea everywhere, it was even wilder. For those of you that don't know, the tea is just what we call the subway in Beantown. And although it might not have the same nationally terrible reputation as New York's subway, I can assure you it used to be just as tough. Now, this happened way back when phones were just starting to get video recording technology and being something of a gadget freak I paid out the butt to be one of the first to own one. So one night I'm coming back from a show just playing with my new phone when some girl gets out of the train and sits down opposite me. We make this tiny bit of eye contact, nothing confrontational

and as the train gets moving again I carry on wasting time with my new toy. I'm going through some photos I'd taken at a show I'd done recently and I remember I was smiling, in a real good mood when I suddenly hear, are you recording me? I look up and it's the girl. Some ratchet South Boston girl who looked like she hadn't slept in a year. She's got this look on her face that looked like a Rottweiler chewing a wasp and when I'm like, Who, you? She screeches, Yeah, me. You better not be recording me with that thing.

I couldn't resist. I was like, Why would I make a video of you? I leave prettier things in the toilet every morning. Not the smartest move to just antagonize her like that, but hey, it's what I do for a living and I was very much still in work mode. The retort seemed to do the trick for a minute and the girl shut her mouth for a while and left me in peace. Then a minute later, she starts up again. Oh, you think you're wicked smart, huh? You think you're hot stuff?

I was only two stops away from home, so I decided to toy with her a little. Nothing too harsh, just enough to pass the time until I could get off. Then, right as I'm getting off, I actually wish her a good night. I'd actually enjoyed our little back and forth whereas she still looked incredibly mad. I didn't think she'd do what she did though. I know she was mean but I didn't think she was crazy. So I'm standing, waiting for the doors to open and when they do, I instantly feel this real sharp pain right around my butt. I instantly kind of throw myself off the train while spinning around to see what in God's name

just happened. There's Ratchet, this big smile on her face, and she's holding a needle in her hand. Jesus Christ. That girl had real summer teeth, you know. Summer here, summer there. All the hallmarks of a hardcore junkie. And as the doors started to close behind us, she just started laughing. Turns out she got me a good few times in the butt cheek with that needle and although it only hurt a little for the next few days, my big fear was that I'd gotten some kind of junky disease like hep C or HIV or something. It's kind of a war story I tell these days but just typing it up like this reminds me of how scared I was. I went straight to the hospital and got checked out but after taking some blood samples they told me I'd have to wait a few days to find out the results.

Longest days of my life. I took those days off because there was no way I could still be funny with all of that on my mind. But thankfully it all came back clean. It'd hurt to sit down for a few days, but other than that, I'd be fine. I actually turned the whole thing into a stand-up bit a few years later and I suppose that's just my way of dealing with things. But even though I can tell the story these days with a smile on my face and in a way that can make people at least giggle a little bit, that doesn't change the fact that it was one of the scariest things that ever

happened to me. At the time I thought my smart mouth almost cost me my life, and one of the most nightmarish ways to die imaginable. We're going back at least ten years for this one, but it's something I still think about almost every dang day. It was the holiday season, incredibly cold out, and I was walking down the 40th Street, Lowry Street subway station near Queens Boulevard. I can't remember exactly where I was going at the time. I think I was on my way home from work, but I'm not sure if I actually worked a shift or if I just stopped by to pick up in advance, but either way, I'm basically in a world of my own, mauling over my financial troubles as I push through the ticket barrier and find a place to sit.

Then, some person gets my attention, but only in that New York way where you don't ever look directly at the thing, you just observe it carefully out of your peripheral vision. This young-looking Latina lady wearing a blue, white and grey jacket was pacing up and down the platform and like muttering to herself. It sounds cynical I know but when you grow up in NYC you learn to live with stuff like that. You learn to just shrug it off and say it's none of my business before moving on. But sometimes you don't get to just look away and

pretend it isn't happening because that craziness, those damaged people, they make it your business. So like I said, the Hispanic girl is walking up and down, occasionally sitting down and then getting up again all erratically and all the while all the other passengers are just pretending like it's not happening. Then we hear the telltale sign of a train coming down the tunnel. So, just like usual, all the people taking it gradually stand up and make their way towards the edge of the platform. I remember seeing this one dude. He was some older looking guy and he's just minding his own business, waiting for the train to roll up then out of nowhere the girl basically runs up behind the guy and shoves him onto the tracks. The sound the crowd made is something that'll definitely stick with me for the rest of

my life. You don't forget real terror like that when you hear it. But the messed up thing is, although they were screaming, no one actually did anything to help. I even remember seeing this flashing light and realizing that some dude was literally just standing there, taking pictures of the guy lying on the tracks as the train got louder and louder, and it got closer and closer. And then, as the screams reached this unbearable peak of horror, the train just rolled over the dude. I remember looking around and seeing the girl that had pushed him bolting up the stairs, trying to get as far away from the scene as she could. People were still screaming, only now some were crying while others followed the pusher up the

stairs to either chase her or rushing the pay phones to call 9-1-1 it all happened so fast i realized that all i'd done is just stand there open mouth just horrified by the whole thing and for the longest time i kicked myself for not trying to help the guy, but more than one person has informed me that if I had jumped down to try to help the dude, I probably wouldn't be around to write this. I know the pusher was caught, as I followed the story for a while after, but I can't remember if they were charged with murder or just ended up getting locked up in Bellevue or something, because as sure as eggs is eggs, that girl was Ubat's. Taking the subway got real stressful for a long time after, but thankfully, a lot of people were just as scared as I was, and I didn't have to suffer through the anxiety of watching people go too near the edge.

They made sure not to all their own. Time went by and hysteria about subway pushers kind of faded but every so often it still happens. In fact it happened again just last month. Again it was a woman from Queens that was arrested. Apparently she never spoke to the guy she pushed, just picked someone at random and almost killed the guy. Hearing about other pushers just brings all that fear right back to me. One minute you're standing there minding your own business, just waiting for the frickin' subway and the next, there's nothing.

Life can end that suddenly, all because some psycho decided you had to die. Some psycho you never met before in your life. The fact that people out there exist, there are a lot of them. That's the thing that scares me the most in the world and why I never get up for a train before it comes to a complete stop. On the evening of May 16th, 1937, a woman named Leticia Toro headed for a bus stop after leaving a dance hall in a Parisian suburb. The 29-year-old caught a striking figure as she boarded in a green suit, white hat, and gloves, and exactly 24 minutes later, she arrived at a metro station, the Porte de Charenton, and boarded the first class car bound for central Paris. While the other cars are full, the first class was empty aside from Laetitia, allowing her a sense of comfort and privacy as she traveled. But she was wrong to feel comfortable, as the malevolent will of another was about to take away her most precious possession.

Letitia's train departed the Porte de Charenton station at exactly 6.26pm, and just 45 seconds later arrived at another station, the Porte d'Oray. Six passengers entered the first class car, also bound for central Paris, but as they did so they discovered a horrifying scene. Leticia Toro had been murdered, and the nine-inch dagger that her killer had used to take her life was still lodged in the flesh of her neck. No one had exited and no one else had been in the car, so who on earth had killed her and managed to escape in less than 60 seconds? Within just a few days of her murder, the Parisian police had uncovered a few pieces of strange information regarding Letitia's life.

She held a job in a glue factory by day, but by night, Letitia was said to frequent dance halls or bal muset, as they are known among the locals. Some viewed Letitia as a naive, innocent victim, but most saw her as a heartless social climber, a girl who married her late husband without his family's knowledge or consent, having expertly manipulated him into writing her into his last will and testament. In addition, though she was apparently faithful to him during their marriage, after his death she had numerous affairs and many suspected these had been subtly maintained during her marriage. She also, strangely, was known by some acquaintances as Yolanda, something the police found very curious

indeed. Why a woman would need a second identity like that? The answer is perhaps even more sinister than you might suspect. To their amazement, Parisian detectives discovered that Letitia was also a paid confidential informant for a Parisian detective agency known as l'Agence Rue. Balmusette were known to attract pimps, escorts, and drug dealers, so it became evident that Letitia's presence there constituted more than just recreation. She could have angered the wrong cartel, betrayed the wrong gangster, and the injured party could have sought retribution and blood. However, some more conspiratorially- minded people believed she had been killed by the French fascist terrorist group called La Cagoule. When the French police launched a midnight raid against La Cagoule on November 15th, 1937,

several members claimed to know something about Letitia Thoreau's murder. They stated that she had been a spy hidden among their ranks, and after she was identified, they had enacted a scheme to track her down and kill her, with her assassin managing to catch her alone while she was boarding the train at Port de Charenton. However, despite their apparent confession, the group's leaders were never convinced of Leticia's murder. In fact, the investigating detective failed to convict anyone of her murder, instead only offering the most logical explanation. It appears that sometime in 1936, Leticia, now known as Yolanda and working for the police to infiltrate illegal political groups, became the lover of Gente, the Kegel's

arms smuggling expert. Gente ran a garage near Montmartre and commanded a fleet of cars he used to smuggle arms from Geneva to Paris. By the spring of 1937, the Kegel began to suspect Toro of deceit and set a trap for her. News of an upcoming arms run was leaked to her, but then the car was stopped at the Swiss border, and it was empty. The ruse cost Thoreau her life. It's entirely possible that Letitia's involvement in the espionage of pre-World War II Europe

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From tires to auto repair, we're always there. TreadExperts.ca Born on January 28th of 1971, Dana Yule was the youngest son of Dale and Glee Yule. Dale was a United States Air Force veteran, and upon his discharge, he started a company named Western Piper Sales, which specialized in the sale of small aircraft. Being a highly knowledgeable aviation expert with a set of highly specialized skills, Dale's company became very popular very quickly, and by the time Dana was a young adult, his father's company was worth millions upon millions of dollars. CIA during the 1950s had devoted much of her life to philanthropy and public service. She had also held a seat on the State Bar of California, an organization which evaluates the credentials of prospective judges. Naturally, she was very well compensated for her work,

and this further swelled the Yule family coffers. The Yules accumulated even more wealth off the back of investments in both the stock market and local farmland. Yet despite being extremely well off, the Yules lived a modest lifestyle and tended to avoid flaunting their wealth. By 1992, it's believed the Yules were worth between 7 to 8 million dollars, which is the equivalent to around $14 million today. This meant that the Yules were able to live very comfortably, yet despite their financial stability, all was not well within the family. During Dana Yule's time in college, he began to paint a rather deceptive picture of his own personal finances. Around his junior year, Dana began lying to people that his family's financial success was solely due to his extensive entrepreneurial skills. He told his peers that,

despite being so young, he'd set up several prosperous companies that made him a very wealthy man. His lies were even swallowed wholesale by a local newspaper in Santa Clara, who printed a story on Dana in 1990 which described him as a self-made millionaire. However, Dana didn't realize that his parents were closely monitoring his educational progress from afar, and when they stumbled across some of his lies printed in the Santa Clara University's yearbook, they were nothing short of furious. They confronted their arrogant younger child almost immediately, professing their disappointment in his pompous deception. They believed they'd raised him better than that,

and decided he needed to be taught a lesson for humanity. They told Dana that they were going to end almost all of their financial support for him, and told him that if he wanted to wax lyrical in his entrepreneurial skills, he'd have to walk the walk and not just talk the talk. Upon hearing the news, Dale was beyond livid. He was humiliated that his parents had exposed his lies and was incensed that they'd ended his ability to pretend he was some playboy millionaire. Dale didn't talk to his parents for quite a while after that. Due to his dire financial situation, he was soon forced to crawl back to them on bended knee,

begging them to let him live in their Fresno home he'd grown up in until he had the means to properly support himself. Dale and Glee were still angry with him, but he was still their son, and they wanted nothing more than to help him get ahead in life. So, they accepted, and in late 1991, they allowed Dana to move back in their home, on the condition that he works towards finding a job and getting his own place. As the months went by, Dana seemed to be doing just that. He not only found himself a girlfriend, but also a job as an investment banking intern. If he managed to prove himself worthy, he'd have been on a six-figure salary from the jump, more than enough to start looking for high-end apartments, allowing him to step back into the lifestyle he'd become accustomed to.

Slowly but surely, Dana and his parents began to repair the relationship and soon, Allowing him to step back into the lifestyle he'd become accustomed to. Slowly but surely, Dana and his parents began to repair their relationship and soon, everything was back to normal. And they seemed to have forgotten his past indiscretions. Around Easter weekend of 1992, the Ewells were looking forward to a peaceful, wholesome holiday weekend in the company of their 24-year-old daughter, Tiffany Ann. Dana, on the other hand, had arranged to head off on some kind of staycation with his current girlfriend, and on the day of his departure, he wished his loving family well, then set off to enjoy a romantic, private week of intimacy. Yet even though Dana wished for privacy with his girlfriend, he still made an effort to keep in touch with his parents. Yet according to him, two days after Easter Sunday, he found that

his calls were no longer being answered. Dana then called some friends in Sunnyside, California and was said to be incredibly anxious that he couldn't reach his parents. He then talked his friends into stopping by over the Ewell's family home in order to perform a kind of welfare check, and when they drove over to make sure Dana's parents were okay, what they discovered was beyond horrifying. Dale, Glee, and Tiffany and Ewell were all lying dead in various rooms of the house, each with multiple gunshot wounds. And within hours of the friends checking in at the home, Fresno County homicide detectives were on the scene.

Over the next four days, detectives John Souza and Chris Curtis combed through the crime scene in search of clues. It quickly became obvious that whoever had slaughtered the family had secreted themselves inside the house and had ambushed the unwitting Yule family after returning home from somewhere. Glenn and Tiffany had been shot once, execution style, suggesting they had been completely unaware of their impending deaths. Glee, on the other hand, had been shot four times, which made it clear that she had discovered the killer before attempting to flee, forcing them to shoot her multiple times in order to prevent her escape. There was a complete lack of shell casings on the scene, which meant the shooter had taken the time to retrieve them once the job was done, and out of all the bullets he'd fired during the attack,

only one seemed to have missed its target. Even more chilling was the fact that the 9mm bullets used had actually been purchased by Dale Ewell himself, meaning the killer had taken the time to intimately research the Ewell family, even down to what caliber of ammunition was in the house. Using their own ammunition meant that nothing could be traced back to the killer, meaning a very important avenue in investigation had been completely closed off to the investigating detectives. The killer had also used some kind of silencer on the firearm used to murder the Yules, as not only did none of their neighbors hear any gunshots over Easter weekend, but the lack of bullet penetration meant something had slowed the velocity in flight. The detectives also noticed that the home appeared to have been ransacked,

possibly in the search of valuables. But Detective Souza, who had extensive experience in investigating burglaries, observed that very little of value had been taken. He suggested that the ransacking had simply been staged, a way of throwing investigators off the scent of what had actually occurred. In Detective Souza's eyes, all clues pointed in one direction, that a highly professional contract killer had been hired to eliminate the Yule family. The only question was, who would have the motivation or harbor enough of a grudge to hire such a person?

Detective Souza and Curtis then set about analyzing each of the victims' professional and social lives in order to identify possible perpetrators. And that's how they discovered that Dale Yule wasn't exactly as squeaky clean as he liked to portray himself. In the late 1970s, Dale had gotten involved with a man named Frank Lambie, a California-based drug smuggler who had been sentenced to prison over his illicit activities. Rumor had it that when Frank had been locked up, Dale had taken over smuggling operations, and when Frank was released, Dale had refused to step aside, essentially muscling his former partner out of tens of millions of dollars a year. This would most definitely provide a motive for murder and with Frank already having rubbed shoulders with criminals while in jail there was no doubt that he had the contacts to get the job done. Yet that wasn't the only dodgy dealing that Dale Ewell had been involved in

as he'd also ended up entangled in a shady real estate development deal with his own brother. When Dale backed out and the deal went sour, his brother was blamed for losing millions of dollars of investment money, and while it seemed over the top for there to be a blood feud among family members, stranger things have certainly happened. When law enforcement sought to determine if the family had any potential enemies, one of the first people they got in contact with was obviously Dana Yule. Dana had a solid alibi, as he had obviously been in San Francisco with his girlfriend, but for the homicide detectives, the fact that he just so happened to be absent on the weekend of the murder was far too suspicious for them to ignore.

Detectives had also been in touch with Dana's uncle, who told them that Dana seemed far more interested in what his inheritance was than the fact that he just lost his entire family. They also added that when Dana learned the majority of his inheritance was in a trust fund that he wouldn't have access until his 30s, he became visibly shaken and angry. It was also noted that one of Dana's old college buddies, a man by the name of Joel Radovich, had suddenly dropped out of school in the aftermath of the murders before going on something of a spending spree. The police decided to observe Joel's movements and lifestyle from a distance, and in the process, they discovered something extremely pertinent to their investigation. Joel was obsessed with the use and maintenance of firearms, and was often heard to brag about his accuracy with them.

Not only that, but Joel claimed to have several close acquaintances that he was capable of creating homemade silencers using nothing but pieces of metal pipe. Dana and Joel continued to attract suspicion when they both moved in the Yule's Fresno home just weeks after the murders. Any other person might be repulsed by the idea of laying their heads where their own family had been slain, yet Dana didn't seem to mind in the least bit. They also seemed to adopt something of a party lifestyle, buying brand new pagers and other electrical equipment, as well as drinking an unusual amount of champagne for people who ought to be grieving a loss.

Joel even bought himself a set of flying lessons, which definitely set him back a sizable amount of money. Felice had already confirmed that Joel was unemployed, and it was clear that Dana was funding his lifestyle. But why exactly would he be doing that? It could have been out of the kindness of his heart, but homicide detectives believed there was another, far more sinister reason for it, and they were determined to unearth what it was. All throughout May of 1993, the cops kept Dana and Joel under close surveillance, and at one point, a detective followed Patrick to a payphone while wearing a specialized piece of recording equipment.

It was then the detective managed to catch Joel saying something very suspicious into the payphone, most probably to Dana. He was quoted as saying, Look man, they don't have any evidence, okay? What they're probably going to do is try and catch you in a lie, so just keep your mouth shut and we'll both be fine. With that, the detectives knew for certain who they should focus their investigation on, convinced that if they dug deep enough, that Joel would somehow be intrinsically connected to the murders. This connection was finally identified when law enforcement began to focus on identifying the murder weapon.

After a thorough analysis of the bullets recovered from the dead bodies of the Yule family, it was determined that they were fired by a high-end 9mm specialty rifle manufactured by Feather Industries in Trinidad, Colorado. Company records showed one such rifle had been purchased by Ernest Jack Ponce, a friend of Joel's family, just weeks before the Yules were shot with it. Jack Ponce admitted buying the rifle for Joel but was horrified when he discovered it was used in the murders. Jack knew that Joel was a huge firearm enthusiast but believed he only wanted the rifle for target and competitive shooting. He told police that despite unwittingly disposing of evidence, he had no idea that Joel was planning on killing anyone and offered his full and unfettered cooperation in testifying against the two men.

With a star witness in the bag, the police swooped in, arresting both Dana Yule and Joel Radovich in early 1995. Throughout the course of their eight-month trial, they were up against two of Fresno County's top district attorneys, who each argued that Dana Yule was a despicable human being, motivated only by greed, who was willing to swap Yule was a despicable human being, motivated only by greed, who was willing to swap his own family's lives to indulge in a selfish, hedonistic lifestyle. Not only that, but he actually convinced someone equally psychopathic to do the killing for him. Dana's attorney opted to shift the blame onto Joel, making it seem like he intimidated his old college buddy into splitting his inheritance with him. Joel's attorney, on the other hand, believed the evidence was so overwhelming that a guilty verdict was probable and thus his main

goal should be avoiding the death penalty. After 11 days of deliberation, the jury found both Dana and Joel to be guilty of three counts of first-degree murder. Not only that, but they were subject to considerably stricter sentences based on the fact that the murders were purely for financial gain. Yet somehow, both managed to avoid the death penalty. July 20th of 1998 saw each of the men handed life sentences without the possibility of parole, and despite several appeals being lodged on their behalf, all have been denied. It's worth noting that for the majority of his sentence, Dana Yule had been detained in the protective housing unit of the

California State Prison. This is due to the particularly greedy and immoral nature of his crime, and the fact that he had his own family murdered purely for monetary gain, when he was already in an extremely privileged position in life. This has naturally made him extremely unpopular with other prisoners, and he was regularly targeted for reprisal by those that are disgusted by his cruel and callous nature. Consider how abhorrent a person has to be to be singled out by other criminals as being worthy of punishment. But then again, a person who had their own parents killed on Easter, the very people who brought them into the world, loved them, and nurtured them, it's hard to imagine a punishment for them that could be described as too harsh. Back in 1943, on the Saturday before Easter Sunday,

55-year-old Patrick Brady arrived back home from his eight-hour shift at the Inland Steel Company in Lansing, Illinois. He lived on 181st Street with his 14-year-old foster daughter, Gloria Sullivan, who at the time was in the Calvin Coolidge School's 8th grade. Patrick had a tough job and he worked hard to keep his foster daughter happy, but thanks to his back-breaking, tireless endeavors, he had carved out a relatively happy existence taking care of young Gloria. They were poor, they were struggling, but they were content. Yet as soon as Patrick

arrived home that day, he knew something was horribly, horribly wrong. The first thing he noticed was a loud blaring sound coming from inside his home, and when he walked inside, he realized the cause was the radio that they kept in the house's living room. He walked into the room, shut off the radio, then immediately called out to Gloria, but there was no answer. This immediately struck him as unusual. Gloria should have been home from school hours ago, and Patrick operated a strict policy whereby she had to tell him if she was leaving the house. He then realized that she may have walked down to one of the local stores to pick up some groceries

for herself. Patrick couldn't always be there to cook due to his long working hours and he often left Gloria a few dollars so that she could feed herself. If that was the case, she would have left a note on the kitchen table for him. Yet when he walked into the kitchen, he was greeted by a sight that scarred him for the rest of his days. Gloria was lying on the kitchen floor, a huge pool of her blood collecting on the linoleum beneath her. She was fully clothed, with curlers in her hair, and she was dead. With the manner of her death being nothing short of a living nightmare. Gloria Sullivan had been stabbed exactly twenty times, with fourteen deep wounds to her back,

five to her chest, with the worst being a stab wound to the base of her throat. There was also a series of defensive wounds on Gloria's arms and hands, meaning that she had tried to fend off her attacker during what had been a brutal and sustained attack involving two separate murder weapons. One was a smaller paring knife that was found broken off the handle, with the blade being discovered wedged in a crack in the kitchen's hardwood floor. The other, a long-bladed butcher's knife, was found lying nearby, drenched in glorious blood. Upon inspection, Patrick confirmed that both knives had been taken from the home's kitchen. They were knives he paid for out of his own hard-earned salary, and they had been used to end his own foster daughter's life. There were no signs of robbery, and other than the horrific scene in

the kitchen, the remainder of the home was in near immaculate order. There were no signs of forced entry and no signs of pursuit through the home. It seemed as if the Gloria had been subjected to a very effective and very terrifying ambush by someone who had been watching her for quite some time. When it came to evidence the police could use in their investigation, there turned out to be quite a lot for them to go on. Aside from the obvious murder weapons, law enforcement located a bloody palm print next to the bathroom wash basin, and they also noticed something curious about Gloria's hairbrush. Although the girl herself was a brunette,

the cops found a series of long blonde hairs tangled up in the bristles. They also found a series of bloodstained towels in the bathroom, obviously from where the killer had cleaned themselves off before escaping the house. After that, it was just a case of identifying possible suspects, yet unfortunately, that proved far easier said than done. Investigators also learned that around the time of her fourth birthday, Gloria and her sister had been placed in the care of the state. Their biological father, Clarence Sullivan, had suddenly abandoned his young family one day, which had left the girl's mother, Viola, to care for the children on her own. Tragically, Viola found herself financially and emotionally incapable of caring for the children, and they were eventually placed in the state's care. Then, just a few weeks after they were taken, Viola passed away in what can only be described as mysterious circumstances. Patrick Brady and his wife took

Gloria into their care in 1935, but were unable to legally adopt her because they were unable to locate her sister Clarence, which, at the time, was a precondition for adopting children of that age. Yet that hadn't stopped the Bradys from caring for Gloria as if she was their biological daughter. And, as we previously touched on, the family managed to carve out something of a peaceful existence for themselves despite all the tragedies of the past. Yet as the years went by, tragedy would once again visit the family as, in 1941, Patrick's wife would pass away after a painful and protracted battle with cancer. Following her death, Gloria was forced to step up and take on the role of homemaker, which arguably took away what little of her childhood she had left. Despite that, she was

said to have excelled at school, and became a pillar of the community by helping out with the child-rearing duties of neighboring families. In light of that, news of her brutal murder rocked the local community, and the furious outcry prompted law enforcement to conduct a rapid and thorough investigation. The town of Lansing spared no expense, essentially giving the police department a blank check to fund their investigation. They wanted justice, but whether or not they would see any remained to be seen. Homicide detectives began by building up a detailed picture of the hours which preceded Gloria's murder. After Patrick had departed for work at around 8am, Gloria had called a school friend to ask if she wanted to go shopping for

new Easter outfits in nearby Hammond, Indiana. This school friend traveled over to the Brady's place just in time to see a local delivery man dropping off some laundry, and naturally, this man quickly became a suspect in Gloria's murder. However, when 37-year-old Howard Dozier was questioned in relation to her murder, police were soon forced to clear him of all suspicion. Howard had stuck to a strict delivery route that day and had a number of alibis that made it impossible for him to have been in the area at the time of the slaying. A magazine salesman was also questioned by police after the Brady's neighbors informed them that they had spotted him in the area at the time Gloria was murdered. Yet he too was released after establishing a solid alibi. A bunch of Gloria's school friends were also questioned in connection with her death,

but only one could provide any helpful clues as to the identity of her killer. Gloria's friend claimed she had checked over at the house at around 10.20, but when she attempted to enter the home, she found the screen door was locked. She knocked almost continually for around 5-10 minutes, but no one came to the door. When asked, the friend said that she hadn't heard the sound of the radio blaring, but the little detail about the locked screen door was nothing short of chilling to the investigators. When Patrick had returned home, it had been unlocked, meaning there was a high probability that at the same time Gloria's friend had stopped over, Gloria was in the process of

being murdered, just feet away from her. As the list of potential suspects grew shorter and shorter, police made a general appeal to the public for any and all assistance they might be able to offer. That's when one credible witness came forward, claiming to have seen 50-year-old Clarence Sullivan, Gloria's estranged biological father, riding on a local bus right around the time of the murder. The thought of a biological father murdering his own daughter was almost too horrifying to bear, but he still needed to be eliminated as a potential suspect. Yet this proved difficult, as law enforcement efforts to track him down were fruitless. Even Gloria's sister, who by then was a 20-year-old telephone operator in Chicago, had no idea where her father was, and claimed they hadn't spoken since he'd walked out on the family back in the 30s. Clarence, who investigators once named as their prime suspect,

was never, ever tracked down. And, eventually, he was declared legally dead in absentia. Police then recovered Gloria's diary from her bedroom and, during an analysis of the entries, found that someone had apparently tried to flirt with Gloria in the previous few days and that the incident had made the young girl feel deeply uncomfortable. Yet frustratingly, Gloria had neglected to include a name for the man, nor had she added any kind of written

description. This left law enforcement in the painful position of knowing exactly who their murderer might have been while being completely unable to identify them. Sadly, even though a heavily funded police department had once promised swift justice for Gloria's murder, the case eventually went cold. Patrick Brady, having lost the one remaining member of his family, fell into a deep depression, and over the years that followed, he regularly visited the local police department to check if there was any progress in the investigation. Four years after Gloria's murder, when Patrick dropped dead from a catastrophic heart attack, those who knew him blamed the stress

of his foster daughter's murder for his death. Patrick died the same day Gloria did, they said. It was just a matter of time before it caught up with him. Gloria was laid to rest on April 7th at St. Mary's Catholic Cemetery in Lansing. A crowd of almost a hundred of her fellow students, neighbors, and family members all attended the funeral, and apart from the obvious inscriptions, Patrick wished just one word to be chiseled into the stone. Daughter. Patrick could never have known that just four years later, he would be laid to rest in the plot next to it, but it seems only fitting that he should spend the rest of eternity next to the young woman that he had once cared for so deeply. Eighty years later, Gloria's murder is no closer to being solved than it was a month after her life was snuffed out by the cruel and callous actions of a pure predator.

And it's more than likely that her killing will remain a terrifying and confounding mystery until the end of time itself. I think I got a story you might be interested in, and it's from when I was in the Philippines a few years back around Easter. So being a really Christian country, Filipinos take Easter very, very seriously. There are tons of celebrations everywhere, feasts and special markets and stuff. It's a pretty amazing experience to be there during that time of year. I ended up eating some incredible food and seeing some incredible things too. But then one of the things I saw was literally one of the single most terrifying things I've ever seen. Legitimately like something out of a horror movie.

No disrespect intended to the Philippines as I love that country and I can't wait to go back sometime but some get really crazy during Easter. I was just walking around enjoying all the amazing food on offer, especially the pork skewers, dompa shrimp, and this kind of cake thing called mango float. Picture it like I'm walking down the main drag and down each of the little streets to my left, there's little parties going on. Shirtless guys drinking in the streets, generally a good time being had by all. Then the next thing I know, I look down one of the streets and I literally see Jesus. Or rather, not the actual Jesus, son of God from 2000 years ago. I see a Filipino guy dressed as Jesus. Not just that though. He has a red robe on, the crown of thorns, and is carrying this huge looking cross, like the whole Passion of the Christ getup.

He wasn't the only one dressed up though. A bunch of guys are dressed up as Roman soldiers and they're playing the part too. Shouting at the crowd if they get too close, whipping them with these sort of cat-o'-nine-tail style flails. It was pretty amazing to watch, but some Pinoy, that means Filipino dude, must have noticed the look on my face, kind of how amazed I was, and comes over like, First time? I told him, yeah, that we don't really have anything like that where I'm from, and he just smiles and tells me to walk a few streets over if I want to see something really mind-blowing. I couldn't really have imagined anything crazier than that at the time,

but boy was I wrong to think it couldn't get any crazier. But as I walked down in the direction he pointed, and looked left down the street, the first thing I notice is tons and tons of what appeared to be blood. There had to be like 15 to 20 guys, all walking around in a loop and they're like whipping themselves with whips with dried palm fronds on the end. They're like the leaves on a palm tree, and when they're dried out like that I imagine they really hurt. But the fronds weren't what was causing all the blood to pour out of their backs, that much was clear because every so often one or two of the guys would drop out of line and head over to this guy who looked like he was holding something small in his hand.

They turned their backs to him and he just started jabbing them with what I later found out was a freaking razor blade. Then once there were maybe two dozen heavily bleeding wounds on their back, they'd rush back into line and carry on whipping themselves. I think I suddenly understood what the palm frond whips were for too, once I saw how they flicked blood all over the place. They weren't to hurt so much as like spread the blood all over the street. It was hitting the spectators too. I saw this one kid, had to be like younger than 10, and his beige colored t-shirt was covered in these little red flecks of the guy's blood. I asked one of the bystanders what in God's name was going on and they told me in broken English

that it was like they were punishing themselves for their sins or something. I grew up in an Irish neighborhood, lots of Catholics as you can imagine, and all they did to pay for their sins was go to confession and say a bunch of Hail Marys. You didn't catch anyone asking the neighbors to cut them before whipping themselves, that's for sure. That whole scene was a little too much for me. Like I wouldn't say I was particularly squeamish or anything, but having a stomach full of food meant that I was dangerously close to puking it all up again, seeing all that blood splattering around the street. I walked off, intent on finding the guy cosplaying as Jesus

again as that was considerably more interesting without being in the least bit nauseating. People were pretty welcoming too, saying stuff like hey Joe to me all the time, which is like a thing Pinnoys say to Americans or white people in general, just like a funny way to say hello. I made a few videos on my phone and people seemed genuinely happy that a foreigner was so invested in their little procession. It's about then that I asked someone where Jesus and his Roman boys were headed, and someone just replied, Jesus is going to be crucified. I mean, of course he was. That's how all the passion plays in, so that wasn't exactly a massive surprise to me. I just never figured that the person meant that the cosplay Jesus was about to get literally crucified. If I'd have known that, I'd have never followed, but in my ignorance, I just kept on going. I remember how we left the open streets until we came across this hill, and as we started walking up it, I remember thinking about how legit the whole thing was.

They really were reenacting the whole crucifixion thing, taking Jesus out of the town to crucify him on a hill. They even had two other guys waiting up there next to their own crosses, but since they weren't actually mounted to them or whatever, I still thought the whole thing was just play acting. But then, as we got to the top of the hill, and Jesus got laid down on his cross with his arms extended, I watched as one of the Roman soldier guys produced some big nails from a leather pouch that he was carrying. What happened next was like in slow motion, as the whole time I'm thinking no, no, don't do it, don't do it. But he did. The guy lined up the nail with Jesus' palm, then after producing a hammer from somewhere, he started carefully nailing Jesus' hand to the

cross. As soon as the first hammer blow came down and blood burst up from cosplay Jesus' hand, I was forced to not just look away, but walk away from the whole thing too. People were just in raptures though, some squirming and grimacing, but others smiling like it was the best thing they'd ever seen. I was just numb for the rest of the afternoon, like I'd never seen anything like that in my whole life up until that point. It was nuts. I mean, I understand why they do it, how that kind of devotion is revered. I mean, it was definitely kind of impressive that the guy would put himself through that kind of punishment just for a cause or whatever.

I never do it myself. I don't think I'd ever be able to carry the cross up the hill, let alone actually lie still while someone put a freaking nail through my hand. But anyone who's got that kind of determination in them, a lot of respect for them man, gotta be honest. I ended up asking another Filipino guy back at my hotel what the deal was with the whole crucifixion thing and he broke it down for me. The guy getting crucified does it about every year and I don't know how true that is, but apparently he's basically just got scar tissue all through the palm of his hand by that point, and as long as the Roman dudes work the nail through the scar tissue, it barely hurts him anymore. Like I said, I don't know how true that is. Like, surely it's still gotta be agony no

matter how many times it's happened, but then, if that's the case, that guy is crazy dedicated to his religion. And like I said, even if it is in a real weird way, you kinda gotta respect something as wild as that. I want to share a story from my childhood with you, one that ended in years of therapy for me. It's not scary in the traditional sense, I don't think, because I don't suppose I was in any real danger, but I'll tell it to you anyway, and you can be the judge of it if you read it out in one of your videos. It was Easter of 1995, and I had just turned six years old a month before, so I was still really young and naive to all the darker things in the world. And on Easter Sunday, I remember my mom taking me to an Easter egg hunt that was being held at a local church. I was so excited to get to play with the other kids outside of school. Like it seemed like such a novelty to see everyone in their own clothes and their Sunday best at that.

That and knowing that we'd all be literally hunting for chocolate treats was something I was so bloody excited for that day that I remember vividly, and the other thing was way, way worse than the prospect of cavities from overeating chocolate. I remember finding a couple of eggs to start with, and I ran over to my mom, who was standing with the other parents so she could keep them safe for me. But then as the morning went on, and more and more of the kids started finding their own eggs, it got harder and harder to find any. I remember wanting to give up, as did most of the other kids, as it was just too difficult to find any more eggs, so we basically assumed that they were all gone. But then the priest announced that he'd counted up all the eggs that had been found and that there were definitely still one or two left out there on the grounds of the church. Myself and the other kids went into a frenzy at hearing that, knowing that we'd somehow managed to miss a couple of the eggs. I remember running off further than the other

kids and completely ignoring my mom when she told me not to run off too far. A few moments later, I found myself wandering through some trees, my eyes scanning the undergrowth, looking for the telltale shimmer of the shiny wrapping paper that each egg was contained in. Moments later, I saw someone standing just behind a girl from the long hair that she had that was tied back in like this light purple bobble. Are you looking for eggs too? I remember asking, but the girl didn't move. I then took a few more steps towards her. Around the bush she was half concealed behind and I suddenly noticed that her feet were dangling a few inches off the ground. I also suddenly noticed that her tie, what looked like a school tie anyway, wasn't hanging down.

It was like up in the air and was tied around a tree branch maybe a few feet above her head. Being so young and naive I didn't put two and two together, I just thought it was some kind of game or something I had no idea what I was actually looking at It sounds quite silly thinking back on it, but I actually thought she was asleep or something But then, I walked around to her front and saw her face It was almost the same color as her bobble, this purpley color all over her cheeks and forehead. Only unlike the nice pretty shade that her bobble was, this kind of purple looked all wrong to be on someone's face like that. That's when I remember running back to my mom in tears and whenever one asked me what was wrong,

all I could do was wail and point back towards where I had just run from. I remember some of the other adults running off into the trees, maybe thinking some perv was back there or something, but moments later, they came running back out again, shouting all different things and presumably calling 999. I didn't see anything else after that. All the kids got whisked away to prevent them from seeing anything else that might distress them. I do remember that about a week later, a lot of the other adults went to a funeral. Not that I knew it at the time, I just went to stay with my grandparents over in Peterborough for a night. It was only many years later that I actually found out what was going on.

The girl had been living in our village with her parents, but had been going through a period of depression for quite some time. I don't know exactly what it was but there was an incident at her school that meant she didn't want to go anymore. But her parents weren't in a position to just pack up and move somewhere else so they basically just let her take some time off and made her go back to the same school she was having issues in. She was supposed to go in on the Friday before I found her, just for a half day to get her used to things before the Easter holidays commenced. I think it was just supposed to be a nice and casual thing for her, something to reintroduce her to school without it being too intense or heavy or whatever. But apparently, she'd literally rather die than go back to that school. And instead, she went to the church, as close to

the graveyard as she could get without literally being there, and did what you can possibly imagine to herself from a tree by her own school tie. It's all an incredibly sad and tragic story and like I said, I ended up going through therapy for a few years because it really damaged my psyche as a kid. Because I didn't understand what I'd seen, I kept asking my mom and dad about it and obviously that meant that they had to basically explain what death was to me. All of my grandparents were still alive at that stage, and none of my pets had gone to heaven yet, as my parents put it, so the whole concept was entirely new to me. Needless to say, the whole thing messed me up massively,

and all my parents could think to explain to me was that the girl had had an accident, as they couldn't bring themselves to explain what it was of taking your own life to a six-year-old girl. Can't even blame them really though, can you? The whole thing was bad enough without having to explain something like that. Anyway, it took me a while, but I did manage to get over it after a few years. I suppose kids can be quite resilient like that, and I know for a fact that all the therapy sessions have helped tremendously. I still remember how nice the woman was, how calm her voice made me, and how she didn't really treat me like a baby, even though she was still super kind and gentle in her mannerisms. But yeah, that's my story,

and although I definitely still think about that poor girl from time to time I'm not nearly as traumatized as I used to be over it. I just wish I knew what the thing was that made her so afraid to go to school. Like I know it could have been a bullying thing but sometimes I wonder if it wasn't something much darker and eviler like maybe one of her teachers was like doing something. Something that she couldn't bring herself to tell her parents. I really really hope that that wasn't the case. But even so, it doesn't matter does it? Because she still chose the most horrible solution imaginable to whatever problems she had. And with that, the truth of whatever horrible thing had happened to her

died along with her. To be continued... the site of one of the most frightening and unsettling murders in American history. Of all the true crime stories this channel has covered, many are infamous for their brutal and terrifying nature, but few have disturbed me as thoroughly and absolutely as the abduction and murder of April Tinsley. On Friday, April 1st of 1988, eight-year-old April Tinsley arrived home from school and asked her mother if she could go over to play at a friend's house. Her mother agreed and gave April a bag of Easter candy to share once she'd arrived. We know that April arrived at this friend's house safely, but once she was there, the heavens opened up and a torrential downpour began to soak the Fort Wayne streets.

Once the rain cleared up a little, the two friends suddenly wished to play outside, but knowing she'd been soaked through in no time if she did, April decided to walk over to a second friend's house to retrieve an umbrella she'd left there in the days prior. When April walked out of the door, she told her friend that she'd return soon, possibly even with a second friend so she could join in the fun with them. But April was never seen again. Once her loved ones realized that she was missing, they scoured the streets of their south-central Fort Wayne neighborhood, but April was nowhere to be found. They quickly alerted the local authorities,

and this prompted both police and volunteers to conduct a massive immediate search. To their horror, one witness reported seeing a Caucasian male in his mid-thirties dragging a terrified April into a blue pickup truck, but this report proved fruitless as no such vehicle was located in the immediate aftermath. Both the police and April's parents took part in several widely publicized appeals for information, but no one else came forward with any pertinent particulars. Then, just three days later, April's parents received the worst news imaginable. The news that every parent prays they never hear. They were told their daughter had been murdered.

April's cold, lifeless body was discovered at the bottom of a ditch along the rural DeKalb County Road. April's cold, lifeless body was discovered at the bottom of a ditch along the rural DeKalb County Road. She had been dead for around 48 to 60 hours, meaning she'd been murdered just hours after being kidnapped. Although she was discovered wearing all of the clothes she had disappeared in, the subsequent autopsy revealed that she had been violated before being suffocated, possibly with some kind of rag or piece of cloth. Yet even more disturbing was the fact that an adult marital aid was discovered not far from her body, one that was said to have April's DNA on it. The police managed to recover

some of the supposed murderer's DNA from April's body, and coupled with the possible suspect description that they had already received, it seemed that it was just a matter of time before the killer was located and arrested. Yet somehow, even with all the evidence and manpower law enforcement had at their disposal, the case went cold and no arrests were ever made. Just over two years later, in May of 1990, a teenage boy made a call to local police saying that he made a bone-chilling discovery near the intersection of St. Joe Center and Schwartz Roads. A message had been scrawled on a barn in either pencil or a dark-colored crayon, and when the police arrived, they saw that it read, I kill April Tinsley. I will kill again. The discovery reignited the investigation into April's murder, albeit only for a brief time,

and after another fruitless search for clues and leads, the search for her killer once again went cold. Then, in 2004, more than 14 years after the murder had occurred, a series of terrifying handwritten notes were discovered having been stuffed into mailboxes or stuck to the bicycles of innocent children. The notes contained grammatical errors and misspellings that were identical to what was found scrawled on the barn 12 years earlier, and investigators were united in their belief that the notes, as well as the graffiti on the barn, had indeed been the work of April's murderer. Of the four messages located both in Fort Wayne, as well as in the surrounding area, three were left attached to bicycles that belonged to young girls, and only had been stuffed into a mailbox.

All were written on lined yellow notepaper and had been placed into transparent plastic bags. Some of these plastic bags included a Polaroid picture depicting the nude lower half of a man the police believed to be April's killer, and some even included a used contraceptive. DNA samples were taken from those which were then compared to those taken from April's body 14 years earlier and they were an uncontested match. One of the handwritten notes which had been placed in the basket of a young girl's bicycle read as follows, Hi honey, been watching you. I am the same person that kidnapped and and killed April Tinsley. You are my next victim. If you don't report this to police and I don't see this in the paper, I will blow up your house. As you can imagine,

this caused a huge stir in the local media, and April's grief-stricken parents were forced to relive the pain and torment they had felt on the day her body was found. Disgusted and horrified, local law enforcement promised to do everything they could to find the man who was now taking pleasure in taunting the residents of Fort Wayne. But just like so many years before, they had absolutely no luck in bringing April's killer to justice. Thankfully, this incredibly sick and disturbed individual had remained silent ever since and had never again attempted to remind the local populace of the horrifying acts he'd taken such pleasure in committing.

In 2016, the police announced that, thanks to the advancements in DNA profiling technology, they'd been able to construct a rough image of what their suspect looked like. He's said to be a white male with dark hair and brown or hazel eyes, and based on the witness descriptions from 1988, it's thought that he could be well into his 50s. That's what's particularly horrifying about this case. It's bad enough that April was killed in such a horrific manner, and that her killer took the time to anonymously but publicly gloat of what he'd done. It's the fact that whenever you see a middle-aged man in Fort Wayne who just so happens to have dark hair

and dark eyes, you might just be looking at one of the sickest, most depraved murderers who's ever stepped foot on American streets. I live alone in an apartment in Utah. My area is fairly metropolitan and it's not uncommon to see unhoused people near my building. Since I'm a single woman, about 20 years old, I'm usually more cautious about locking doors and setting alarms than my friends with roommates. I have a simply safe alarm system and also two deadbolt locks on my door. Because my area has lots of break-ins, I'm also sure to always lock everything no matter what. Two nights ago, I came home late from a night out with friends, but I was sober.

I made sure to lock everything and set alarms like usual. When I woke up the next morning, I heard somebody in the house. They were wearing shoes and just walking around. One of my friends has the code to my alarm, but none of my friends have a key. I am the only person I know of with the key to the second deadbolt on my door, not even my landlord. I lean my head out the door of my bedroom, which is just a few feet from the more open living room kitchen area where the sound was coming from. There was a man in my kitchen. He was about six feet tall and maybe 40 years old.

He was wearing a full suit and tie but seemed really tired or drunk. He was standing by my fridge eating leftovers out of Tupperware and just kind of staring. I ducked back into my room and called 911. For the next 10 minutes I stood by my bedroom door and listened to this man eat a bunch of food from my fridge. When he was done with something, he would just drop the container to the floor. When the police showed up, both deadbolts were still locked. They knocked on the door and the man in my apartment answered. The police rushed him and yelled if I was okay. When I came out of the bedroom, they had the man pinned to the floor and I saw that he had rearranged the furniture in my living room. There were containers all over my floor.

The man wasn't saying anything and he never said anything even when the police were asking him questions. After they took him away, the officer told me that the man had business cards in his wallet and he works at a bank downtown. The weirdest thing is that my alarm was set and my deadbolts were locked from the inside even when he was in my apartment. None of the windows were unlocked and I'm on the fourth floor or open either. I have no idea how he got in. Update I apologize for the delay in reporting back. I have been in a back and forth correspondence with the lead investigator and we were finally

able to talk Thursday about exactly what happened concerning the man who broke in, who I'll call Jake for the sake of clarity. On Tuesday of this week, the lead investigator of my case, Nelson, emailed me with this message, among other things. Don't let anybody wearing a hard hat into your apartment. I called him and asked if I could meet with him. He said that he was busy with several cases and could only be able to meet on Thursday of this past week. We emailed back and forth late into Tuesday night and into Wednesday. I would email him back immediately, but it would sometimes take a few hours for him to respond.

In one of his follow-up emails, he told me the man who had gotten into my house never worked at the bank in town, and they had tracked the business cards to another person entirely. Additionally, the man who broke into my house is unable to speak. On Wednesday night, all the tenants in my building received a message that light construction work would be ongoing for the next few days to repair wiring and plumbing. I told my landlord in a message back that an investigator into my case has requested for me to deny access to any person wearing a hard hat into my apartment. My landlord told me that there would be no reason for the construction crew to enter my apartment, as all the work that they were doing was in community access breaker boxes and the basement beneath the building. A few hours later, I got a knock on my front door.

It was around 10.15pm. When I looked through the peephole there was a man in a denim jumpsuit standing outside my door. He wasn't wearing a hard hat but he had a tool belt and appeared to be some kind of construction worker. I asked him what he needed and he said he needed to check the pipes in my bathroom. I asked him why he needed to be doing that at 10.15pm and he said they were trying to get to all the rooms while the water was already turned off. I asked him if he could contact my landlord on speakerphone so I knew he was legitimate and instead of complying, he grew angry and told me he was just doing his job. I told him he wasn't allowed to come

into my apartment and I wouldn't be opening it for him. I then stepped back into my bedroom and phoned Nelson, my investigator. He didn't respond but I left him a message. I then called 911 and informed them of my situation, asking if they could come by and check on the workers. The dispatcher told me she would send somebody to my building. I then called my landlord and told her somebody was trying to get into my apartment in a construction outfit and she told me they left several hours before. I went back to the door and looked through the peephole and of course he was gone. When the police showed up about 20 minutes later, they couldn't find the man anywhere in the building.

However, in the video of our entrance near the mailboxes, the man was seen entering the building at around 10pm. Early the next morning, Thursday, Nelson called me and asked if I could meet him at the police station. When I got there, Nelson walked me back to his office. He had an iPad on his desk and a plastic three ring binder like I used to use in school. I kind of hoped for a classic manila folder but oh well. He opened the binder and flipped through some pages before settling and looking at me. Nelson then told me the man who got into my apartment was named Jake and that he's unable to speak but fluent in ASL. He can hear perfectly fine and he typically carries a notebook with him to write in for those who can't sign.

Nelson then told me how Jake, Nelson would not give the real name of the man, got into my apartment and what the deal with the construction worker was. Jake went missing in mid-December. He works for the Nevada Department of Transportation. Until December of last year, Jake was a fairly respected family man. In his teens, he had been addicted to drugs, but he had kicked the habit and started working for the DOT. In the next couple of decades, Jake got married, had a child, and lived fairly comfortably. However, he had relapsed in December for unknown reasons, and soon after, he had disappeared. There were videos of him acting strangely at gas stations where he had used his credit card in the days after his

disappearance, but then he stopped using his card after that. There's a two-week period where they're not sure what happened with Jake. The next time Jake showed up, it was in Utah, where I live, and he was cited for a minor vehicle infraction. The next time they saw Jake, it was in my apartment. After they took him to the station, they had a long conversation with him where they would talk, he would write, and they would talk again. Jake failed to make sense to the investigators. He wrote about being hungry and not being able to sleep and when they asked him how he got into my apartment, he would write about how he didn't need any help. Eventually, Nelson was able to get the story from Jake. During his few weeks in Utah,

Jake had started going to the bars and meeting some blue-collar workers in the area. He got onto a road construction job from his past DOT experience and met another drug addict named Patrick. Not his real name either. He and Patrick both used hard drugs. Patrick had been known to get into apartments by posing as a construction worker and he had sold stolen goods from apartments to pay for his habit. The night Jake got into my apartment he was wearing a suit and his method of breaking in was to look nice enough for somebody to just let him in through the entrance. After that he would enter any unlocked apartment, step out of their window and come in through a neighbor's window.

Apparently one of my windows had a broken latch, and it cannot be properly locked. I also don't have sensors on my windows, so that explains why the alarm never went off. When Jake entered my apartment, he had already been to several other apartments. He was high while he was doing this and he was hungry from several hours of sneaking around so he went into my fridge and started eating. As Nelson understands it, Jake became drunk by just going through my fridge and eating and drinking. He also said the original owner of the business card lives in my building and Jake had stolen the business card from the entrance of the man's apartment.

Nelson said Patrick would likely try to hit the same apartment as Jake at some point, so it didn't surprise him that Patrick showed up at my apartment not long after Jake did. Nelson said that he would be contacting me eventually for the trial and that it might be a good idea to intensify security in my apartment until they catch Patrick. Okay, so this all started when my ex-wife and I had been married for around 18 months. Or rather, I started noticing things way earlier, but it reached its peak in the summer of 2007. About two months after we got married, she started going through some serious personal problems. Random mood swings, intense anxiety and irritability, that sort of thing. But we were working opposite schedules at the time, both working our butts off to save money for a housing deposit, so it's not like it wasn't a

high-pressure time for us. I figured that as our living situation improved, so would her mental health, but as time went on, her anxiety just got worse and worse, until she became so dangerously paranoid that she basically couldn't work anymore. And it was agonizing to watch. It got so bad that she wouldn't even leave the house most days. And the worse she got, the more expensive her care was. Which obviously put a lot of pressure on us financially as we were relying solely on my income alone. We were only in our mid-twenties, but we were living like a couple in their fs, me working 6 days a week while saving almost every penny for her meds. Things got even worse when I was basically forced to choose between taking care of her, going to work, or carrying on at college. That resulted in us moving in with her

mom and me becoming her live-in nurse with nothing but my student loans and her mom's charity to sustain us. It was there that my ex went through a major depressive episode, working up to an attempt to take her own life that was horrifyingly close to being a success. After that, the doctors decided to jack up the dosage of her meds, which amounted to yet another financial strain that we just couldn't afford. Even worse, the increased amount turned her into a total zombie. Then when we asked for an alternative, they gave her a kind of medication that made her really irritable and, I can't believe I'm saying this, violent.

My ex suffered horribly, but she was never a violent person, and seeing her exhibit such rage from a few chemicals was just beyond disturbing to see. We got into a terrible kind of routine where I could only really sleep when she was asleep, which was sometimes hardly ever. One time we got into quite a regular schedule for a few days, going to bed just after 12, then getting up at 8. It was a solid little run and she seemed a lot better during that time, but I think it just meant I let my guard down and that nearly ended in catastrophe. I was always a pretty light sleeper, I think because just of

the general anxiety that I had, so even the slightest peep and I'd be up like a light. But sometimes when I had a heavy load of schoolwork I'd be up for like 20 plus hours and then go comatose for like 10. So this one time I wake up and I can tell straight away that I'm alone in our bed. Only I can also tell that I'm not alone in our bedroom. There's someone stood at the end of our bed, standing perfectly still. It was a relief to see it was just my wife, but then I saw the knife in her hand, and I swear to God I felt a chill go through me. We'd been locking up the sharp stuff for a while, so I had no idea how she got her hands on the knife and as she's holding it, she's just mumbling quietly to herself. I remember straining my ears in an effort to work out what she was saying and Jesus, I can barely describe the feeling when I realized she was arguing with

herself about the pros and cons of murdering me versus leaving me alive. It was all broken, mostly nonsensical stuff, but it was basically along the lines of, he stops me from doing what I want, hurting people, and ending it. But there's no one else I can talk to. I need him. He needs me. You can probably imagine how that made me feel, hearing the person I love most in the world debating whether or not I deserved to live. I just remember rolling over real slow and addressing her really softly by her pet name. Bunny, you don't have to do this. I then filled every single second of the next minute or so with chatter, listing all the reasons why she shouldn't do it. She'd go to prison. Everyone would be heartbroken.

We'd never get to have kids. Everything we worked for would be gone. I'd be gone. When I finally ran out of things to say, there was this brief moment of silence, and I honestly thought the last thing I'd ever see was my wife diving on top of me with that blade shining in the dark. But after a moment she just crawled back into bed, put the knife under her pillow, then laid there until she fell asleep. I just sat there, shaking and trying not to lose it, all until I finally heard that deep

breathing that tells you someone's asleep. Then I really, really carefully took the knife out from under her pillow, went downstairs, then locked it inside the lockbox we kept in one of the cabinets. After that, I let out a whole lot of emotion, as quietly as possible, even drank a little to try to calm my nerves. When I was done, I crawled back into bed, wrapped my arms around her, then fell asleep. The next morning, when we woke up, she had absolutely no recollection of the event. She told me I must have had a nightmare and that she'd slept like a log the whole night through. There was this horrible half-asleep moment when I

thought she might have been right. One quickly expelled when I realized I could still taste the vodka in my mouth. Needless to say, we're not together anymore Not directly because of her condition, but because she just wasn't happy being with someone anymore It was heartbreaking, but I signed the papers Last thing I ever want to do is be a burden to her We keep in touch every so often, and I've never tried to remind her of that night But part of me thinks she still wouldn't remember. That it was just some horrible side effect of her medication. And she'd never have done something like that otherwise.

But still. It had me shaken up for a while. But can you blame me? The last person in the world I'd ever expected to. Almost killed me. in our marriage bed. So I've worked in a couple hotels in the past, mainly at the front desk dealing directly with the guests. I must say I loved working the graveyard shifts. You never know what kind of interesting situations you might encounter. It always seemed fun, especially on holidays. That day we were full. No more check-ins for me, so it was going to be a light night. I always had an accountant and a security guard in the

lobby during my shift, but since it was a calm night, the accountant went to find a place to nap after he was done and I honestly didn't know where the guard was. I thought since there was no more check-ins I should be fine. I was going through the log from the last shift and I found a sticky note with my name and it also said, Beware 305. No details or anything. I was looking at the monitor with the cameras and clicked on the screen that showed the hallway where room 305 was, left it there while I finished my work. At around 3 am, I was still alone and from the corner of my eye I saw movement on the monitor.

It was a guy. He seemed pretty regular, not creepy at all. He got closer to the front desk and requested his room to be cleaned. We didn't offer 24-7 housekeeping so I informed him that. Well then you come clean. I sleep all day and want my cleaning done during the night. I told him very politely that I couldn't do that. And before I could keep explaining he asked for my zodiac sign.

I answered a bit confused. All of a sudden, he changes the subject, now talking about how he was a warrior in one of his past lives, and that in this life, he comes from a long line of warriors. He kept changing subjects every two minutes, and I couldn't keep up. Suddenly, So, should we start heading up to my room? Again, I explained. He started getting this weird look on his face, like frustration. He just turned around and walked up to his room.

20 minutes later, I saw him on the monitor coming down again. This time, he took the stairs and stopped before turning to the lobby. He was standing there watching me through a pillar. I was standing in front of the monitors, so it may have looked like I was just working. He then started looking around, almost like checking if there was any other way to get closer without me knowing. I started to get a bit freaked out. It literally looked like he was stalking me. He went up one flight of stairs then got into the elevator down to the lobby. I imagine he didn't know I had access to the cameras. He came closer to the front desk and requested a tray with water, teas, and milk. I called the kitchen to place the order and let him know that it would be taken up.

He asked again what time I was going to clean and I just told him 7am when housekeeping arrives. I started trying to locate the guard. At this point I was getting concerned for my own safety. This guy was starting to act a bit erratic. Before he turns to leave he gave me an expecting look, opening his eyes wide. I have like 20 types of drugs in my system right now. That's why I'm awake and sleep all day. My body's going a thousand miles per hour right now. I didn't know how to answer, honestly, so I asked if he needed medical assistance.

He laughed and asked if I wanted to join him for tea. I declined. He left for his room once again. After room service delivered his tea, the waiter went by the front desk. Hey, uh, so we need security to be here with you. The guy from 305 just asked me if he could use our stairs to get to the front desk without being seen. But first he offered me money to convince you to go to his room. I was freaked out for sure, but since another person knew of the situation it gave me a sense of safety I guess. The waiter left me to try and look for the security guard. At 5am the guest comes out of his room again, this time he headed for the maintenance stairs.

I didn't have access to the cameras there but I knew he couldn't get close to me without me seeing him so I didn't feel in any danger really. The waiters showed up and told me that one of the security guards caught the guest trying to get to the front desk. The guest kept repeating that it was my idea, that I had been trying to go to his room all night and that I told him to go through those stairs. The guard made a report about the incident and added what the guest said about me so it became a bit of a big deal with upper management because it was made to look like the guest was right. Turned out, while they were investigating the situation, some of the female staff claimed he tried to get them to his room

under any pretext but since the attempts were really obvious and he seemed out of it, they would just go in a group or send a male co-worker. We've had creeps in the past but this guy took the prize. The guard that was supposed to be with me fell asleep in the bathroom and was suspended after that. The accountant was reprimanded for leaving me alone also and they were horrible to work with after that because they claimed it was my fault. Management tended to always be on the guest's side for any type of situation, so no one thought of reporting this guest. They would have fired me for what he said had it not been for the waiter speaking up. In July of 2014, I got a job at a meat shop in a grocery store. I had no experience at all, but they hired me because they were desperate for help,

and I took it because I was desperate for a job. I didn't care what kind of job I had to work or how hard it was because my wife was pregnant and the baby was due in October. I probably would have never even thought to apply for the meat department but my sister-in-law worked in the office and told me to apply. The next day I got a call to come in for an interview and a drug test. I did and was hired that day. The person from corporate, we'll call him Carl, started showing me the meat shop and telling me my job duties, etc. While doing so, the meat cutter I've known since high

school who was friends with my older brother, we'll call him Steven, was showing the new manager Mike, we'll use Mike's real name because I'm leaving a link to the news article which tells his name and I'm not protecting this creep, how to clean the saw, etc. I started the next day and everything went okay. It was all of us in the shop including Carl. He was only there to help us out until I got the hang of my job and Mike got the hang of his. Mike said he had experience which he did work in meat shops before, but he was really awful at his job. His cuts of meat were unidentifiable and he did anything he could to get out early. He didn't get real bad until Carl left after about two weeks to take care of other shops.

He still popped in every now and then though and always checked out the shop on his way home. Anyways, Mike creeped me out just on his looks alone. Also, it didn't help on my first day when it was just me and him near the end of the shift and to teach me how to put the tenderizer back together after cleaning it he said, it's just like putting your wang in something soft, you know? Like I said, I thought he was creepy but I was afraid to say anything because I thought everyone liked him and I didn't want to lose my job. A few times I thought I was going to because he messed up something and would blame me. About two weeks in, Stephen was telling me how much he

disliked him when we were on our way up front to clock out and I was relieved and said, oh thank god, I thought I was the only one who thought he was creepy. Stephen then talked about how much Mike sucked at his job, etc. and assured me that him and Carl talk every day and they know I'm not messing up, that it's Mike's doing. A few more weeks pass by and on days when it's just me and Steven he fills me in on the stuff Mike did while I was off. The one that freaked Steven out was he said he swore he saw Mike staring at a 12-13 year old girl's bottom as she was walking up the aisle. Anytime he would try to tell someone they would say he was bullying Mike or misunderstood

something, that kind of stuff. A few weeks later, Steven, who lives on a farm, fell off of a barn and split his butt open, and he didn't go to a doctor or anything, he just bandaged it up himself and moved on. He was telling this at work only because he had to go on break and change his bandages. When he came back in the room, Mike asked where he'd put the discarded bandages and Stephen said, the bathroom trash, with an eyebrow raised wondering why it was so important. Mike yelled out, I want to see, and went through the trash with his bare hands to find the bandages. A few days later, Stephen and Mike had to go to a meeting at the store the

next town over. They took separate vehicles, of course, but Stephen said Mike was following him everywhere. Stephen kept taking back roads to try to lose Mike so he could change his bandages, but Mike kept following. Once he lost him, he started changing his bandages and just then, Mike pulled up beside him with a huge grin and rolled his window down and asked, What are you doing? Steven was livid and told Mike, I'm trying to change my freaking bandages. And I guess started cussing Mike out and Mike took off. Fast forward about a year later, Mike has been in trouble over and over and Carl met Mike at the doors before opening and sent him to another store two counties away.

A place Mike didn't want to go. Me and Steven thinks it's because people knew him there and knew how he was. Mike told tall tales, was a pervert and was just downright disgusting. Steven became the manager and everything was normal for once and clean. Carl stopped by the shop one day and informed us that Mike was missing. He went on vacation and never came back. A few days later, Stephen texted me on my day off saying, look up Mike's name on Google because Carl told him to do the same.

And I did. And what it turns out is that Mike was caught traveling across state lines to meet up with a 14-year-old. We don't know if he's still in jail or what, but I hope so. This happened several months ago. At the time, I had recently lost my car due to a motor vehicle accident, so I walked for 30 minutes to the store, thinking I'd be able to beat the sunset back, but I was wrong. By the time I was done picking up my groceries, it was pitch black outside. The thing is, I live in a woodsy area where there are not even many sidewalks, so I didn't think it was safe to walk back.

I tried getting my brother and cousin to pick me up and drop me off, but they wouldn't have been able to make it for a while, so instead I decided to get a lift. A photo of a suspicious looking creepy old man popped up as my driver. I waited at the sidewalk for my ride and maybe like 10 minutes later the driver arrived. It was a silver Toyota sedan and the driver was an old man wearing a cap and large framed rectangular glasses. Instantly something felt off about the man's aura and I try not to let it bother me too much. After all, my home is literally down the street, I reminded myself. I asked him if I could set my groceries in the trunk of his car and he nodded. I dropped it without noticing what was in the trunk of his vehicle because where we were stopped it was pretty dark with no street lamps. I helped myself into the car and told him that I live back there, pointing in the direction from which the vehicle had arrived and let him know that he was only a three minute drive from my home.

I saw him nod or so I thought and as soon as the light switched to green he made a right. I thought that he was making the right to turn the vehicle around but instead he drove past the main road he was supposed to take to get to my home. I let him know immediately that my home was that way while pointing in the direction and he acknowledged it but still kept going straight claiming there was an issue with his GPS and he started driving us in the complete opposite direction of my home where the roads were completely empty. I suddenly didn't feel safe. I had a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach and in that moment of panic I immediately reached for my phone to SOS, assuming the worst, but then I stopped myself and told myself to calm down. Make a U-turn. I tried to tell the driver as calmly as possible. I didn't want him to hear

the panic in my voice. He didn't respond. My request to turn around was completely ignored. I couldn't keep calm any longer, so I finally yelled for him to make a right turn and to turn around. He reluctantly complied. Along the way back to the road that took me to my home, it felt like the longest three minutes of my life. But, just when I thought I'd finally be home safe, the driver then suggested an alternate route even though my home was a simple right and a right via the main road and very, very close by. I immediately felt that something was really, really wrong. He slowed down next to a woodsy isolated path along the way, asking if I'd ever been that way before and that we could take this route instead. I froze. Again, I went into panic mode but forced myself to calm

down so as not to let it be known that I was suspicious of him. I raised my voice once more, telling him my home was that way while pointing toward the main road which wasn't very far. He finally obliged after some reluctancy and started driving back toward the main road again. The entire time on the way to my home, my heart was racing and my palms were sweating. We arrived at my complex maybe five minutes later and I spoke to him very nicely so that he doesn't try something funny that would force him to react in such a manner that would put my life in further danger. I told him I'd be tipping him well for such a short drive, which would be $10. I quickly hopped out of the car and jolted to the trunk to retrieve my groceries. As I grabbed my bags, I saw something I hadn't noticed before, because this time the street

lamps surrounding my complex illuminated the trunk of his car. I froze as I grabbed my groceries, as in the trunk of his vehicle was a rope and a mallet and a bag filled with some contents. I began trembling from fear. I ran up to my building so fast and checked outside my window as soon as I got up to my apartment to make sure he wasn't still lurking and watching, but thankfully I never had to hear or see from this old man again. My guess was that he had some evil twisted intentions from which I miraculously escaped because for whatever reason he decided to change his mind about those intentions he had for me that night. To this day I can only guess as to what his intentions were, but judging by the items I

found in the trunk of his vehicle, it's not something I would have ever had wished to find out. I was so glad I trusted my instincts that day. To be continued... Murderer, Salem. For the past year I've been working as a front desk agent and lead night auditor for a pretty nice two-star hotel. The owner, my former boss, has put a lot of time and energy into making the hotel seem better than it actually is. Because of the niceness of the hotel and generally low rates, we would get a lot of construction crews staying there. Their bosses were paying for 6 or 7 rooms at a time at a cheap flat rate thanks to my boss helping them out. On one of these instances we had some electricians staying. They were working for a rather famous

southern grocery store that I won't name for the sake of anonymity. I was the one who would originally check them all in with their boss and help seal the deal to have our hotel be the one they continued to stay at through the length of their job. One of these men took a rather large liking to my co-worker. She got a lot of attention from our guests because she was extremely nice and rather flirtatious without meaning to be. The worker was nice, he was the more level-headed one of his co-workers. While I had to get on as colleagues for yelling and carrying on outside at all hours of the night, he would often be the one helping me keep them quiet. He and my co-worker, Jay, began dating, for lack of a better word.

She couldn't really date as she was in a program that helped people reform into normal life after drug use. She was picked up and dropped off by the facility so there really wasn't much they could do in terms of dating but she definitely grew infatuated with the man. She would talk about him at any chance the moment I clocked in. I mean I was happy for her, glad she had found someone in light of all the stuff she'd been through. He would bring her and the housekeeper's food during their shifts, tip them well, and was the nicest man that we had dealt with all summer. One day my other co-worker received a note from the worker. He had come in to see Jay but two hours earlier than her shift began. He took one of the general manager's business cards,

leaving a note on it for Jay, saying that he needed to leave early. He said he was returning to his home in Pennsylvania and that he was sorry he had missed her. He left an email for her to get in contact with him. He and his crew had been checked out of the hotel for a week now, choosing to stay in an Airbnb. That same night, or the night after, I can't quite remember, I clocked into work and went to talk to Jay about the events that happened in her shift and asked her to tell me anything in particular that happened that I needed to know about. Good evening, my dear. I called the front desk as I hurried to clock in.

I saw her wave as she checked in a guest, but I could tell from the look on her face that something weird had happened during her shift. I walked into the back office that connected to the front desk and sat down, waiting for her to finish checking the guest in and setting up my iPad to start playing a podcast. As I was pulling up Spotify, Jay walked in and sat on the stool in front of me. You aren't going to believe what happened. What he did. Oh? I thought at first that he had done something sweet like bring her flowers or buy her a ticket out of here like they had been talking about.

He killed three of his co-workers at that place they were staying at. I remember my stomach just dropping. I felt like I wanted to pass out and I couldn't even imagine how she was feeling. She had worked all day with the knowledge that the man she had started dating killed three of his co-workers. Men that, while rambunctious after work, were still good men and did not deserve to die. Turns out, he had a previous record for assault and was out on bail. His cousin, one of the men he killed, had hired him onto his crew knowing about the prior offense and brought him down to work on a job in a different state.

And it all went downhill from there. Jay would email him constantly in jail. She had become pretty much obsessed with the man. It got to the point where every time I would clock in I would see her reading the same five news articles covering the horrible crime he'd committed. The news articles revealed that the whole reason he was returning home to begin with was because he and his boss had gotten into a scrap. It ended with the worker punching his boss in the face, being fired shortly after and sent back home.

He had driven all the way to the hotel to leave the note and then to the airport to go back home. When he got to the airport, he left shortly after. He rented a car, drove across state lines, stopped at a Walmart to buy a baseball bat, and returned to the place they were all staying staying knowing that the back door would be unlocked. He went in and beat one of the men to death with the bat and stabbed the other two. On his way out, he injured another. I'm so very thankful that he's in prison, and because of the state he was in he's currently facing the

death penalty. So, the worker I checked in who turned out to be a violent killer, and to an extent Jay for obsessing with him and emailing him even after he killed three men. Let's not meet again. For some background, I'm a 20 year old female. I matched with this guy on Tinder a while back. His name was Nick and he seemed pretty cool so I gave him my Snapchat. We talk a little bit but it died out quickly. I didn't tell him the exact town I lived in but the city about 10 minutes away because it's decently sized and has a big population of people and I figured he wouldn't be able to find me by just knowing that bit of information. A few weeks ago he started messaging me and we made small talk. Everything seemed normal for a while up until New Year's Eve.

The day before he messaged me saying he was going to be in the area, the city I told him I was from, and asked if I wanted to meet for lunch. I told him possibly and I would let him know. The next night I had a New Year's Eve party with a small group of my friends. I spent most of the day getting ready and was not looking at my phone. Around 7.30 I finally looked at Snapchat and saw that Nick had not only messaged me but also called me. The message read, Hey I'm in insert name a city. I responded by telling him I was sorry I just saw his message. He opened it within minutes and totally freaked out. He said something along the lines of,

Just to let you know I'm really not interested in someone who can't even answer the phone when I drove six hours just to see her. I looked at it in disbelief and for a second I thought he was joking. I responded by asking him what he was talking about and that he didn't drive six hours just to see me. He said that we had plans and why else would he have driven up here. I was confused because we never had plans. He told me that he was going to be in the area which made me think that he was here for work or to visit a friend. It's not uncommon for people to travel for work here. I explained this to him and told him we did not have plans and that I didn't ask

him to drive all that way for me. He told me he sat around for two hours waiting for me and even brought me flowers. Again, I was confused because we never planned a time or place to meet and had never confirmed plans. You don't make plans by just telling someone you're going to be in the area. I apologized but told him again that we never had plans. He told me to make it up to him that I had to drive up and see him tomorrow. Yeah, not happening. I remember that I had my location shared on Snapchat so he easily could have shown up

in my house. I turned off my location but kept him on Snapchat just in case he tries to show up at my house. Luckily, I've not single female in my 30s and live alone, apart from my pets. I'm on my own when it comes to my safety, is what I'm trying to say. So this happened last summer. It was around 11pm and I was sitting at my dining table, typing away on my final paper of the semester. Behind me sits my kitchen and a big window that overlooks my backyard. This backyard was surrounded completely by a six-foot vinyl privacy fence. And inside that fence was a little garden I'd been working hard on.

Lots of cute flowers and a little pond. I was proud of it and would leave the blinds open so I could take in all my hard work during the day. I was caught up in my paper that was due by midnight and since it was late, the dogs were snoozing away nearby. My concentration was broken by a very sudden, very loud and very deliberate tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap behind me. I froze completely and it dawned on me I'd never close my blinds. All my interior lights were on and we know how that works. Whoever was tapping could see me perfectly. Weirdly and inconveniently enough, my dogs who normally bark at the slightest noise were still sound asleep.

It took me about five minutes to muster up the slightest ounce of courage to turn my head just enough to see the window on my periphery. Only to hear a loud crunch and another couple of taps, just a little lighter. Nope, no need to look. The last thing I needed was to see a face pressed up against that window. To my left was a door to the carport which led to the backyard. The handle was within arm's reach and I wouldn't have to look at the window to open it. I called my dogs and they jumped up as soon as I turned the knob. I guess the watcher realized what I did. About 30 seconds passed and I heard a couple more crunches than a very loud thud. If you've ever heard a vinyl fence being smacked against, it's a bit distinctive and I knew they jumped it.

My dogs finally went nuts and ran to the window near the thud. Lights off and blinds closed there thankfully. I caught a quick glimpse of a leg disappearing behind the corner of my neighbor's house. I stayed up until dawn with my metal baseball bat and one of those giant sharp grill forks. With the fence and dogs, I always felt safe. How they got back there so quietly, I'll never know. I lived there my whole life, and never had anything like this happen to me. I was pretty shaken. Whoever there was wanted me to know that they were there,

and definitely wanted my attention. This happened back in 2015 and at the time I was 21. Every morning I would wake up early to go for a run. I had developed a routine that was a giant loop. One side of this loop was up the main street of the small Utah town that I was living in at the time. My twin brother would go running at the same time I did but he would run the loop in the opposite direction that I did. One morning I was running down the main street and was passing this apartment building. In front of the building was a cluster of trees. My view of the tree cluster in the building was obscured by a tall hedge so I couldn't really see them until I was right in front of the building and past the tall hedge. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a woman standing among the trees and staring at me.

A chill runs up my back as I keep my eyes forward as I don't want to be rude and look back at her. It feels as if she is following me as I run past. I keep on running and this creepy encounter slips from my mind. I pass my twin about two miles later and finish my run. I get home and my twin isn't back yet which I find strange because he normally beats me back since he is in better shape than I was at that time. He shows up an hour later and tells me what happened to him. Since the direction he was running in doesn't have a giant hedge to obscure his view, he sees the woman among the trees. Only she wasn't standing like I perceived.

She is hanging by her neck. As my twin gets closer to the trees and realizes what he's seen, a man comes running out of one of the apartments, wailing. He picks her up and sets her on the ground and lets out wails of mourning. My twin calls the police and stays to give a report. Although I didn't realize what I'd seen out of the corner of my eye that morning until my twin told me, I think back on that and a chill still runs up my back as I remember the stare I saw out of the corner of my eye from a woman who was not alive. To be continued... narrations. I release new videos every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 7pm EST. If you get a story, be sure to submit them to my subreddit, r slash let's read official, and maybe even hear

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