The Lets Read Podcast - 180: THIS STALKER WAS OBSESSED | 21 True Scary Stories | EP 168

Episode Date: March 28, 2023

This episode includes narrations of true creepy encounters submitted by normal folks just like yourself. Today you'll experience horrifying stories about Stalkers, Valentines Day, & Plumbers... Zocdoc is the only FREE app that lets you find AND book doctors who are patient-reviewed, take your insurance, are available when you need them and treat almost every condition under the sun Zocdoc.com/READ HAVE A STORY TO SUBMIT?► www.Reddit.com/r/LetsReadOfficial FOLLOW ME ON - ►YouTube - https://www.youtube.com/c/letsreadofficial ► Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/letsread.official/ ► Twitter - https://twitter.com/LetsReadCreepy ♫ Background Music & Audio Remastering: INEKT https://www.instagram.com/_inekt/ PATREON for EARLY ACCESS!►http://patreon.com/LetsRead Update Description

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Conquer rugged terrain with on-road comfort until june 15th receive up to 60 on a prepaid master card when you purchase kumo road venture at 52 tires find a kumo tread experts dealer near you at tread experts.ca locations from tires to auto repair we're always there. TradeExpress.ca To be continued... for very long, but after watching a lot of your content over the past two weeks, I feel like this is the right place to attempt to tell my story. What's happening to me involves an ongoing police investigation, so please forgive me if I'm not forthright with the specific details. I'm not supposed to be talking about this, let alone contacting a large YouTube channel about it, so I hope you understand me omitting the names and places and

people and organizations. Anyway, this is the story of my waking nightmare. Until about two weeks ago, I was employed as the head mental health counselor at a major university here in the UK. My job mostly consisted of coordinating sessions between counselors and students, although for two days a week I'd personally run sessions on a face-to-face basis with some of the more vulnerable students. Even in light of what's happened recently, I find my job extremely rewarding. Being a young person in a high-pressure environment such as university can take a very heavy toll on their mental health, and the fact that I've been able to guide so many of them to calmer waters is something I'll always be extremely grateful for. It's not always easy.

My career has definitely had some ups and downs but since hitting my 30s I definitely feel like I've come into my stride. The fruit of this has obviously been my promotions, as I went from junior to senior advisor and then a team leader in the space of just 18 months. I felt like I was running an effective, caring, and professional operation, but beginning about three weeks ago, my entire life came crashing down around me in a truly devastating fashion. Like I said, I can't refer to anyone by name, so I'll use the name Amy to refer to the student in question. Amy was a first year who'd contacted our team in early February, saying she was having a hard time coping following a breakup back home. I'm sure you can imagine how many of those we get on a yearly basis, and the vast majority are first year girls like Amy. Generally speaking,

a little empathy and gentle advice go a long long way with young women and such predicaments. And although we try not to lean on the plenty more fish in the sea or no guilt for the guiltless cliches, the counseling of such a problem tends to be relatively simple and concise. I had no idea how difficult and dangerous Amy's counseling would be, but when one of my junior team members approached me with their own predicament, I was only too happy to assist them. It is, after all, in my very job description, that if a junior member of the counseling team is having trouble with a student,

I step in to apply my experience and expertise. And when a junior team member was struggling with Amy, I relished the opportunity to build trust, apply leadership, and lessen their workload. But that proved to be one of the biggest mistakes of my life so far. My first session with Amy was fairly productive. We talked about her relationship, what it meant to her, and why it was difficult to move on from. I could understand why my colleague had such a hard time with her, as she was extremely emotional and very highly strung. My initial suspicion was that she was suffering from GAD, a general anxiety disorder. But before recommending any kind of formal

psychiatrist appointment, which usually leads to prescription medication, I thought it would be best if we had one or two more sessions to see if we could resolve things in a healthy, non-prescription manner. Again, this was a huge, huge mistake. By the time the second session was over, I'd identified a few key issues that I believed Amy could work on in her own time. The first was that she seemed to absolve herself of any kind of personal responsibility, be it in her own, now defunct relationship or in her home life. In short, every problem in her life was caused by someone else, even if she had to grasp for some abstract reason with which she could lay the blame. The second was that she refused to even entertain the idea that she might be able to identify any kind of solution on her own. In a lot of cases, answers are much more easily

obtained within oneself. We generally don't need a library of self-help books or podcasts if we're brutally and sincerely honest with ourselves. This doesn't always mean the person themselves are at fault. For example, it might be that one has a detrimental person in their life who they refuse to leave behind. All you need is the self-awareness to identify that person, habit, or behavior than the bravery to deal with them. Since Amy seemed incapable of such introspection, I knew it was something that I'd have to bring up with her, and fast if we wanted to make quick progress. So for our third session, which just so happened to fall on the day after

Valentine's Day, I put forward a few of my uncomfortable observations. Now as you can imagine, it's not nearly as simple as just telling the person you have issues. This might sound obvious, but the idea with counseling is to actually counsel, not pass judgment, give direct treatment suggestions, or tell anyone what to do. The trick is to allow a person to come to a healthy conclusion on their own. This is just as true of counseling as it is of child rearing. A person must learn to be good voluntarily, not under duress. So, the way I usually approach something like that is to simply ask questions. Do you think you could do X? Or can you see yourself doing Y? That sort of thing. Simply worded, polite questions that provoke spontaneous thoughts and introspection.

But when I put it to Amy that some of her problems might be of her own creation, and that her inability to settle on a healthy coping mechanism was impeding any progress, she didn't take it very well at all. In fact, she not only saw zero merit to my polite suggestion, she took it as a direct unsheathed insult. I know for a fact with it being near Valentine's Day, her sense of loss was infinitely stronger than it was before, but it was still dismayingly surprising when Amy burst into tears, declaring that her visits to the university's counseling team had been counterproductive and a complete waste of time.

Then, to my increasing concern, she seemed to enter a sharp downward spiral of negativity right there before my eyes. I tried my best to calm her down, told her to try the psychological breath technique, but none of it seemed to work. And suddenly, a mild jolt of horror went through me as she spat out the words of taking her own life. Despite the shock of hearing those terms thrown around so casually, I believe I'm fairly adept at dealing with threats of self-harm and, lo and behold, after a few careful minutes of sub-crisis

management, Amy regained a degree of composure. Once her breathing was under control, she asked if she could use the office's restroom. Naturally, I showed her into the small restroom out in the common area then told her she could return to my office whenever she was ready to continue the session. As I'm waiting for her, five minutes passes, then ten minutes passes, then at fifteen I actually thought she might have just walked out of the counseling office, having abandoned this session entirely. But the moment I walked out, Becky, the counseling office's secretary and also not her real name, shot me this puzzled look. She didn't leave the toilet, did she? I asked her. Becky just shook her head and in that instant, the flash of fear I'd felt before boiled up into full-blown terror. I started banging on the door, shouting Amy's name and telling her if she didn't

open the door I'd call the fire brigade, paramedics and anyone who could stop her from hurting herself. I rattled the doorknob, basically started punching the door but no one said a word on the other side and it gradually dawned on me that if I wanted to actually save this girl's life I'd have to kick the door down myself. I'd never done anything like that in my life and at 5 foot 8 and 9 and a half stone in weight I don't think I'd never done anything like that in my life and at 5'8 and 9.5 stone in weight, I don't think I'd actually be able to do it. Time and time again I sent myself crashing into the solid oak, but it didn't so much as budge. At one point I looked around to see Becky looking absolutely terrified, phone in hand, indicating she was already contacting emergency services. In the end,

I didn't need to. The door swung open on its own, and when I saw the state Amy was in on the other side, I was almost propelled backwards in complete and utter astonishment. Amy was covered in blood. There was a large cut on her upper lip, one which had poured blood down her chin, neck, and chest. There was also visible bruising on her wrists and forearms, as well as a trickle of blood edging down from her hairline onto her eyebrows. I'm ashamed to say that the sight came with a sick sense of relief knowing that she'd just been hurting herself as opposed to actually taking her own life. I knew she was in a volatile state, I knew she was suffering a deep

emotional pain, but I never, ever expected to hear the words that came out of her mouth. Ow! Stop hitting me! Please! I'm sorry! Ouch! Ow! As she screamed, I watched in absolute horror as Amy grabbed herself by the fleshy part of her forearm and began to squeeze. I instinctively backed off, hands in the air showing our similarly terrified secretary that I hadn't laid a finger on her. We both watched as Amy proceeded to throw herself into the heavy oak door, head first, and the impact was so forceful that Becky actually let out a cry of distress. She did it again out a scream, and as I let her go, she tumbled into the arms of Becky and began weeping uncontrollably. I remember looking down at my arm and seeing the little flecks of blood that were forming in the indentations her teeth had left.

Then once Becky had assured me that the police were on their way, standing operating procedure in the event of a violent episode of self-harm, I retreated to my office to remove myself from the situation. It was a horrific day for me, without a doubt one of the worst in my practicing career, but again, I had no idea how bad things would really get. When the two uniformed officers showed up at our offices, I felt this brief sensation of relief before I heard Amy giving her very distorted version of events. Not only did she claim that I'd attacked her in the office restroom, but she also claimed I'd violated her in the most violent manner possible. I was stunned into silence, and if it wasn't for Becky giving her side of the story, I think I'd have been under arrest right there and then. One of the officers had a very intense look about them as they

quizzed me on my bite marks and like I said, if it hadn't been for Becky clarifying what had happened, I'd have been in a lot of trouble much sooner. As you can probably guess, the office restrooms aren't covered by cameras and for obvious reasons, the camera in the reception area doesn't face them either. This proved a huge problem later on, but at the time, Becky's account was all I thought necessary. That was Monday, February 15th, the day after Valentine's Day. On Tuesday, I was down at the city's central police station once again giving my version of events. The officer I spoke to seemed like he was on my side in that he understood Amy to be a very disturbed young woman, and for a while I think that was actually the

case. On the Wednesday, I received a call telling me that there'd be no further criminal investigation for the foreseeable future, and that the investigating officers understood what had actually happened. I was also asked if I wanted to press charges against Amy for biting me and, as much as I declined on compassionate grounds, I was told the university was probably going to exclude her for making a false accusation, not to mention damaging university property. That decision was simply out of my hands and although it's not strictly how I'd have handled it, I appreciated their position. I believe that's what forced Amy's hand and motivated her to do what she did next,

because her next move was to go public. The first I heard of it was when a colleague called me at about 1 o'clock on the Friday morning asking me if I had a Twitter account. I didn't, and I still don't, but that didn't mean I wasn't able to view the relevant tweets. Tweets that featured a hashtag consisting of hashtag arrest and then my name next to it. There were literally hundreds of those tweets, maybe even thousands of them, many from students at our university but also hundreds from people who had just jumped on the vindictive bandwagon. It was definitely disturbing to see, and I'd be lying if I said it didn't affect my sleep that night, but I honestly didn't understand the true

implications of such a misinformation campaign until the coming weekend. By that time, there had already been a miniature protest outside of the counseling offices, and with an incredible amount of ire directed at me, I tried and failed to enter. The result was that the university's administration had sent me home early, then called later in the evening promising me paid leave until the turmoil could be smoothed over. That was the first nail in my coffin. To the people in the know, it was standard procedure, nothing more than a way of protecting a valued member of the faculty. But to the Twitter mob, that was the surest sign of guilt so far. I hadn't been given paid leave to manage my stress. I'd been suspended pending an

arrest and an eventual guilty verdict. The tipping point was when Amy directed the mob at our secretary, Becky, whose sole testimony had kept me from being arrested. I kept in touch with her and although she initially promised to stick by me, I knew they'd gotten to her when she stopped answering my calls and texts. I don't know exactly how they threatened her or if the mob had found something to dangle over her head, but from what I heard, she spontaneously went to the police to change her official statement. After that, the case was reopened, and I was officially arrested for assault, and I honestly can't even bring myself to type it

here. It's the part that really turned a horrific false accusation into the stuff of living nightmares. I'm simply incapable of that aspect of the crime, and I can't even get into the headspace of someone that would be psychologically able to do something like that. But one by one, my colleagues, my friends, even members of close family, I felt their opinions of me shift as the accusations began to mount. Not just from Amy, but other members of the student body, and even a few local girls who I'd never even been in the same room with. When I cried to contact Becky again, when I tried to beg her to tell the truth about what happened that day, I was told that if I did it again, it would constitute witness intimidation.

And that's where I'm up to. It's been almost a whole year and I still don't know whether this is actually going to trial or not. My solicitors think that once the mob's energy is properly died down and Becky is ready to come forward with the truth, then I'll be able to put this horrible chapter of my life behind me. I hope one day the truth of the matter will actually be re-established, but honestly, I don't know if that day will ever come. There's obviously the complete lack of DNA evidence, and that's putting it as uncrewed a way as possible, but I still have my doubts. And the way people have shown a complete lack of regard for evidence in due process

has been one of the most terrifying and depressing aspects of my experience so far. I know with my heart of hearts that even if you actually read this mess of a story to your followers, some of them will just decide I'm a liar. They'll decide that Amy's side of the story is weak and incoherent as it is as the actual truth. And that, to me anyway, is far more terrifying than any ghosts, monsters, or magic. I recently watched your Places with Scary Backstories video and most of it helped keep my mind off this whole torrid affair. But one story brought me right back to reality. The one about the Salem witch trials. Hundreds of years later and the mob is still hunting witches.

They still want to watch them burn. Just as the mob wants to watch me burn too. I'd been dating a guy for a couple of months when he asked me to go over to his apartment for Valentine's Day. I'd dated a bunch of other fairly basic guys before him, dudes who didn't have a passion for anything beyond getting me into bed, and I was sick to death of the steady diet of Barstool Sports and Bud Light. Nothing against Barstool, but there's only so many episodes of one bite pizza a girl can handle before she wants to go permanently keto. Anyway, when I arrived over at his place, he welcomed me inside and when I walked into his like main TV room, I saw how cool it actually was. The first thing I saw was how he had an actual projector mounted to a ceiling. Now I'm kind of obsessed with movies. I thought that was one of the coolest things ever but then I started to take note of the decor. The guy was a

huge biology and horticulture nerd so he had all these cool little plants and cacti everywhere. It made for a really cool vibe in the apartment, like it almost felt like you were half outside or something, which was just awesome considering we both lived by Queen Street West so definitely not the greenest area of town. That and he had a bunch of framed anatomical drawings of the human body around the walls of his TV room. If you don't know the kind I mean, you can google them. They can be so dope and to this day I want to get like an anatomical tattoo somewhere, I just don't know where yet.

Anyway, when I told him I liked his digs, especially all the greenery, he asked me if I wanted to see something special. I told him sure. But then when he led me towards his apartment's bathroom I started to wonder if I had made a mistake. Just before he opened the door he saw the nervous look on my face and started to laugh, reassuring me that it wasn't going to be anything too weird. And although I was still a little nervous I told him to give me his best shot. Then when he opened the bathroom door, what I saw was nothing short of amazing. It was a kind of plant, that much was clear, with a thin green stalk that blossomed into a large scarlet flower.

Then sprouting out of the flower was what I can only describe as a large red spike, the same scarlet shade as the rest of the flower is what I can only describe as a large red spike, the same scarlet shade as the rest of the flower. I'd never seen anything like it in my life, and we both shared a little laugh when I told him it was by far the most interesting thing I'd ever seen in a boy's bathroom. He told me it was called a pygmy voodoo lily, and that they're extremely rare, and that it had cost more than his whole apartment set up. It had apparently come from a specialist breeder, and it was something he was very, very proud of. Not just because of how rare it was either, but because it took a lot of care and love to maintain,

as he proceeded to explain to me. So if you'll excuse the diversion, the thing I found kind of confusing was that he was keeping the flower in a kind of bell jar. He told me he didn't usually keep the lid over the thing, only when guests were coming over or whatever. Then he asked me if I wanted to know why he kept it in a jar and pulled the glass up just a little. All it took was a few steps forward and a breath through my nose and the stench hit me like a freight train.

I physically recoiled. It was one of the most intensely disgusting things I'd ever smelled in my life. Ever leave raw chicken in the refrigerator too long and it's like the worst smell ever? Imagine that but ten times worse. I'm a nurse too. I smell awful stuff on a nearly daily basis, but that smell had me almost gagging as I backed out of the bathroom and down the hall. When he finally came back into the TV room, where I was, he laughed as he said something like, see why I keep it in the bathroom?

It was super gross, but don't get it twisted, I still thought the guy was really cool. He was 100% the most interesting guy I'd dated in literally years and it was going to take way more than just a stinky plant for me to lose interest. Yet unfortunately, that's exactly what happened over the next two hours or so. He ramped up the weird until I was actually terrified to be there. The first thing I noted was that the guy seemed to have hidden a few smaller jam jars behind some of his plants. Then when I moved some of the leaves to check out what they were, I recoiled back in horror for the second time that evening. Hidden behind the potted plants were these three small jars. The first contained a toad or frog, floating in some sort of preservative fluid.

The second was another frog that had been completely and utterly skinned. It was so, so gross, like you could see all the muscles and sinew in its little legs and arms. The third jar was just containing a skeletal frog, but that wasn't nearly as messed up as seeing it skinned. Thinking about it now, at least he made an effort to hide the jars. It showed that he had some scrap of emotional intelligence, but since he was making dinner when I found them, which was the worst possible timing, it put me off eating entirely. Not like that was a huge problem, I was pretty nervous to try his cooking anyways so

it kind of suited me to just have an excuse. I prayed it wouldn't get any worse than that. I actually liked the guy for his personality too. He wasn't just a pretty face, he actually interested me. But then, like I said, he found one heck of a way to scare me off. So, as the evening went on and the wine kept flowing, as they say, the questions got more and more personal. You gotta keep in mind that, since I was basically on an empty stomach, I was way more buzzed than I'd usually be. So, when he asked me about having children in the future,

not with him, just in general, I guess, I was way more open to answer it than I might usually be. I told him that yeah, I'd be down for having children, but obviously only in the right circumstances. This seemed to make him pretty happy, and then he starts waxing lyrical about how incredible the whole process of procreation is. I know I might have made that sound weird, but after all the wine, the way he talked about women having the superpower of reproduction, it was actually really poetic and beautiful. It seemed like he actually respected women and definitely not in the nice guy, trademark type

of way. Then after saying something like, there's nothing more beautiful than the creation of life. He asked me if I wanted to watch something. After he asked, he nodded up at his projector, suggesting we'd be watching whatever it was on that. I think I was so wrapped up in seeing the projector in action that I didn't even stop to think to ask what we'd be watching. Besides, I think it was implied that whatever it was would be a surprise, so I just let him do his thing while I watched him get set up. When he was done syncing up his laptop with the projector, the fact it was state of the art was also super impressive to me. He turned off the lights and we sat together on the couch while the movie started rolling. As it started to play, it suddenly occurred to me that I was

watching some kind of home video. It was high definition and it looked professionally filmed but it was definitely not what I was expecting. In fact I had no idea what I was expecting and I realized I should have been more insistent on finding out what I was going to be watching. The first thing I see is what looked a lot like a pregnant deer. It's lying on a bed of straw and it has what looked like an IV drip attached to one of its legs. This all made total sense to me at the time as I figured since the deer was pregnant it was being given medical attention and that it was being treated by some kind of wildlife vet, possibly in some kind of national park, I don't know.

I actually let out an involuntary awe, but I spoke way, way too soon, because the video suddenly started to speed up, turning from a real-time video into a time-lapse of something. That involuntary awe was swiftly followed by an involuntary gasp, and a hand darted in front of the frame. You couldn't really see the razor blade, scalpel or whatever it was that did the damage, but you sure saw the effects. In an instant, the deer's tummy opened right up and my half-buzz brain thought it would be some kind of animal, cesarean section. It was not, and oh my god do I wish it had been because that would have been so much easier to bear. Instead of the deer's insides showing a little baby fawn or even just the silvery reddish pinkish insides of a healthy animal, the deer's internal

organs were almost black with decay. It was only when I realized why his stomach was so swollen and before I could even say anything, the hand shot back into frame for a second, cutting away at some kind of membrane to reveal the biggest cluster of maggots that I'd ever seen in my life. There was like a solid, writhing, red and white ball of them, one that slowly disintegrated and spilled out of the deer's chest cavity as the footage moved forward at lightning speed. Like I said before, I'm a nurse, and I've seen some pretty jacked up things on a daily basis, but seeing all those maggots was just way, way too much for me. I got up, grabbed my purse and headed for the door. The guy was super apologetic and seemed to actually realize that he crossed a major red line. He didn't chase me, grab me, nothing like that.

All he asked was that I stay if he turned off the projector. There was a moment where I actually considered it, but then I was suddenly hit by this instinct to just get out of there. I'd forgiven the weird dead frogs in the jar, I'd forgiven the plant that smelled of rotten meat, but I couldn't forgive the deer snuff film or whatever it was. It was all just too much. But before I left I wanted to know what in God's name he was showing me. I turned, kind of drunk, purse in hand and was just about to ask him what in God's name he was showing me. I turned, kind of drunk, purse in hand and was just about to ask him what in God's name he was thinking, showing me something like that. I tried. I really did, but my eyes were suddenly drawn to the projector again.

Instead of the white mass of squirming little bugs, I saw jet black spots crawling all over the dying deer. They were flying and moving so fast around the poor thing that they almost looked like the kind of thing blemishes that you see in an old analog film. Almost all of the maggots had eaten their way into turning into fat, hairy corpse flies. But the thing that sticks with me, even today, is that the deer was still alive somehow. Its head was nodding up and down subtly, but it was happening. Then it hit me. The drip was in its leg because whoever had shot that film wanted it to be alive as those maggots ate their way through its insides. I don't even know how that would be possible. Sure, you could theoretically use antibiotics

and maybe some kind of epinephrine derivative, I guess, to keep the poor little thing alive and awake, but who in God's name would have the expertise or motivation to do something like that? I had no idea how quickly that question would be answered. As I was heading towards his apartment door, ranting and raving about how I was going to call the cops, what a sick piece of work he was, how if and raving about how I was going to call the cops, what a sick piece of work he was, how if he ever called me again I'd have my brothers kick the life out of him. I can't remember exactly what he said, but it was all so much that I didn't say another word until I was safely inside a cab outside. He said something like,

You have no idea how hard I worked on that project. If you had any idea the time and money I spent making it. The way that I must have looked at him had him shutting his mouth immediately. He knew that he just seriously incriminated himself, and it was something that he could probably go to prison for. Having sobered up pretty fast, I called the cops in the cab on the way home. You should have seen my Uber driver's eyes in the rear view as I talked. Whenever they weren't glued to the road, they just kept getting wider and wider as I progressed with my story. Then, by the time it came to dropping me off at my apartment, the guy was nice enough

to ask if I wanted him to wait with me until the cops showed up. I appreciated the offer but I declined it and when the cops showed up to take a statement I told them everything, all over again in much greater detail. I had to wait a few days to hear back from them but when I did they told me that although the guy had been arrested on suspicion of causing lethal harm to protected wildlife, he'd been released due to lack of evidence. In that time he didn't text me, call me, show up at my apartment, nothing like that. He obviously wasn't a total psycho and he was smart enough not to reach out to me but I still think he had something seriously wrong with him. He had a seriously unhealthy fascination with the cycle of life and death,

and the fact that he subjected an innocent animal to something so horrific is, in my eyes, totally unforgivable. That and pretty much all the evidence points to the idea that he would eventually escalate to hurting another human being. I don't want to be that girl in the Netflix documentary 20 years from now saying like, I had a chance to stop him and I didn't want to be that girl in the Netflix documentary 20 years from now saying like, I had a chance to stop him and I didn't take it. I know there's an ongoing investigation taking place at the time of writing this, this is November of 2017, it happened, but I have literally no clue if he's going to go anywhere or not.

Given how our interaction ended, the guy I was dating definitely had time to dispose of some evidence before the cops gave him a visit. I can only hope that they manage to dig through his hard drive or find some hidden USB stick or something. Anything that helps them either put him on a watch list or put him away in prison. But like I said, it always escalates. It always gets worse with people like that. And I'm just glad I had a chance to stop it before it was too late. If it's a flat or a squeal, a wobble or peel,

your tread's worn down or you need a new wheel, wherever you go, you can get it from Tread Experts. Conquer rugged terrain with on-road comfort. Until June 15th, receive up to $60 on a prepaid MasterCard when you purchase Kumo RoadVenture AT52 tires. Find a Kumo Tread Experts dealer near you at treadexperts.ca slash locations. From tires to auto repair, we're always I found myself with a rather unfamiliar feeling. Loneliness. From 2010 onwards, I had been so focused on med school that I was content to barely have a social life

and content to have a non-existent romantic life. I told myself that it could all wait until I was done with school and that frankly it would be irresponsible for me to curate distractions for myself while I was trying to reach the first milestone in my career goals. But after most of my high school friends had graduated and my social media feed began to swell with pictures of their dates, weddings, and pregnancy pictures, I began to feel like that I was really missing out. Call it social pressure or just plain loneliness, but I began to tell myself that it wouldn't be terrible if I just did a little casual dating, especially around the most romantic time of the year.

So I did what most younger folks my age do and I downloaded one or two of the more popular dating apps. Being a woman and all, I didn't have any trouble getting matches. The trouble was actually finding a guy I liked after the opening conversation. So many of them seemed either too into it or clingy or way too cool and uninterested. The last thing I wanted was someone who'd badger me during intense periods of study, but I also didn't want to just be some player's option either. I know that sounds like I was asking for the impossible, and trust me, for a while I thought I was being

way too picky. But then came a guy that we'll call Ryan, and I only give him a fake name to protect the innocent. Ryan seemed charming, intelligent, and respectful, but he also took a while to answer my messages. I know that last part seems like a weird thing to count as a virtue, but I wanted a guy who had his own stuff going on. I liked the idea that he was sometimes just too busy to talk, and I guess that's because I saw a little of myself in him, but I digress. Out of all the guys I spoke to, Ryan was 100% the leading candidate. So there came a point where I straight up asked him if he had any Valentine's Day plans. I'm quick to add that I didn't ask him out.

I just asked if he had plans, then waited for him to take the hint. Thankfully, he did, and he told me he knew of this cute little Portuguese bistro type place that did some of the best seafood he'd ever had. Now, he didn't know this. I have the most boring, anglophone surname ever, but I'm actually a quarter Portuguese, so I basically jumped on the offer and got super excited for the date. Valentine's Day fell on a Saturday that year, and I remember that because we ended up having to stew on a waiting list before our reservation was confirmed.

Obviously the will we won't we drama had me even more excited than before and when the time came to actually go meet him, I was feeling very romantic indeed. He looked amazing too. Three-piece suit, perfect hair, plus a little tactical stubble that accentuated his masculinity. Then when he took off his jacket, hung it over the back of his chair, then rolled the sleeves of his white shirt up, my god, I thought I was going to explode with desire right then and there. We talked, picked out some appetizers, and for about 45 minutes the date was going incredibly well.

But then, I saw two people walk into the bistro that looked very, very out of place. Ryan had his back to the door so he didn't see them walk in, but I did. And right away, their state trooper uniform stuck out like a sore thumb. I'm sure you know the kind I'm talking about. The smoky bear hat with the super shiny tie clip thing. But as much as they initially grabbed my attention, I didn't want to be rude and interrupt Ryan in the middle of an anecdote. He definitely noticed me looking over his shoulder, but they were nothing but momentary glances, so not nearly enough for him to stop

talking and looking around. Out of my peripheral vision, I see the cops being greeted by the restaurant's maitre d'. Then, I see the maitre d' pointing in our general direction, but again, nothing to be too concerned about. But then the two cops started walking past a row of tables in our direction and this is when I have to break eye contact and look up at them because they stop right next to our table. Again, I've changed some of the details to protect the innocent. Sir, one of them said. Ryan looked up before the cop continued. Are you Ryan Smith of 111 Residential Street? Ryan responded in the affirmative and asked if there was a problem. My heart and mind are both racing by this point and in those few split seconds,

I figured something terrible had happened to someone Ryan knew, that or there had been like a break-in in his home or something. I never, ever would have guessed what the cops said next, not in a million years. Then, as almost everyone in the restaurant is looking at us, wait and kitchen staff included, one of the cops says, Rye Smith, I'm arresting you on suspicion of the murder of... enter girl's name here. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can be used against you in a court of law, etc. etc. etc. and I think my jaw must have been touching the table cloth as I felt my face burning with embarrassment.

Like I said, almost everyone in the bistro was looking at Ryan as the cops walked him out in cuffs. Then suddenly, once he was in the back of the cop car, they all started looking at me. I can safely say without a shadow of doubt that this was the single worst moment of my life so far. It was a cocktail of absolute horror for me. Everyone's eyes on me, coupled with the embarrassment of having my date arrested while assuming everyone was thinking,

what kind of girl goes out with a murder suspect? Is she dumb? Is she in on it? It was just awful. And then it hit me that, if he really had killed some poor girl, was I his next intended victim? Did I just avoid being murdered by a matter of minutes, hours, days, or weeks? Was he looking at me with those big warm brown eyes while thinking, she's so smart and pretty? Or was he looking at me all hungry because he couldn't wait to hurt me? I barely remember walking out of the bistro and the next day when I returned to pick my car up, I had to ask the maitre d' if I'd walked out without paying. Turns out I hadn't actually paid,

but the restaurant's owner overheard about the whole thing and told me that all the food and drink we'd consumed was on the house. It's little acts of kindness like this which slowly restored my faith in humanity because, believe it, I'd have been badly shaken by the events of that Valentine's evening. I only really remember getting into the front seat of my car, calling my mom, then just ugly sobbing into the phone while she asked me, Are you okay? What happened, honey? Over and over again.

Once I was finally able to get the words out, she told me not to drive home in such a state and to take a cab, and she was right. Even though I hadn't touched a drop of alcohol that evening, I was definitely in no fit state to drive. I suppose at that point I should just cut to the chase and tell you all what you want to know. And yes, Ryan was convicted of murdering the girl whose name I've chosen to admit. I was actually kind of hoping it was all just some horrible mistake, and that I hadn't seemed so dumb or naive to have gone on a date with an actual murderer. But nope.

As the months went on, it progressed from an arrest, to a trial, to a full-on murder conviction. Ryan had gone on a date with some sweet, unsuspecting girl, taken her back to his apartment, then strangled her to death in the middle of being intimate. I remember my roommate saying that it might have been a kind of horrid accident, but it wasn't. Ryan had deliberately killed her, at a time when she literally couldn't have been more vulnerable. It might seem strange, but I did end up finding a kind of closure after the whole thing, and I recommend this variety of cognitive behavioral therapy to anyone who's suffered a similar trauma. I wrote Ryan a letter, or more accurately, I wrote a letter to a prisoner number

and addressed it to the correctional facility he was being held at. I couldn't even bear to write his name, nor could I bring myself to write mine either. He'd know who I was, I was certain of it, and in the letter I told him in no uncertain terms that I hoped he would rot and burn forever. I told him a bunch of other things too, but those aren't fit enough to be reprinted anywhere remotely civilized. I don't know if he ever opened or read the letter, but the detective that I was in contact with informed me that it would most certainly be delivered. I hope he read my letter, and I hope it cut him up inside. I wanted him to feel as mortified and ashamed as I did in that bistro on that chilly Valentine's evening. I wanted him to read my

words, and as he was reading, I wanted him to pray for the ground to just open up wide and swallow him whole, just as I did when all those people were looking at me with burning judgment in their eyes. I wanted so many things from that letter, but I only got one of them. Closure. Some of you might be wondering why I haven't named anyone or anyone in this account. It's for a number of reasons, but the primary one, I know this for certain, is that the family of the girl my date had murdered requested the privacy and space to grieve following his trial. Unfortunately, this wasn't respected by elements of the local and national media, and the family ended up suing one of the more unscrupulous publications regarding an article they posted online.

If you ask me, it was righteous litigation, and although I wouldn't be all that worried about them suing me, given how closely connected I am with the case, I'd like to respect their wishes for privacy and anonymity. On top of that, I'd like you to respect my privacy and anonymity, at least until my prospective killer is released. Because then, I'll go public, truly public, and no matter how much my prospective killer tries to carve out a new life, a new identity, or a new existence, I'm determined to make sure that everyone knows what a monster he really is. this. Back when I was still in high school, I used to work as a waiter at this super fancy restaurant on the corner of the common. I worked there for two valentine's days and I've never understood

why people didn't want to work them, not the first year anyway. Tips, they were awesome. So the next year, when I wasn't even on shift, it was real easy just to make a swap so I could get all those valentine's tips. So, this guy comes in, good looking dude, but his girl was like Rihanna level hot. It was all eyes on her all night long. There was almost a fistfight in the back to decide who got to wait that table. Okay, maybe not a fistfight, but I personally witnessed two games of rock, paper, scissors, and they were low-key intense. Anyway, the night goes on, we're working steadily, and the tips are just mounting up hour by hour. The dude was treating his girl to all kinds of bougie cocktails, insisting she have dessert, the most expensive entree, stuff like that.

And the whole time we're just like, yes dude, boost that percentage, boost it. It wasn't my table, so I couldn't keep track of the exact amount he dropped on her, but I know it must have been like 500 and change based on the pricing. But as they're wrapping up, I'm just waiting to see what kind of cut I'd be getting. When out of nowhere, a solo girl walks into the main dining area. She's not wearing anything fancy. She's looking like she'd actually been crying and I remember watching her look around the dining room for a second or two before honing in on the dude and his Rihanna twin. You know when you just know something messed up is about to happen and you can just feel the

tension rising in the room before it suddenly explodes? I think everyone in the main dining room picked up on that as she powered over to the Rihanna girl and started screaming in her face. I remember watching our bartender, this big tattooed dude called Harley, walking over to her, getting ready to separate them or whatever. But before he got there, the crazy girl grabs one of the wine glasses from the table and just yeets it into the Rihanna girl's face. Harley goes from 0 to 100 trying to get over to stop it. This place was super fancy so

it didn't have security or anything hanging around anywhere. In fact, we barely had any trouble at all. So when the situation exploded and diners were screaming and trying to get away, Harley was slowed down by all these people trying to get out of the dining room while he was trying to get in. Then in the meantime, the girl is just going ham on Rihanna with this broken wine glass. Before I actually come out of shock and time to act on it, she's picked up another glass and yeeted that one into her face too. Then get this, instead of actually helping his date, the guy actually just bailed out of the booth and ran out of the restaurant along with the rest of the customers. Total scumbag move, man, and something I'll never forget.

Seconds later, me, Harley, and the rest of the waiting staff had basically body slammed the crazy girl away from Rihanna, while she herself had slumped down under the table to get away from the attack. The cops eventually showed up, took the crazy girl away, and once the scene was safe and clear, the EMTs showed up to treat the injured girl. I hadn't seen her at any point after the attack, not until the EMTs actually started treating her, and honestly, I couldn't even recognize her face. All around her eyes and nose it just looked like ripped up red and her upper lip was almost cut all the way in half so you could see gums and teeth and stuff. It was one of the most horrific, upsetting things I'd ever seen. And every single Valentine's Day since, I'm reminded of that poor girl, and the horrific injuries she suffered at the hands of that psycho ex, or whoever she was. I remember matching with this girl around Valentine's Day a few years ago. She seemed super nice and interesting.

But then a few days before we were due to meet she started telling me about the story of Saint Valentine. Apparently this guy was one of these early Christian martyrs and got his head cut off because he wouldn't cancel Jesus or whatever. Then when he gets to heaven he like was carrying his own head, and Jesus is super stoked because Valentine presented his own severed head to him as like a welcome gift or whatever. I mean, actually picture that for a second. It's creepy, right? So, when this girl started ranting about how that was the most beautiful thing she'd ever heard and that she'd love to have a guy show her that kind of affection. She didn't just mention this once either, she mentioned it like

every time I brought up Valentine's Day. The final straw was her sending me this picture, along with the question, would you wear flowers in your hair like this for me? I just bit the bullet and unmatched her, because as pretty as she was, she had thrown up way too many red flags. Back before the Rona came along in early 2019, I was apprenticing as a plumber. For a tad less than a year I'd been working at a company ran by a pair of brothers. In this story we'll just call them Bob and Richard. Bob was the younger of the two and the one that I was apprenticing with. He'd been a plumber for over 20 years and really knew his stuff.

An accomplished professional in his own right, Richard usually handled the paperwork and basic office tasks rather than going out on calls. This arrangement seemed to work well. I loved working under Bob. He was a really cool guy. That's why it was so hard to return to the job after his death. To make this story as brief as possible, I'll just provide a quick lead up to what happened. By reputation, Richard was somewhat of a ladies' man. His cheating led to the termination of two marriages and countless relationships. In the morning of Bob's death, I was sick with the flu and I called in for the day. This left Bob to work on his own, something he didn't enjoy much. It also meant Richard would

have to pick up the slack. The first appointment of the day was supposed to be Richard but he refused. Bob pressed him for a reason and Richard eventually divulged that he'd been messing around with the lady of the house. He added that he thought it would be weird talking to her husband. Bob was irked, but ultimately agreed to swap places. The rest of that morning is made up by witness testimony and supposition. From what came out at trial, Bob arrived just after 10am. Nothing seemed wrong between he and the husband. Supposedly there was a small leak under the house. Bob squeezed down through a trap door in the hall closet. He was under the house

for around 10 minutes but didn't find any leaks. By his own admission, when Bob returned to the trap door and was about halfway out, the husband approached him and unloaded both barrels of a shotgun into him. Bob died instantly, of course. The entire leak story had been a ruse. The wife testified that she heard the shots and ran into the hall. There, she was met by her husband. She said he gave her this blank look and said, he won't be screwing anybody's wife ever again. The police stated that the husband was outside smoking a cigarette when they arrived and confessed on the spot. I wouldn't hear about it until the following morning. Richard called me to tell me not to come to work. He didn't sound normal, so I asked if everything was okay. In a very matter-of-fact voice, he told me that Bob had

been killed the day before. He was obviously in shock when I spoke to him. I had so many questions, but I didn't know where to start. I asked if I could speak to Bonnie, our secretary, and he agreed and handed the phone to her. I asked her calmly about what happened and she only knew the basics. Bob had gone to a job and the customer shot and killed him. That's all we'd know for some time. The business would remain closed until after the funeral. I would become apprentice to Richard, who was now the sole plumber at the business.

I could tell his heart really wasn't into his work now. I too didn't really want to be there. Everything that I enjoyed about the work died with Bob, and I still carry a bit of guilt around, wondering if I could have stopped it had I been there. Many questions would be answered with witness testimony. It would be the first time anyone outside the police had heard the discussion that went on that morning between the brothers, or about the affair for that matter. The wife explained how her husband found out about the affair. As earlier that week, during an argument, she had told him that she would make him jealous. She claimed she'd never thought he would turn violent violent The defense claimed temporary insanity

Very few in the area bought this excuse though Bob had been a well-loved member of the community while the defendant had a long criminal career After the truth of the affair came out, some jumped to the husband's side and Richard came under quite a bit of criticism And for what it's worth, I don't believe Richard knew his brother was in trouble. The husband had assumed he'd killed the right brother until told otherwise. Bob was clearly not his target. In the end, that fact and the insanity plea did go some way in helping. The jury were unable to agree on murder and convicted on manslaughter instead.

A few weeks later, the judge sentenced the husband to 25 to life. A bit extreme, but in light of his extensive record, it was very reasonable. All the while this nightmare was taking place, lockdowns began making business almost impossible. Neither Richard nor I cared too much about working, especially after he contracted it, and I feared that I'd lose another friend, as he remained in the hospital for a week. When he came out, he closed down the business permanently. I've considered apprenticing with somebody else, but without Bob, plumbing isn't as interesting as it once was. For now, I'm not sure what the future holds for me. I'm getting by with dead-end jobs for now. No matter what I choose, striving to be my best should be my goal.

That was Bob's favorite mantra. I owe it to him to carry that with me now, wherever I go. If it's a flat or a squeal, a wobble or peel, your dread's worn down or you need a new wheel, We'll be right back. when you purchase Kumo RoadVenture AT52 tires. Find a Kumo TreadExperts dealer near you at TreadExperts.ca slash locations. From tires to auto repair, we're always there. TreadExperts.ca I've been a licensed plumber in the northern part of Texas for seven years. We too have our share of awful weather just like most of America. Each year I spend a lot of time and effort dealing with the damage done by it.

This upcoming February marks a year since we had the worst winter weather event, certainly in my lifetime, maybe even longer. I'm sure even you Yankees in New York saw something about it on the news. In between your champagne brunches, you may have caught wind of the massive power outages we experienced. This whole frozen windmills narrative. As you might have imagined, these outages caused the citizens to lose vital things like heating to their homes. Because the freeze lasted almost a week, more in some places, pipes froze and burst. Imagine already freezing inside your house only to have freezing water soak you and everything around you.

Things were so bad, and many people actually died. Although I never want what occurred to be forgotten or be repeated, I'm not here to lay blame or suggest a fix. Rather, my purpose is to convey a few of the things I saw in the wake of that disaster. My first memory happened just as the freeze was beginning to end. I'd been bouncing around the country tackling problems great and small. I think it was Friday before I made it to this specific customer. My task was to repair the pipes already damaged and weatherproof them to the best of my ability. The pipes were located in a built-on laundry room at the back of the house.

I had no reason to believe the job would be other than routine. You could tell the residents had been suffering. Everyone living there, about five, were packed together in a small room huddled near a small gas heater. The man of the house led me around back. I entered and instantly noticed a quilt wrapped around a human-shaped object resting on top of a chest freezer. My curiosity was piqued, but I held my tongue. I don't know if he noticed me looking or what, but he explained what I was seeing. And to my horror, I listened as this guy tells me how his elderly mother had passed two nights prior in her sleep. The sun porch was the only place

they could store her body until the medical examiner could arrive. I was disgusted and saddened at the same time. My only option would be to do my job as fast as possible and just get out of there. I took a moment to express my condolences and then got to work. I probably didn't do a stellar job, but it would be good enough for the time being. Thinking about it still blows my mind. Nobody in 21st century America should be freezing to death in their own homes. Don't we owe the elderly a kinder passing than that? Now my second story happened a week after the thaw. Work had been crazy and I was barely getting any sleep. I get sent to this trailer park one afternoon. I didn't know where the brakes were located, I just knew it was bad. I enter the trailer and see evidence of water damage everywhere.

Every bit of the resident's furniture was outside drying. He said the water was ankle deep in some places. I walk normally into the kitchen and the floor gives way all of a sudden. In less than a second, I find myself crotched deep through the floor, just the right leg though, leaving me laying sideways in a great amount of pain. The residents ran over and helped me pull my leg out and the pain was now agonizing. Then they called 911 and I get a ride to the ER. After all was said and done, I was left with a huge bill and a broken ankle along with two repaired knee ligaments. Fortunately, I have an amazing employer

who covered the bill since it happened on the clock. The six weeks off were rejuvenating but it wasn't exactly the way I'd envisioned my vacation. I've got a few more stories, but I guess I'll save them for later. In the meantime, chew on this. Next time you curse your home and its cold weather and think about moving south, remember, even the great state of Texas has its share of miserable weather. Just keep us in your prayers and let's hope nothing like last year ever happens again. I'm here to share in the hopes my experience can serve as an example. An example of what not to do in a circumstance such as mine. I know I don't have to explain the complications faced when hosting family for the holidays. You want to make their stay as comfortable as possible.

And this is what I had in mind as the Christmas season of 2017 approached. To be the kind of host I wanted to be, the bathroom of our guest room was going to need a remodeling. It had been abused to death by our older daughter during her stay in the room. It had been hers until she left for college in 2015. She would continue to stay there during visits but when she let us know that she would be spending Christmas with her fiance's family, my wife and I decided to invite her parents to stay with us. In the beginning, I thought I was capable of doing the work myself. I soon discovered otherwise during a visit to the plumbing supplier.

A lot of the plumbing knowledge I had was outdated. Most of the products I was planning on using were hard to find or unavailable. After realizing this, I combed through the maze of business cards on the bulletin board. I copied down a few numbers and called. Everyone was busy, but one. This was the point at which I royally screwed up, but time was short. I put off the project for too long. Rather than do the usual background check I would have, I only relied on the man's word, and he assured me that he was licensed and insured. The proof of being licensed did come, but I was given some lame excuse about not being able to find his insurance. I was past the point of caring.

Christmas was just six weeks away and a lot of work would need to be done. I was beginning to panic but he promised me that he'd get it done with a week to spare. The renovation started off well. He had a couple of friends come in and assist with the demo. I did have a small scare when I caught one of them trying to enter my youngest bedroom. He claimed he was looking for the toilet and got lost. He apologized and I let it go. Fortunately, he never returned after that.

The bad signs began after the cleanup was completed. The plumber didn't show for a few days afterwards, and when I called, he said he was getting the last of the supplies and would arrive the following morning ready to work. He did as he promised, but the work moved very slowly. I expressed my concerns more than once, and each time I was reminded of his promise. In the end, I had no choice. I was going to have to trust him. Everything I had hoped for came crashing down

one afternoon. It was two weeks before Christmas and even I could tell the bathroom wasn't going to be done in time. That morning I decided he was going to get my help whether he wanted it or not. We were going to work up to the last second if necessary. After lunch I headed home. The plumber was supposed to be the only person in our home but when I entered I could hear a pair of voices. I followed them to the back of the house where I discovered he and another man going through our master bedroom. I confronted them. My presence clearly surprised them. Unable to come up with a lie, the pair just silently stared at each other. I was too angry to realize that I was outnumbered and in a pretty bad position. When they refused to answer,

I started yelling at them to get out. When they didn't, I got even angrier and threatened to call the cops. This got them moving, but on the way out, the unknown man threatened me. Yeah, this won't be the end of it. You can be sure of that. I followed the men out and called the police anyway. As I waited for them to arrive, the danger of my situation hit me. If they wanted, they could have overpowered me, at least. I told the cops about the threat against me and they agreed to increase patrols in my area for the next week.

I'm not ashamed to admit that I was scared for myself and my family. I didn't know what those men were capable of. I'm pleased to say that we haven't had any trouble with either men since. Unfortunately, the case against them never really went anywhere. The plumber had permission to be in the house after all. He also argued that he had permission to have helpers. The DA didn't think it was worth the trouble and that was where it ended. As for the bathroom renovation, it took some time to find another plumber to do the job.

I was a lot more careful this go around. The guy I chose did a good job. My in-laws did stay with us that Christmas and we were all forced to share one bathroom. It was a bit of a headache but thankfully things worked out in the end. This is a story my old man shared with me one Christmas holiday over some beers. He since passed so I can't find out anymore and this will have to do. This is a story my old man shared with me one Christmas holiday over some beers. He's since passed so I can't find out anymore and this will have to do. Dad became a plumber after his service in Vietnam.

He bummed around for a few years, not really sure what to do. He even chased a dream of being in the next Led Zeppelin. That went nowhere, sadly. After that and hundreds of other schemes fell through, he returned home and apprenticed under his father. Some point in there, he met my mom and they got married. I was born in 1977 and he took over the business when his dad died around 2000. That's just the basics though.

It's what happened on one specific call that I'm here to talk about. His job was to locate the source of a leak. He arrived at the location and briefly spoke to the homeowner, a retired widow, then went to work. The house was the type with a crawlspace, and my dad hated crawlspaces. They're hard to move in and can be especially dirty. A lot of plumbers claimed they got fat just so they wouldn't have to mess with them. Dad was unfortunately not obese and couldn't afford to turn down the job. He returned to his truck to get his coveralls and tools. As he was getting dressed, he was sure that he could hear the leak. It had a strange hissing sound though, like it was coming out in spurts. He pulled away the door and shone his flashlight around.

In the area under the bathroom was an old fruit box. A puddle of water was leaking out from under it. Unsatisfied that he had found the source of the leak, he crawled under the house and made his way toward the box. He reached it and began to pull it away, and a loud hissing noise came from inside. He thought the box was hung up on the pipe and water was spraying out when he pulled on it. He was going to have to replace the pipes anyways, so he yanked on the box as hard as he could. The box came away and something seemed to fall out of it. Now the hissing noise got even louder, but there was no spray of water. To get a better look,

he grabbed the flashlight and pointed it in the direction of the noise. The pipe was indeed broken and leaking quite bad, but it was the massive snake that got his attention. Its long shiny body was flexing and relaxing while a loud hissing emanated from it. Dad jerked away in fear. He couldn't see the head but soon it curled around the body and began moving toward him. He told me that was the most fear he'd ever felt in his life. That's a big claim coming from a combat veteran. He backed out as fast as possible and replaced the door behind him. He noticed he was shaking and took a moment to gather his thoughts, unsure of what to do. Scaring an old woman to death wasn't something he relished. Instead, he called the non-emergency number and reported what he'd found.

The operator transferred him to animal control and they agreed to come out. Animal control arrived and crawled in with a looped pole. A few minutes later, the officer crawled out with a snake. In the daylight, it was even larger than he'd first thought. Another officer told him it was a python. When measured, it reached about 10 feet and was about the size of his calf in the middle. The homeowner came out to see what was happening. Dad figured that she was going to keel over, but she handled it well, considering. Soon, the officers packed up the snake and took off. Now Dad was free to work on the leak, but first he scanned the crawlspace

thoroughly to make sure no surprises awaited him. Dad decided not to tell anyone what he'd seen, unsure anyone would actually believe him. That's the way things anyone what he'd seen, unsure anyone would actually believe him. That's the way things stayed until he told me that night. I found out in the intervening years that that type of stuff is happening more and more here in Florida. Our weather seems to be temperate enough for a lot of non-native reptiles to thrive here, and it makes sense. We do have alligators and crocodiles sometimes. According to the internet, it started as a problem of pet owners releasing them when they couldn't take care of them anymore.

The problem is now reaching epidemic proportions. A lot of our native species are being wiped out and while I personally have yet to see anything like this, I kind of hope I do. I've always wanted a nice pair of snakeskin boots. This past week, something terrible happened to a friend of mine and his wife. Now I'm being told that I could be held partially responsible even though I wasn't present when it occurred. I'm afraid for the future of my job and

reputation, no matter the outcome. I'm a licensed plumber in the United States. I've been practicing my trade for over 10 years and never had any legal troubles. I've always been respectful of the law and I'm raising my kids to be the same. My folks raised me to believe that I'd be fine as long as I followed the rules. Up until a few days ago, this had always been true. Then, perhaps you'll understand my confusion when I heard I may become the focus of a lawsuit. As I said before, my friends recently had an awful thing happen to the pair of them. The story is, they had an argument with their 16-year-old son about some social media posts that he made,

and as a punishment, his phone was taken away. This made the son throw a fit. He cursed them out and stormed off to his bedroom. Typical teenager stuff so far, right? And nothing else was said after that. After dinner, the couple retired to the living room to watch television. Around an hour passed and the son left his room. He visited the bathroom in the hall briefly. Then he passed his parents in the living room and entered the kitchen behind them. It was thought he was getting a meal for himself and no words were exchanged. My buddy didn't want to cause another blow up. Rather than eating, the boy positioned himself behind his parents and began

striking them across the heads with a blunt object. My friend received the brunt of the attack. He quickly evaded the blows, tackling his son and disarmed him. The shocked couple reluctantly called the police and the boy was taken into custody. Neither parent had any major injuries other than bruising and a minor concussion. The real damage had been done to the family as a whole. He and his wife are now terrified of their son and any trust they had for him will take a very long time to repair. Unwilling to allow him to return to their home, the court was left with no other choice but to remand him to juvenile detention.

His future is still up in the air. A further hearing regarding his custody will be heard early next month, and that's all I know at the time of writing this. My part in this mess relates to the weapon used in the attack. As a belated Christmas present to the couple, I offered to repair a plumbing problem in the shower of the hallway bath. They gladly accepted, and I had been undertaking the task on weekend evenings since the shower of the hallway bath. They gladly accepted and I had been undertaking the task on weekend evenings since the 1st of January. The current supply chain problems have made the job take a little longer than normal, but they seem to understand. Since the assault,

work on the shower has halted. I have been focusing on my regular work and haven't had the opportunity to visit them. Out of the blue, my buddy calls me with bad news. He says that his wife was planning on suing me for leaving my tools where their son could get to them. In her mind, he wouldn't have done what he did had the wrench not been available to him. And this is ridiculous in my mind, but he believes she's serious about it. He told me he'd continue to dissuade her from going through with it, but if he was unable to change her mind, he wanted me to be forewarned. Now, you can see my issue. A civil suit is not something I can

afford right now. The economy has not been good for business. I have a growing family, two young children, and one soon to arrive. We've outgrown our home and any extra money has been set aside to get a larger one. Even if I do win the suit, my insurance will go up. Not to say the hit my reputation will take. I live in a small city and things like this tend to get around quick. There's no way I could remain friends with people who sued me, and it's beginning to look like I may lose a lifelong friend and my livelihood with one act.

This awful mess reminds me of another cliche my folks taught me. On this count, they weren't wrong. Life is certainly not fair. I first want to start off by apologizing. I held off for almost a year in hopes of getting more details, but they never materialized. I didn't dare wait any longer from fear that I'd forget about the subject. During one of those endless lockdowns we had last year, I rewatched the HBO series Deadwood. A couple of scenes reminded me of a story I heard when I was much younger. After the war, several members of our family returned to Canada after working in the States. What we heard from the remaining side was only shared in letters,

brief phone calls, and rare family reunions. It looks as if though I'm the last remaining link to that time. The finer points may not all be there, but I believe you all get the idea from the broader strokes as I paint them. I was told this story by an American aunt during one of those occasional cross-borders get-togethers. I was about 22 at the time and soon to be married to my first husband. I'm not sure what caused her to tell me, but I was excited to hear about anything about their side of the family. She heard it first-hand from her father who experienced it.

He had been a professional plumber his entire adult life. Throughout her childhood, they often moved from place to place. I can't recall the exact town she said this occurred in. I do know that it was one of the large gold prospecting areas, perhaps tombstone, which I know they did live in for a short time. At some time in the 1950s, he was part of a group renovating several buildings in the original section of the town. Most of these structures hadn't been touched since they were built in the waning years of the previous century. Her father's job was to install plumbing into the newly renovated buildings. Unfortunately, the work wouldn't be as straightforward as first thought.

One of the first locations was in the old Chinese district. During the demolition, the crew found an intact skeleton in one of the walls. A brief investigation determined that the skeleton belonged to a woman. The doctors could never decide whether she had been put there alive or after death. This ghoulish discovery was just the start. In another instance, a large chest was found in the corner of a doctor's attic. Among normal things like beakers and papers, a local historian uncovered a string of human scalps. A human skull was also inside the box, but considering it was common to use real skeletons at the time, this was far less shocking. Probably the creepiest revelation, and the part so similar

to the Deadwood show, was the mass of bones found in a rubbish pit at the back of what was once a stable. While the overwhelming majority of the bones belonged to animals like chickens and pigs, there were a handful of human ones mixed in. One theory proposed that the piece of land had once been a pigsty. It is well known pigs will eat anything, including humans. Like the television show, a person looking to dispose of a body could have fed a corpse to a group of hungry pigs. The story of Robert William Picton, the infamous pig farm killer, is the most recent example that comes to my mind. There may have been other awful things found, but they have since slipped my mind. My aunt passed away in 1997, and without her to remind me, I'm afraid the rest will be lost to history. I hope my little tale hasn't freaked you out too much. Like many, my life had been very tame and uneventful.

This story was about as exciting as things get with me afraid. Either way, I hope it kept you entertained and your mind off the woes of the world, even if it was for just a few minutes. The End This past semester I was required to do some research on the dangers of plumbing for my Intro to the Plumbing Trade class. Until I did the paper I never considered plumbing could be a dangerous job. I'm going to post a few excerpts from the report. I hope they'll be helpful. One quick thing, I want any family members or loved ones of those I write about in this story to know I'm not doing this to make light of or to laugh at their fates. I'm deeply saddened by their losses and want to prevent anyone else from suffering in the same way,

and you have all my condolences. In this first example, a journeyman plumber lost his life after a terrible worksite accident in 2019. Jack Lewis Martin was working at a shopping center in North Houston, Texas, when the 5 feet by 6 feet trench collapsed and buried him alive. Another worker on the site attempted to dig Martin out with a backhoe, only for the machine to also fall into the trench. It's been reported that the trench was not shored up at the time. The company that Martin worked for, Best Plumbing, had no OSHA violations. Martin had worked for the company for 16 years.

His apprentice was present at the time of the cave and yelled out for help. Unfortunately, it came too late to save the poor man, and the victim had just recently celebrated his 41st birthday. He left behind a wife and teenage daughter, and my heart goes out to all of his loved ones. This second incident is by far the worst of them. It's a shining example of a company failing to protect their employees. In mid-November of 2015, a 27-year-old employee of Best Choice Plumbing in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, was repairing an underground leak at the city's 63rd street. The company was responsible for making sure the work zone was

safe, but because they did not do their job properly, a passing motorist did not see the plumber working in the street. This caused the motorist to strike the man and kill him. OSHA did an investigation and discovered the company was responsible for 10 serious safety violations. Among these, they failed to develop and implement a traffic control program, ensure that a competent person put that program to work, instruct employees on controlling hazards on an active roadway. OSHA would go on to say, had the company put these plans into action, the plumber's life would not have been lost.

The company was also fined $42,960 for its alleged negligence. The National Institute for Occupational Safety and Health says that between 2007 and 2012, fatalities in construction and maintenance work zones averaged 669 a year. Texas and Florida led the list. These are certainly very sobering statistics. They serve as a sad reminder to be watchful while driving through work zones. I'm sure we could all be more careful, myself included. I'm well aware many of you checked out the moment I began talking statistics, but they are a very important part of the story. We as humans often have a hard time grasping the seriousness of a matter without some form

of reference. The stats serve that purpose in this case. Before I undertook this assignment, I'd had no idea of the dangers some plumbers face on a daily basis, and I hope these two stories I'd shared have done the same for you. And I will end things here. To all you hardworking men and women in the plumbing trades who risk your lives every day to keep things moving, you have my utmost respect. Stay safe, and thank you. We'll be right back. 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 John Warnock Hinckley Jr. was born in Ardmore, Oklahoma on May 29th of 1955. At the age of four, his financially fortuitous family relocated to Dallas County, Texas, where his father was the chairman and president of the Vanderbilt Energy Corporation. John would go on to attend Highland Park High School, graduating in 1973, just in time for another relocation in Evergreen, Colorado. In 1974, he enrolled at Texas Tech University, but the advent of serious emotional problems meant he would abandon his degree in favor of more creative pursuits. By 1975, John had become disillusioned with higher education and dreamed of becoming a singer-songwriter. He moved to Los Angeles, but found the pursuit of stardom to be as depressing

as it was fruitless. He often wrote to his parents, begging for money while he detailed his life with girlfriend Lynn Little did they know, Lynn was a complete fabrication Someone John had made up so he didn't feel like such a failure John finally threw in the towel in September of 1976 Returning to his parents' place in Colorado under a dark cloud of disillusionment He was prescribed antidepressants and tranquilizers to deal with his ever-increasing emotional problems, and his behavior was closely monitored by his parents and doctors. However, it seems his actions weren't scrutinized too closely,

because by the late 70s, John had amassed a sizable collection of firearms and ammunition, all in the name of fulfilling a deeply thought-out plan. You see, around about the same time John moved back in with his parents, a certain Martin Scorsese film set movie theaters alight all over the world. Starring Robert De Niro, the movie was named Taxi Driver and told the story of a disturbed taxi driver who plots to assassinate a presidential candidate. Scorsese was heavily inspired by the story of Arthur Bremer, a man who had attempted to assassinate U.S. Democratic presidential candidate George Wallace in May of 1972. The attack left Wallace permanently paralyzed from the waist down, and the rage bait media circus that followed had a profound effect on John Warnock Hinkley Jr.

If he wanted attention, if he wanted respect from a certain section of the American public, all he had to do was shoot a big name with a big gun. Watching Taxi Driver only reinforced this message for Hinkley, who began to see a lot of himself in the movie's protagonist. But there was another character in the film who Hinckley found equally magnetic. That of 12-year-old Iris Steensma. A 13-year-old Jodie Foster played the underage escort that became the object of the protagonist's affections, and just as the titular taxi driver became infatuated with the girl, Hinckley found himself drawn to Jodie Foster in much the same way. When John heard that Foster had enrolled at Yale University, he immediately relocated to Connecticut in order to

be closer to her. From there, he stepped up his stalking efforts dramatically, bombarding Foster with love letters, poems, and phone calls. Obviously Foster was extremely unhappy with the unwanted attention and opted to ignore John's communications entirely. But instead of taking the hint and moving on with his life, the silent rejection seems to have filled John with a deep and burning rage. He began to fantasize about hijacking an aircraft and crashing it in front of Foster in order to get her attention. When that plan grew too complex,

John simplified his approach by plotting to take his own life in front of her. Yet all it took was another rewatch of Taxi Driver and John had his lightbulb moment. He would assassinate a sitting president, carving his name in the annals of history. Then, as John phrased it, he could appeal to her as an equal, not as a subordinate. John began tracking President Jimmy Carter around the country, and was eventually arrested in Tennessee on a firearms offense. By this point, John was flat broke, having blown the last of his meager savings on travel expenses. He was forced to return home and took the opportunity to seek serious psychiatric counsel.

Yet, despite a program of intensive mental health treatment, his condition failed to improve. John seems to have genuinely wanted to better himself at this stage. He understood that he was suffering from a rather severe personality disorder and that if he was going to get anywhere in life, he would have to overcome these problems. Yet in 1981, the election of President Ronald Reagan saw all John's progress thrown by the wayside and he once again became obsessed with the idea of assassinating a sitting president. For research, John began to study the murder of John F. Kennedy and wished to emulate the actions of Lee Harvey Oswald. Once his plan was formed and the date set, he wrote to Jodie Foster

one last time, quote, Over the past seven months I have left you dozens of poems, letters, and love messages in the faint hope that you could develop an interest in me. Although we talked on the phone a couple of times, I never had the nerve to simply approach you and introduce myself. The reason I'm going ahead with this attempt now is because I cannot wait any longer to impress you. On March 28th of 1981, John took a bus to Washington, D.C. before checking into the Park Central Hotel. He'd given the assassination attempt a great deal of thought and had rightly come to the conclusion that he might be killed while carrying it out. About two hours before his attempt, he wrote another letter to Jodie Foster,

stating that he had hoped to impress her with the magnitude of his actions, and that he would abandon the idea of getting Reagan in a second if he could only win your heart and live out the rest of my life with you. Essentially, this was the most high-profile case of emotional blackmail in contemporary American history. On March 30th, the newly minted President Reagan delivered a luncheon address at the Washington Hilton. The hotel had been thoroughly secured by the Secret Service, who had run inspections and patrols more than a hundred times before Reagan arrived. What's more, this particular branch of Hilton was considered the safest venue

in the entire city due to a secure, enclosed entranceway known as the President's Walk, which was constructed following the assassination of JFK. Reagan entered the Hilton through the passageway at about 1.45pm while wearing a bulletproof vest. No one saw Hinckley behaving in an odd manner and it was later confirmed that witnesses who claimed Hinckley was fidgety and agitated had confused him with another individual that the Secret Service had been monitoring. At exactly 2.27pm, President Reagan exited the hotel through the same President's walk, emerging on Florida Avenue to a gaggle of waiting journalists. He answered a few questions, then walked towards his limousine, which was

flanked by a crowd of supporters. Secretly among these reporters was John Hinckley Jr. himself, who had somehow managed to slip past two layers of presidential security. As Reagan's supporters applauded him, he just so happened to pass directly in front of John's line of sight. Believing this was his golden opportunity, John assumed a crouching firing stance, then rapidly discharged a.22 revolver in Reagan's direction. All six bullets missed the president, but devastation was unleashed on those around him. The first bullet struck Press Secretary James Brady in the head, just above his left eye. The bullet then traveled underneath his brain,

shattering his brain cavity in the process. Police Officer Thomas Delahanty was then struck in the back of his neck by the second shot, with the bullet ricocheting off his spine. Alfred Antonucci, a labor official from Ohio, spotted Hinckley firing the first two shots and rushed into action. He bashed John over the head and wrestled him to the ground but otherwise failed to disarm him. As Reagan was rushed to the presidential limo by his Secret Service agents, a third shot smashed the window of a building across the street. The fourth bullet was considerably more accurate, but the selflessness of Agent Tim McCarthy meant Reagan was saved from certain death, as McCarthy used himself as a human shield to absorb the bullet's impact. The hot piece of lead punched through his right lung and through his liver, with the fifth and sixth bullets hitting the bullet-resistant window glass of the limo's rear door. The fifth bullet bounced harmless off the glass, but the

sixth took a nasty ricochet, deflecting off of the vehicle's frame before hitting the president in his left armpit. The round grazed a rib and lodged in his lung, causing it to partially collapse before stopping less than an inch from his heart. That's all that separated Ronald Reagan from death by assassination, 25 millimeters of his own blood and tissue. Naturally, John was arrested and detained and walked away from the scene with nothing but cuts and bruises. A testament to the discipline of the Secret Service agents who protected him from a crowd that bayed for his blood. The day after the shooting, the six-shooter John had used

was traced to Rocky's Pawn Shop in Dallas, Texas. This was how the cops discovered that it had been loaded with six Devastator brand bullets, a specialized kind of ammunition designed to explode on contact. Luckily, the only bullet which properly exploded was the one which struck James Brady, yet doctors soon learned that the bullets still wedged inside the shooting victims could actually explode at any time. We can only imagine the tension in the operating rooms as volunteer doctors were wearing bulletproof vests to remove the bullets from the victims' bodies. When Nancy Reagan arrived at the hospital her husband was being treated at, Reagan supposedly remarked to her,

Honey, I forgot to duck. Then, upon entering the operating room in a conscious state, Reagan removed his oxygen mask to quip, I hope you're all Republicans. It was reported that the doctors and nurses laughed out loud at the president's remark, with Joseph Giordano, head of the medical team and a registered Democrat, replying with, Today, Mr. President, we're all Republicans. At his trial in 1982, John was charged with 13 separate offenses but was eventually found not guilty by reason of insanity. The attorney who represented John during his trial argued that his client suffered from a devastating form of schizophrenia, while another diagnosed Hinkley with narcissistic and schizoid personality disorders. He was quickly transferred into psychiatric care after stating

that the shooting was the greatest love offering in the history of the world, before professing his disappointment that Jodie Foster hadn't reached out to him in the aftermath of the event. While confined to St. Elizabeth Hospital in Washington, D.C., John was treated for narcissistic and schizotypal personality disorder, as well as major depressive disorder. Tests revealed that he was an unpredictably dangerous man who might harm himself or any third party at the drop of a hat. In a 1983 Penthouse interview, John said his average day consisted of seeing a therapist, answer mail, play guitar, listen to music, play pool, watch television, eat lousy food, and take delicious medication.

By 1987, John had applied for a court order allowing him periodic home visits, and as part of the consideration of the request, a judge ordered Hinckley's hospital room searched. To their horror, hospital staff discovered photographs and letters that showed that John's fixation with Jodie Foster hadn't been dampened in the least bit. Officials also uncovered evidence that John had exchanged letters with serial killer Ted Bundy, as well as seeking a mailing address for the incarcerated Charles Manson. Manson had apparently inspired Lynette Squeaky Fromm to attempt the assassination of President Gerald Ford, and it was speculated that John believed he and Fromm had enough in common to spark a romantic interest in her. In July of 2016, after years of legal battles, a federal judge ruled that John could be released from St. Elizabeth's

on the grounds that he was no longer considered a threat to himself or others. Although he was released from the hospital, it was with many conditions. For example, he was required to live full-time at his mother's home in Virginia, he was forbidden from consuming alcohol, and he was forbidden from owning a firearm. Some of those are pretty standard for an early release, but the list also included some rather unusual stipulations. A great example of these is how John was forbidden from owning any memorabilia related to Jodie Foster. He was also told he wasn't allowed to visit the graves of past presidents and had to

make solid records of his internet search history. Another rather strange condition of his early release was that John was forbidden from giving interviews to the press and from posting content online. Yet in late 2020, this ruling was quashed and John was free to, of all things, start his own YouTube channel. Listed under the name John Hinckley, the channel includes many original pieces of music penned by John himself. Some are called things like Love for Real and The NeverEnding Quest, and are generally light-hearted pieces of acoustic pop which belie the man's criminal history. Yet on occasion, it's impossible not to notice the cold, dead look in Hinckley's eyes, or to appreciate the irony of a man like him singing,

Can't We All Just Get Along? Because as long as there are people like him, men willing to murder each other in order to impress celebrities, the likelihood of us all getting along are very slim indeed. Born on July 25th of 1948, Richard Farley was Junior College before enlisting in the U.S. Navy in 1967. Following his discharge in 1977, Richard found a position as a software technician at the Electromagnetic Systems Laboratory, a defense contractor in Sunnyvale, California. For six and a half years, Richard was a model employee. His military bearing had been a huge appeal to his potential employers and, for a long time, Richard proved himself a disciplined and diligent worker. Yet it seems Richard's veneer of stability

was just that, nothing more than a well-practiced facade, and his mask only slipped when he was introduced to a young woman by the name of Laura Black. In April of 1984, the Electromagnetic Systems Laboratory welcomed 22-year-old Laura Black onto their team. Richard was 35 at the time, and the moment he laid eyes on Laura, he was smitten. He later said that it was love at first sight, how he was suddenly magnetized to her beauty, and in that moment, he swore he'd do anything to make her his. At first, Richard's advances were wholesome and respectful. He sent Laura a letter along with a basket of homemade baked goods, inviting her out on a date with him. Laura later said she was flattered but politely declined his offer, as Richard wasn't someone she was interested in dating.

She'd hoped that Richard might take the rejection in his stride, but unfortunately, this proved to be painfully wishful thinking. One day, Laura received a call at her desk via the office's internal phone network. When she answered, she recognized the voice on the other end, but their demeanor was anything but professional. It was Richard, and he was demanding to know why she wouldn't go out with him. Laura firmly rebuked him, demanding that he leave her alone and for a while it worked. But when Richard suddenly showed up at Laura's aerobics class, she realized she wasn't dealing with a well-adjusted person. After the aerobics ambush, Richard enacted a sinister scheme in which he provided false information to his employer's HR department. Through this, Richard was able to obtain Laura's address and

phone number. Part two of his plan involved befriending the company's custodial department as a way to secure a copy of Laura's desk keys. This way, he could pour through her office desk in order to gain insights into her personal life. Laura found Richard's advances to be incredibly creepy, but every time she confronted him, he'd back off long enough for her to regain some semblance of comfort. Almost every time he retreated, she thought she'd ended the problem, but Richard's stalking always resumed and always with an increasing gall and intensity. The final straw appeared to be when Richard began sending Laura doctored photos of her,

photos that Richard had inserted images of himself into. They were mocked up to make the pair look like a loving couple, and the implications made Laura's skin crawl. Finally, after almost a full year of sporadic harassment, with Richard averaging at least two incidents of stalking a week, Laura approached the ESL Human Resources Department and begged them for help. After a brief investigation, the company took swift action, presenting Richard with an ultimatum. Either he sought counseling, or his employment would be

terminated. Richard was furious at the humiliation, yet he conceded, attending the counseling sessions in order to maintain what little professional contact he had with Laura. He completed his course of counseling, but depressingly, Richard slowly began to commence his campaign of harassment. Only this time, his malice was unmasked and unfettered. By the spring of 1986, Richard was unleashing torrents of verbal abuse on anyone who tried to interfere with his harassment of Laura Black. It was these outbursts, along with the decline in his performance, that led him to being fired by the Electromagnetic Systems Laboratory. However, he quickly found a similar position at a rival company that was also based in Sunnyvale, allowing him to continue stalking Laura in his spare time. This eventually led Laura Black to file a formal restraining order against Richard in February of 1988,

one that was provisionally granted by a family court judge who sympathized with her four-year-long plight. When Richard learned of the restraining order, he flew into a rage and began plotting to undermine the legal integrity of the restraining order. On February 9th of 1988, Richard dropped off a package at the office of Laura's attorney. The package contained doctored photographs, hotel and credit card receipts, and fabricated love letters, all designed to make Laura seem like she was lying about them having a prior relationship. While the context of the package were decidingly false, it was voluminous enough to cast a great deal of doubt onto Laura's claims.

And while she fought to have the restraining order ratified, this gave Richard time to put another one of his schemes into action. A complete restraining order might have prevented Richard from doing what he did next, but since he delayed its formal recognition, he was able to make a life-changing decision completely unimpeded. Richard began to stockpile weapons and ammunition, including a Mossberg shotgun barrel and a Ruger 22LR carbine and over 3,000 rounds of ammunition. Then, on the day before the restraining order was due to be fully instituted, Richard Farley drove his motorhome into the Electromagnetic Systems Laboratory parking lot.

He later confessed that the purpose of his visit was to talk Laura out of filing the restraining order and that if she refused, he would take his own life in front of her. Yet as grim as his plan was, it required more than one firearm and a small one at that. So, the fact that Richard loaded his vehicle up with a 12-gauge semi-automatic shotgun, a.22 scoped rifle, a 12-gauge pump-action shotgun, and four smaller pistols speaks to much deadlier machinations. Richard wasn't preparing for a discussion. He was preparing to commit a massacre. On February 16th of 1988, when Richard climbed out of his motorhome, he wore a bulletproof vest, earplugs, and a single leather shooting glove. Stored in a variety of clips, magazines, and speed loaders, Richard had over a thousand rounds of ammunition on his person and carried a pick and mix of his makeshift arsenal as he walked towards the ESL building.

Then, out of nowhere, he raised his rifle and began firing at innocent bystanders. Security tried to lock Richard out of the building, but he simply shot his way through the glass front doors and continued to fire at will. His victims were mostly random, but his route was not. Richard was pushing through the ESL building, intent on visiting one office in particular. That of the 26-year-old Laura Black, the woman he'd been victimizing for the past four years. Laura had already heard the approaching gunfire and had been walking towards her office door as Richard arrived on the opposite side. The maniacal gunman thrust a boot into the foxwood paneling, opening the door but inadvertently sending it smashing into Laura's head. She fell back onto the carpeted floor, ears ringing, barely conscious, and completely at the mercy of her dangerous, insane stalker.

Richard stood there for a moment, eyeing his prostrate prey. Laura was ten years younger than him and almost a foot shorter. She posed no threat to the man whatsoever. But still he raised his shotgun, and still, he pulled the trigger. The shot sent steel pellets ripping into Laura's left shoulder, collapsing along in the process. But for some reason, Richard only fired once. It could have been that shooting Laura brought a certain gravity to the situation, making Richard realize what he was doing was an act of pure evil. But it's more likely that, by that point, Richard could hear police sirens,

and what had once been a feeling of utter wrath became one of abject terror. Within minutes, he'd be facing a SWAT team, and the best-case scenario involved spending the rest of his life in a cage. It's likely he panicked, allowing the wounded to crawl away and hide, and miraculously, this included his intended victim, Laura Black. The presence of police snipers caused Richard to unravel even further, and after the marksman cover gave Laura and the other survivors a window of escape, Richard surrendered after being offered nothing more than a sandwich and a soft drink. In total, 98 shots were fired and seven people were murdered during an attack that lasted more than five hours.

At his multiple murder trial, Richard gave a full and frank confession to the killings, but shocked the court by pleading not guilty. Though a statement read out by his attorney, Richard stated that he didn't actually plan to kill anyone and only wished to get Laura's attention. This was when he touched on his plan to take his own life in front of her if she happened to reject him for what could have easily been the hundredth time. Richard's defense attorney claimed that contrary to the evidence, his client was not a violent man. To quote, the attorney said his client only had his judgment temporarily clouded by his obsession with black,

and that he would likely never kill again. In clinical terms, this was partially supported by the fact that Richard lacked any kind of criminal record, but the jury was far too astute to be fooled by any kind of legal gymnastics. On top of that, the prosecution provided them with documentation from every step of Richard's stalking, producing almost every single letter he ever sent, along with the receipts from his weapon and ammo purchases. This evidence amounted to extensive premeditation, and proved to be the final nail in Richard's judicial coffin. On October 21st of 1991, Richard Wade Farley was found guilty on all seven counts of first-degree murder. A few months later, a superior court judge sentenced him to death. In line with California state law, several appeals were automatically lodged.

This is one of the reasons why so many of California's death row prisoners have historically had their sentences reduced to life imprisonment. But even in a state so keen to show mercy on its condemned, 2009 saw California's Supreme Court uphold Richard's death sentence. To them, such a rare monster as he deserved nothing but execution. As of January 2022, Richard is still on San Quentin's death row, and due to execution moratorium instituted by Gavin Newsom, it's likely he'll remain there until he dies of natural causes. Laura Black, on the other hand, went on to completely recover from the attack, and despite suffering a great deal of mental trauma, she continued to work at the Electromagnetic Systems Laboratory. From his prison cell, Richard wrote Laura one last letter. Much like his previous communique, it was long, meandering, and incoherent,

but the central theme was one of conceding victory, or as Richard phrased it, you finally won. I believe this provides us with the most intimate and disturbing look into the man's psychology. He didn't see Laura as a person to woo or win over. He didn't want to win her trust or charm her into attraction. She was competition, a rival, someone he wanted to defeat, in order to own. If it's a flat or a squeal, a wobble or peel, your dread's worn down or you need a new wheel, We'll be right back. When you purchase Kumo RoadVenture AT52 tires, find a Kumo TreadExperts dealer near you at treadexperts.ca slash locations. From tires to auto repair, we're always there, treadexperts.ca. On January 14th of 1975, Ricardo Lopez was born into a middle-class family in Uruguay. Ricardo's life may have begun in South America, but his family soon moved to the United States, settling in the state of Georgia when he was still a child.

Ricardo had a good upbringing and was relatively well behaved, but he was also described as introverted, with few friends at school or at home. As he grew into a teenager, Ricardo dreamed of a career in the arts and made the brave decision to drop out of high school in order to give himself a head start. However, soon after taking the plunge, Ricardo's bravado seemed to run dry. He suffered from feelings of inadequacy and was so terrified of rejection that he avoided applying to art school entirely. To support himself, Ricardo worked on and off at his brother's pest control business and by age 17, he had not only become cripplingly reclusive, but he had developed a rather unhealthy obsession with celebrities.

In 1993, Ricardo discovered an Icelandic singer by the name of Björk. Björk's first adult solo album was released in June 1993 to positive reviews and was subsequently named Album of the Year by the New Musical Express. Quickly earning platinum status in the US, her debut catapulted Björk to stardom. Her song, Venus as a Boy, was featured in the cult film Leon the Professional, adding a hint of floaty levity to a dark and violent narrative. Tens of thousands of Americans were captivated by Björk's ethereal pop music and hypnotic appearance, Ricardo included. But unlike his peers, whose interest in Björk began and ended

with her music, Ricardo wanted to know everything there was to know about his favorite new artist. Ricardo began researching her early life and career, writing her numerous fan letters as he did so. These letters told Björk that she was his muse, and that his growing obsession provided him with an almost euphoric sensation. During this time, Ricardo also kept a journal, one in which he detailed his all-consuming infatuation. His writings reveal an ever-widening gyre between himself and reality, as he seemed certain that he would soon be accepted by Björk as a friend and mentor, or as Ricardo phrased it, someone who had an effect on her life. Ricardo also fantasized about creating a time machine, then using it to travel back to the

1970s where he would make friends with a childhood version of Björk. That way, he would secure himself as an indispensable figure in her life. Ricardo also seemed disturbingly confused over the nature of his feelings for Björk and wrote in one diary entry that he couldn't make love to her because he loved her so much. By the time Ricardo was finished with the journal, it was a draw dropping 803 pages, with entire tracks of it detailing his lack of self-worth, how he was a loser who never even learned to drive. In total, the journal contains more than 160 references to himself as a failure, 34 references to taking his own life, and 14

references to murder. Compare those numbers to 408 mentions of Björk and you start to get an idea of just how fixated Ricardo really was. By 1996, Ricardo was living in Hollywood, Florida, renting a small apartment while struggling to find work. It was around this time that he read an Entertainment Weekly article which detailed Bjork's budding relationship with a London-based DJ named Goldie. Upon learning of this, Ricardo flew into a rage, consumed by feelings of jealousy, anger and betrayal. ''I wasted eight months on her and she has an an effing lover? He wrote in his diary, making several racist remarks in the process. Ricardo seemed irate that Dirk was romantically

involved with an Afro-Caribbean man and began thinking of ways to punish her for embarking on an interracial relationship. This is around the same time that Ricardo ceased working on a handwritten diary and began to film a series of video diaries in his apartment. In one such video, Ricardo states that the purposes of the recordings was to document my life, my art, and my plan. Comfort is what I seek in speaking to you. I am being my own psychologist. You are a camera. I am Ricardo. Over the course of the next few months, Ricardo filled 11 VHS tapes with his unhinged rants, totaling 22 hours of video diaries. He made references to his feelings for Bjork as the crush that ended up as an obsession, and recorded himself

planning and preparing what he referred to as his revenge. In one video, Ricardo seems to be arguing with himself over Bjork's potential fate, and it's extremely disturbing to see his thought process end with, I'm just going to have to kill her. I'm going to send her a package which, in turn, is going to send her to hell. It should be noted that in most instances of stalker-related violence, the perpetrator has most commonly used a blade or firearm as their weapon of choice, whereas in Ricardo's case, his proposed methods were much more chillingly creative. For example, he brainstormed an idea that involved filling an explosive device with hypodermic needles containing HIV-infected blood. When he realized such a device was untenable, Ricardo switched the design up slightly, replacing the tainted blood with

none other than sulfuric acid. The design consisted of a hollowed-out book, one which would spray Bjork with the acid when she attempted to open it. The final stage of Ricardo's plan was to take his own life once he's received news of his attack's success. That way, he and Bjork would be united in the afterlife, where they would remain together for all eternity. September 12th of 1996 saw the final entry into Ricardo's video diary. He titled the entry, Last Day, Ricardo Lopez, and it begins with a visit to a local post office. Ricardo has the book bomb in his possession and documents his attempt to mail it,

stating that he's very, very nervous and that if he very, very nervous, and that if he arouses any suspicion, he'll take his own life rather than face arrest. The video cuts out just as Ricardo walks into the post office and only resumes once he's returned home. Björk's music plays in the background as a naked Ricardo shaves his head and paints his face red and green. He then appears to examine himself in the mirror for a short time, before turning towards the camera and saying, I'm a little nervous now.

Ricardo went on to state that he was definitely not drunk or depressed, and that he knew exactly what he was doing. The gun is cocked back, he's heard saying, adding that it's ready to roll. As the Björk song, I Remember You, reaches its conclusion, Ricardo becomes increasingly and visibly nervous. He glances at the gun, then at the camera, then back at the gun, and it becomes obvious that he's beginning to tremble and hyperventilate. Then, as he finishes, Ricardo looks angrily into the camera, screaming,

this is for you, then takes his own life. He is briefly heard groaning, and the viewer can make out a hand-painted sign in the background which reads, the best of me, September 12. Forensic investigators later theorized that Ricardo had intended to spray the sign with his own blood and brains, almost like it was his final piece of art, his masterpiece. It wasn't until September 16th that Ricardo's neighbors smelled a foul odor coming from his apartment. Officers from the Hollywood Police Department quickly broke in, discovering Ricardo's rotting, bloated corpse in the process. Written on the wall was a short message, one which read, The 8mm videos are documentation of a crime, and they're for the FBI. Police were forced to evacuate the apartment block while the city's bomb squad cleared the place of explosives.

Only then were they able to watch the tapes to uncover Ricardo's sinister and deadly plans. The cops then rushed to contact London's Scotland Yard, warning them that the potentially explosive package was en route to Bjork's residence in Chelsea. Thankfully, the package had yet to be delivered and the Metropolitan Police were able to intercept it from a South London post office. In reality, there was little danger of Bjork's receiving the package as her mail was vetted through her management's office. And in an ironic twist of fate, it turned out that Bjork and Goldie had actually broken up just a few days before Ricardo took his own life. Once she learned of Ricardo's actions, Bjork

released a public statement in which she professed how distressed she was by the incident. Calling it very sad and terrible, she warned that people should not take me too literally or get involved in my personal life. However, she did have the grace to send a letter of condolence to Ricardo's family, stating that she was very upset that somebody had died, couldn't sleep for a week, and I'd be lying if I said it didn't scare the F out of me. I could get hurt and most of all, my son could get hurt, and that terrifies me. Ricardo's family and friends later responded by saying that, although they were aware of his obsession with her, they had no idea he would actually resort to violence. A psychiatrist who treated Lopez for anxiety shortly before his

death also stated that he did not appear dangerous. Maybe that's what's so insidious about a case like Ricardo's. What ended up as a murderous rage appeared to observers as nothing but a harmless infatuation. Ricardo was most definitely insane, but unlike so many others, he was able to hide the extent of his madness from those around him. He had one face for the public, and one face for the camera, and maybe the last image of him, gun in his mouth with a red and green face, actually gives us an idea of how Ricardo really felt about himself, not on the outside, but on the inside. In January of 1999, 21-year-old student Shiori Ino decided to visit an amusement arcade in her home city of Saitama. It was there she met a handsome young man by the name of Katsuhito Komatsu,

who told her he was a 23-year-old entrepreneur who dealt in cars, real estate, and precious metals. The pair talked for a while before Katsuhito asked Shiori out on a date. She accepted and soon the couple were seeing each other regularly. Not only that, but Katsuhito began showering Shiori with lavish gifts such as Louis Vuitton handbags and handmade Gucci dress clothes. There came a point where Shiori simply couldn't bring herself to accept such expensive offerings, but after politely declining one of his gifts, Katsuhito exploded into a rage. In front of hundreds of passer-bys, he began screaming abuse at her, something which is

considered highly unusual and disgraceful in Japanese culture. Naturally, Shiori was appalled by the outburst and swore off seeing Katsuhito again. A few days went by, then Shiori received a telephone call at her home address. It was Katsuhito calling to profess how apologetic he was concerning his recent tantrum. At first, it seems Shiori gave him the benefit of the doubt and agreed to continue dating him. There was just one little problem. Shiori had never given Katsuhito her home phone number, only her cell phones. So how did he end up getting his hands on it?

The question didn't seem to bother Shiori too much, as she obviously agreed to carry on seeing Katsuhito. Yet, her faith in him was completely shattered when she found an old ID card down the back of one of his car seats. Not only had Katsuhito given her a false name, but he wasn't actually 23, he was closer to 27 years of age. And while it was the truth that he was an entrepreneur, it wasn't buying and selling gold and silver that made him his fortune, it was from running a series of seedy massage parlors around Saitama. Entrepreneur, it wasn't buying and selling gold and silver that made him his fortune. It was from running a series of seedy massage parlors around Saitama.

It was the final straw for Shiori, only this time, when she tried to break it off with Katsuhito, he openly made threats to her life until she agreed to continue the affair. This terrified Shiori to the point that she actually wrote a last will and testament on March 30th of 1999. Around this time, she made another attempt to end the relationship, telling Katsuhito she'd rather die than continue the soul-crushing charade. But Katsuhito was as shrewd as he was malicious, and simply switched up his tactics to threaten her loved ones, essentially holding them hostage until she agreed to keep seeing him. Shiori continued dating Katsuhito for three months, and only did so to ensure her family's safety. However, come June

14th, it seems Shiori had simply had enough. She invited Katsuhito out to a local cafe, then read him the riot act. She made it clear that she was never going to see him again, and that no amount of intimidation would change her mind. It's possible she simply believed he was bluffing, and that he didn't have it in him to actually hurt people, especially innocents like her younger brother. In a sense, she was right, but Kazuhito's revenge would prove much more creative than she could have possibly imagined. The very same day Shiori delivered her final rejection, Kazuhito and two of his friends drove over to her parents' home. But instead of subjecting them to violence as he promised, Kazuhito confronted Shiori's parents with a series of fictional accusations.

He accused them of being complicit in illegal activity that Shiori had instigated. Shiori's father stood firm in the face of Kazuhito's outbursts, telling him to take back the gifts he'd forced onto his daughter. Yet as soon as he mentioned this, Kazuhito and his two friends began to retreat, saying they didn't want the gifts back and Shiori was entitled to keep them. It was clearly an odd reaction, but it was by design. You see, Kazuhito wanted to make it look like he and Shiori not only had an on-and-off-again relationship, but were also partners in crime. Yet Shiori had been had an on-and-off again relationship, but were also partners in crime. Yet Shiori had been ready for him, and had recorded the entire exchange on a hidden dictaphone. It was all the evidence she needed that she was being subjected to a prolonged campaign of harassment. Yet when she presented the tape to officers at the Saitama police station,

they did absolutely nothing. To them, she didn't have a case, and it was nothing more than a dispute between criminals. Following a series of harassment calls from someone calling themselves Tanaka, Shiori once again begged the local police for help. Yet to her family's horror, local law enforcement sided with Katsuhito, suggesting that Shiori was to blame for trying to end the relationship after accepting such expensive gifts. Yet despite their indifference, there was one officer who was well and truly outraged by the mishandling of the affair, and it was he who directed the Ino family to a free legal clinic run by the Saitama Chamber of Commerce. It was Shiori's last best hope, but after just 15 minutes of consultation, the attending attorney looked up from his legal pad and asked,

"...but she had a lot of stuff bought for her, right?" Faced with yet another male authority figure who refused to acknowledge Katsuhito's wrongdoing, the Ino family's collective hopes were dashed. On June 21st of 1999, Shiori took the drastic step of having every single one of Katsuhito's gifts returned via a private courier service. Katsuhito demanded the courier turn back around and re-deliver them to Shiori, but the courier had been given the explicit instruction, and a generous tip, to just dump the stuff before leaving. Kazuhito was absolutely livid, apoplectic to the point that it dwarfed all of his previous outbursts. This time, instead of taking steps to embarrass

or browbeat Shiori, he decided on a much more permanent solution. Kazuhito approached an ex-manager of one of his massage parlors and gave him an offer he couldn't refuse. 33-year-old Yoshifumi Kubota had been down on his luck for quite some time, so when Kazuhito offered him over $175,000 for a job, he just about jumped at the chance. But there was a catch. To earn the money, Yoshi would have to commit murder, and his target would be none other than Shiori Ino. Finally, on October 26th of 1999, as Shiori cycled to Okigawa Station, Yoshi was waiting for her.

As she reached the station and climbed off her bike, Yoshi approached her from behind and stabbed Shiori in the side of the torso. She screamed out in pain, but as she turned and attempted to flee the scene, Yoshi plunged the blade into her heart, killing her instantly. She was officially pronounced dead at 12.50pm, with her cause of death listed as shock due to massive bleeding. Immediately, the Saitama police realized what a terrible mistake they'd made. Every word of Shiori's story had been true. She was an innocent victim, not a criminal accomplice. Yet instead of apologizing, reviewing the incident, or changing

their procedure, they did something unforgivable. They began what amounted to a campaign of disinformation, falsely portraying Shiori as a promiscuous harlot who'd manipulated Katsuhito into buying her a variety of designer goods. This was jumped on by the nation's tabloid newspapers, who began pumping out completely fallacious stories on how Shiori was an escort, a con artist, and a criminal. It was victim-blaming to the highest degree, and if it wasn't for the noble work of journalist Kiyoshi Shimizu, the truth might have been buried forever. Kiyoshi began digging for the facts, interviewing Shiori's parents, as well as a variety of her close friends. He also began investigating Katsuhito and discovered that Shiori wasn't the only girl he had lied to regarding his age and occupation. Kiyoshi produced an extensive write-up, with a magazine by the name of Focus publishing it during the fall of 99. It was truly

a brilliant piece of investigative journalism, one which vindicated Shiori and her grieving family. The evidence was so cohesive and compelling that it whipped up outrage among the Japanese public, forcing the police to arrest Katsuhito's handful of accomplices. It should be noted that he had completely absconded following the murder, and that Kiyoshi Shimizu actually tracked him down personally before forwarding his location to the police. Katsuhito might have been pure evil, but he was no idiot, and he soon cottoned on to the fact that he was being followed.

So, instead of surrendering himself for allowing himself to be captured, he made the decision to take his own life. His body was found on January 27th of the year 2000, floating in a lake near the town of Eteshikaga. Police then found a letter in his hotel luggage, one which amounted to a note describing him taking his own life, explaining that he had planned to take his own life at some point following Shiori's murder. Public outrage also promoted a legislative hearing by the Saitama Prefecture police, who were heavily criticized in the Japanese media for their apparent dereliction of duty.

Yet this is the same media machine that pumped out smears against Shiori and had essentially defended an obsessive psychopath. The police issued a formal apology to the Ino family and nine Saitama police officers were either disciplined or outright fired for their colossal failures. Yoshifumi Kubota, Shiori's killer, was eventually given 18 years in prison, while other accomplices received 15 years. On the other hand, the hero journalist who'd uncovered the truth received the Editor's Choice Magazine Journalism Award, as well as the National Association of Commercial Broadcasters in Japan Reporting Award for his work. He would later receive the same awards again after clearing an innocent man's name and was quick to point out similarities with how the

police and prosecutors handled the case. After the scandal was put to bed, the Japanese government instituted a series of anti-stalking regulations which they hoped would make similar incidents a thing of the past. Yet it seems as frustrating as it is tragic that a young woman had to lose her life in order for such regulations to be put into place. Yet it's tough not to be reminded of an old adage, one that says safety regulations are written in blood. It's just a shame that in this case, that blood had to be Shiori's. So, without being too specific, I live in a very hot, very sunny place and a few years back I lived in an apartment that had some amazing natural light. Only trouble was, I had to close my blinds for the hottest part of the day, or the sun would basically bleach anything it touched over time.

That was kind of annoying, but it was all in the resident's opposite me would always come out onto his balcony and like stare at me. I'd have done something about it earlier, maybe gone over and asked him nicely not to do it but he was an older guy and I think he was just past the point of caring. Irritating but harmless, or so I thought. Because one day, I come home from work to find my blinds open. I never ever forget to close them before I left in the morning. Like ever. Last thing I wanted was to lose my security deposit, which are very very high where I live as the government owns basically all the rentable residential units. I'm not like an overly paranoid person so I just figured it was like the one time I've forgotten to close them.

Only as I walk over, I see the older dude sitting on his balcony, looking down at me and he's smiling. I know it was him. I don't have proof but I know he got into my apartment somehow. There was just something about that smile, something that said, you can't hide from me. For a while I thought he might have gotten the building's maintenance guy to open them or something, or the cleaners. They service departments, and might have forgotten to close the blinds after spending

time in my apartment. Naturally my first action was to contact the building's management and told them I thought there might have been a break-in. Obviously they were very open to investigate this and told me that they'd have the security team review the security camera footage from my block to identify if someone broke in. When they came back and told me that no one had been in my room that day but me, I had to make a tough decision. I could stay at the apartments and put myself at potential risk, or I could buy out the rest of my lease and just get out of there. This is what had me second guessing myself as a few thousand bucks wasn't a loss I was willing to easily swallow. But then all it took was waking up one day, walking over to my window, and seeing that guy smiling down at me again.

Smiles are weird like that, sometimes can be like a ray of sunshine, but that guy's smile made my skin crawl. Some things in life you just don't risk, and whether it was that old dude or something else I hadn't figured out, I just wasn't willing to find out the hard way. We'll be right back. Conquer rugged terrain with on-road comfort. Until June 15th, receive up to $60 on a prepaid MasterCard when you purchase Kumo RoadVenture AT52 tires. Find a Kumo TreadExperts dealer near you at treadexperts.ca slash locations. From tires to auto repair, we're always there. TreadExperts.ca

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