The Lets Read Podcast - 191: MY DAD TRAFFICKED ME | 30 True Scary Stories | EP 179

Episode Date: June 13, 2023

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

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BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with iGaming Ontario. 🎵 Back in October of 1988, 41-year-old Peggy Carr was happily employed as a waitress at a restaurant in the small town of Alturas, Florida. One day, while going about a regular working day, she was overcome by a rather unusual sensation. It started with a numbing sensation in her hands, then progressed to aches and pains in her legs. By the time she informed her duty manager that she was too sick to work, she was starting to suffer sharp pains in her chest. Peggy's daughter, also an employee of the restaurant, was given permission to give her mother a ride home so she could recuperate in peace. But by the time they arrived back at their house, Peggy complained that the pain was almost unbearable. It was then that her husband, Picar, drove Peggy to the nearest hospital to be seen by a doctor. Following her arrival at the hospital, the doctors that examined Peggy were confounded by her affliction. They confessed that it was like nothing they'd ever seen before, and since the mysterious illness seemed to be unlike

anything they knew of, they suggested that Peggy might be suffering from less of a physical disorder and more of a psychological one. They began asking Peggy if she's been under any undue stress lately, yet her response was simple, I know it's not my head, this is real. Regardless, the doctors advised Peggy and her husband that she should rest for a few days and at first, her symptoms abated. Yet within just a few days, the pains returned, only this time, they were even worse. Not only that, but Peggy wasn't the only one suffering from the bizarre symptoms. Her two teenage boys, Dwayne and Travis, had also become seriously ill. Within just a few hours of being rushed to the hospital, Peggy lost both the ability to speak

and the ability to open her eyes. The pain was so bad that Peggy had to be tied to her hospital bed in order to prevent her from thrashing around. Then shortly afterwards, she fell unconscious and stopped breathing, forcing medical staff to put her on a ventilator. When Peggy finally regained consciousness, her sister Shirley rushed over to the hospital to visit. The two sisters had grown up in a deaf household and both were familiar with American Sign Language. The doctors might not have had a way of communicating with Peggy, but Shirley did. In amazement, the medical staff watched as Shirley took hold of one of Peggy's hands before signing out the phrase, Peggy, how are you feeling?

Slowly and painfully, Peggy signed out her reply. I-H-U-R-T. I hurt. The doctor's inability to identify the cause of Peggy's illness meant that they were forced to call in a special neurologist. After a thorough examination of her symptoms, Dr. Richard Hosler determined that Peggy might be suffering from thallium poisoning. Thallium is a naturally occurring element and almost everybody has trace amounts of the substance in their bodies. However, Peggy's urine samples showed that she had almost 20,000 times the normal amount in her system. Urine samples from her two sons also contained an abnormal amount of thallium nitrate, but not nearly as much as their mothers did. When doctors suggested that Peggy had been poisoned,

she began signing the words, why, why, why, over and over again. These would prove to be some of her final words, as after falling into a coma, she would go on to pass away on March 3rd of 1989. Following Peggy's death from thallium poisoning, homicide detective Ernest Mincy was assigned to her case. After questioning the Carr family, Mincy learned that just two weeks before the poisoning symptoms began, the Carrs had received a rather sinister correspondence in the form of a handwritten letter. Pi Karrs stated that the letter had read, You and all your so-called family have two weeks to move out of Florida forever, or else you will all die.

The family had originally dismissed the note as nothing but a cruel prank enacted by local teenagers, yet deadly developments proved there was weight behind those words. Forensic examiners commenced a thorough search of the car's home, searching for the source of the thallium. They tested over 400 different items until finally it was traced back to a trio of glass Coca-Cola bottles, with each containing a lethal dose of thallium. When asked where they had purchased the cokes, it turned out that none of the cars had done so. They simply assumed that another member of the family had picked them up. In fact, they didn't normally drink coke at all. They were a

Pepsi family. They also informed investigators that, since they believed that their deceased mother was suffering from some kind of digestive issue when she first arrived home from the hospital, they had been giving exclusively coked drink. The same coke that had the lethal doses of thallium in it. It was around this time that forensic investigators officially announced that the cokes had been tampered with. Someone had taken time to remove and replace the metal caps on each of the bottles, but not before depositing a lethal dose of poison in each one. Even more sinisterly, they had then managed to secretly plant the beverages in the Carr house without them being

any the wiser. Detective Mincy then went about questioning those closest to the Carr family in order to determine if anyone held a grudge against them. Not a single person had any clue who might hate the family enough to want to poison them, especially in such a cruel and creative manner. They were a rather popular family, possessing many friends and acquaintances who visited on a regular basis, and it wasn't like close proximity to anyone had fueled any conflict, as living out in rural Florida meant that they only really had two neighbors in the form of George and Diana Treppel. Detective Mincy went over to the Treppel house to find that the couple had only pleasant things to say about the cars

but when asked why anyone might want to poison them, George Treppel gave a rather suspicious answer to get them, George Treppel gave a rather suspicious answer, to get them to move. It was the exact same language used on the threatening letter they'd been sent, which meant that in Mincy's eyes, George was now the number one suspect in Peggy's murder. He began digging into George's background and discovered a number of rather interesting things in the process.

George and his wife were both members of Mensa, the largest and oldest high-IQ society in the world, and organized a series of murder mystery weekends for members of their chapter. This involved setting up imaginary homicides before leading their guests through clue-by-clue investigations in order to solve them. Yet George's past was far from wholesome. In fact, he was a convicted felon, having spent three years in prison for setting up one of the largest and most sophisticated methamphetamine labs in US history. This lab had utilized what is known as the P2P method

of manufacturing, a method which requires one specific compound. That compound being thallium. What's more, thallium is a heavily controlled substance. It's not like a person can just go pick some up at CVS. So, whoever the poisoner was, they had to have enough knowledge of chemistry in order to manufacture it themselves. Knowledge that George Treppel would undoubtedly be in possession of. Detective Mincy had determined that George most certainly had the means to poison Peggy Carr. But what about a motive? The Treppels seemed to only have nice things to say about the Carrs

but when Detective Mincy spoke to the Carrs themselves they made it clear that the two families didn't get along. The Treppels were a childless, highly educated family who preferred peace and quiet, while the Carrs were a veritable clan who enjoyed socially rowdy get-togethers in their spacious backyard. This caused them to clash on many separate occasions, and the Trepples seemed to take a particular dislike to the Carrs' two teenage boys, whose trucks were constantly coming and going with their stereo systems turned up to full volume. The boys also owned a pair of ATVs and would occasionally tear them around the back of the Treppel's property at high speeds. The conflict started when Diana

Treppel went over to the car's property to beg them to keep the noise down. Peggy told her she'd try, but that her boys could definitely be a handful. Then the next time Diana stopped by, it was with a considerably less civil tongue, with she and Peggy getting into quite a screaming match before she retreated back to her home. But before she did, Pi Carr said Diana issued a rather ominous threat, in the form of, You'll pay for this. Mark my words, this isn't over. When Detective Mincy confronted George Treppel with his freshly gleaned information, George was forced to admit that the Carrs had stolen their precious peace and tranquility from the moment they moved next door.

Now that means and motive had been established, Mincy had to prove that George was someone with a deep knowledge of the car's routines and home layout. After all, to be able to sneak into the house and stealthily place the coke bottles there, the perpetrator needed to be somebody who had the means to observe the family in order to gain knowledge of the car's day-to-day activities. So when Detective Mincy discovered that George Treppel's computer programmer job permitted him to work from home, it was yet another piece of the puzzle. Yet Mincy was faced with one major problem. The Treppels were smart, very smart, and Mincy bet that they were smart enough to have purged their home of evidence long before

he ever came a-calling. So how in God's name would he ever ensure a guilty verdict in a court of law? What's more, one of the main benefits of using thallium in a murder plot is that there's a lengthy delay between the time of ingestion and the time of death, making it extremely difficult to pinpoint exactly when the victim was poisoned. To catch smart criminals, Mincy needed a smart play, and that's where Sherry Gwynn enters the picture. On April 14th of 1989, Sherry arrived at the Winter Haven Holiday Inn, intent on participating in a Treppel-organized Mensa murder mystery weekend.

After the mystery was solved, she gushed about how fun the affair was to a suitably smug George Treppel. She showered him with praise, massaged his intellect and ego, and confessed a deep desire to befriend the Treppels in order to have a pair of true crime buddies that shared her passionate interest in the subject. It's true that Sherry was a true crime enthusiast, but it was more of a professional curiosity than a mere hobby. You see, Sherry's real name was Susan Gorek, and Susan Gorek was an undercover police officer. Susan was tasked with befriending the Treples in order to coax a confession out of them, and in preparation for the task, she consulted with none other than

the infamous Bill Hagmeier of the FBI Behavioral Science Unit. Hagmeier is best known for his death row interviews with serial killer Ted Bundy, and is perhaps the strongest source of inspiration for the Netflix series Mindhunter. The codename for the undercover operation was Operation Pale Horse. The name was a deliberate allusion to the novel The Pale Horse by Agatha Christie, in which thallium poisoning plays a central role. It was an operation that some believed would take a little over a few weeks. In reality, it would take more than a year. The plan was for Susan to play a character that was trapped in a desperately

unhappy and abusive marriage, one that her husband forbid her from ending. The idea was that George would deeply sympathize with the fictional Sherry and would eventually offer to solve her problems by volunteering to poison him for her. As a matter of fact, Susan observed something chilling about the first murder mystery night she attended, and that's how one of the make-believe murders, concocted by the Treples, was a poisoning. At the beginning of the proceedings, participants were handed a packet of information relevant to the case, and when Susan read one of the pamphlets contained in the packet, a certain passage jumped out at her immediately, and this is how it read.

Few voodooists believe they can be killed by psychic means, but no one doubts that he can be poisoned. When a death threat appears on the doorstep, prudent people throw out all their food and watch what they eat. Hardly anyone dies from magic. Most items on the doorstep are just a neighbor's way of saying, I don't like you. Move, or else. Move or else, George Treppel couldn't help but reference the very murder he had masterminded. He was gloating, and his arrogance would surely be his undoing. Thanks to her endless flattery, George Treppel took an instant liking to Susan's cover persona, and they soon began spending a lot of time together. Slowly but surely, Susan shared Sherry's marital problems with George,

tailoring her fictional husband's character to be someone he would despise. But while Sherry did succeed in getting George to hate her made-up spouse, she failed to coax any kind of confession or suggestion of poisoning from him. However, as time went on, Susan was able to get George to confess to other discretions. In his late teens and early twenties, George enjoyed spiking people with LSD by secretly putting it into people's food or onto their door handles so he could enjoy watching them trip. Susan also discovered that George had once poisoned his wife's dog after a particularly intense argument. She was close to getting confession and she could feel it,

but solving the case would take more work than she could have possibly imagined. The big break finally came when the Treples told Susan that they had decided to relocate. This presented Susan with something of an opportunity. She managed to convince George to rent the home to her until they could find a buyer. She could clean it up a little, apply a lick of paint here and there, and possibly even fetch the Trebles a higher selling price in the process. Only, once the Trebles had vacated, the only work Susan commenced was combing through their possessions for any evidence of Peggy Carr's murder. This was how she uncovered a number of secret rooms in the house, one which was found to be completely soundproof. Chillingly, the room

contained what appeared to be a wooden bed, with shackles for strapping down a person's arms and legs. When Bill Hagmeier saw pictures of it, he immediately thought of Ted Bundy. Nobody builds a room like that unless they've got a purpose in mind for it, he said. This is a torture chamber. This mysterious torture chamber was thoroughly analyzed for traces of human remains, but nothing was found. If it was indeed for a torture room, then it certainly didn't seem like it was ever used, and Susan later noted that it appeared as if the room was recently completed.

Finally, it was while combing through the trebles' garage that police finally found a bottle which tested positive for thallium nitrate, and at long last, they could establish a concrete connection between George and Peggy Carr's murder. George was arrested on April 7th of 1990, with Susan calling him by phone as the police closed in to distract him before they swooped in to apprehend him. Diana Treble actually attempted to prevent the deputies from entering the home by physically blocking the entrance. When police found George in his room, he was dressed in woman's undergarments. At his trial, George Treppel was charged with the first-degree murder of Peggy Carr,

as well as six counts of attempted murder for the other members of the Carr family. George was ultimately found guilty on all charges and sentenced to death. He remains on death row to this day. Susan Gorick, on the other hand, was named 1991's Florida Deputy Sheriff of the Year for all the sweat and tears she'd put into the case. Cases like this show us that, unless we're actually close with them, we truly have no idea who our neighbors really are. By all accounts, the Treples were a quiet, intelligent, and wholesome couple whose quirkiest attribute was a passion for true crime.

No one in a million years would have suspected them of something like this, not without digging deep into George's sinister past. And if it wasn't for the fine detective work of some of Florida's most talented members of law enforcement, there's a good chance they'd still be free to walk among us today. So, the next time a neighbor comes a-calling, asking you to turn that music down, maybe just be a sport and do as they ask. If not, maybe be a little bit more careful about what you eat and drink, especially if that neighbor has a chemistry degree. To be continued... a story that would fit well with your channel. It's been a few years since we moved out of our starter home, but back when we first moved in, we had this real nice elderly widower for a neighbor. He was retired and mostly spent his time in his backyard tending to the flower beds his wife had

left behind. We had a lovely view of it from our bedroom and most days you'd be able to see him out there, preening and nourishing the plants and generally being the most wholesome person ever. But then this one day my husband called me upstairs and I found him staring out of the window over at our neighbor's backyard. I asked him what he was looking at and he just pointed in silent confusion so I walk over towards the window to take a look for myself. Our neighbor was standing right in the middle of this big perfectly trimmed lawn and he was just slamming a shovel into the grass over and over again, obviously intent and

digging a pretty big hole. It was weird but after some discussion we decided that there was obviously some kind of method to his madness so to speak. He was probably planning on installing a bird feeder or something else that would require digging a hole into the lawn. The next day, my husband calls me upstairs again, only this time he had this weird urgency in his voice. I go upstairs, figuring it had something to do with the neighbor's lawn and when I look out of the window, I see something that sends a chill right through me. The hole that our neighbor was digging was considerably larger now, and it wasn't some round pit fit for a birdbath or squirrel feeder or something. It was quite clearly a grave. You might be wondering how we knew that. How we could tell the difference between a grave and just any other kind of pit or trench that might have some perfectly normal purpose or function. But the big clue was the wooden cross our neighbor had stacked on the ground at one end.

Almost immediately, my husband goes over to check if he's okay. And I had to wait like 5 or 10 minutes for him to come back. The moment he walks through the door I ask him what was said and he just sat down on the couch and began shaking his head, telling me he didn't know. I was so frustrated, I mean how does he go over and just not ask about the grave that had been dug in the backyard? But my husband said that he didn't want to clue him into the fact that we'd basically been spying on him, and said that when push came to shove, he got really creeped out and just couldn't bring himself to ask. He said it was something different about our nice, friendly neighbor,

that he didn't seem so nice and friendly anymore. He was normally all smiles and handshakes, full of small talk and compliments and the like. But that time he knocked on his door, my husband said that there was like a darkness about him and it left him really, really unsettled. He reassured me by saying that we'd keep an eye on the whole thing and if we suddenly saw him dragging a body into the grave or whatever, we'd just call the cops. This was on a Saturday morning and the rest of the weekend my husband basically camped out in our bedroom watching our neighbor's backyard for anything suspicious. It was a Sunday afternoon when he called me up into the bedroom again and that time we could see that our neighbor was quite clearly digging a second hole.

You have to understand what a weird position this put us in. I mean, it's not illegal to dig holes in your backyard and it wasn't like he'd taken the time to fill the first one. But if he really was planning on doing something hideous, we couldn't be the people to say that we watched him prepare for it and didn't do anything about it. In the end, I convinced my husband to call the cops, saying it was either him or me. So he called. I watched him make the call and I watched him tell whoever was on the other end that he was concerned at our neighbor's behavior because he was clearly digging graves in his backyard. Like I said, he'd obviously yet to put anything inside of them, at least we hadn't yet to put anything inside of them,

at least we hadn't seen him put anything inside of them, but his behavior was obviously very, very creepy, so we thought we'd run it by the cops to see what they had to say. My husband is all like, yeah, mm-hmm, okay, okay, thanks for a few minutes. And when he hangs up, he tells me that they're sending a patrol car over so some cops could ask him a few questions. We didn't want to make it obvious that it was us that had called them but we still wanted to know what our neighbor had to say about the whole thing. So when we saw the cops pulling up outside his house, we went down into our garage and listened

in. One of the walls of our garage was maybe only a few feet away from our neighbor's front door and if you opened up one of the windows, you could hear almost everything that was being said. So we do just that and we listen as the cops tell the guy that they had a complaint about some strange behavior and if they could head inside of our neighbor's house to take a look around. I don't even know what we were expecting here, but it definitely wasn't a really defiant sounding, you guys got a warrant, coming from our normally friendly neighbor. We figured the cops might have one, but turns out we didn't know squat about the law and that it takes way longer to get one than just a simple phone call from some concerned neighbors.

The cops ended up leaving, but as soon as they did, we basically ran back upstairs to see if our neighbor was going to do anything like remove the wooden cross, fill the graves in, or if he'd just carry on digging the second one out as if he wasn't bothered by the cops having knocked on his door. My husband was the first one to the window but as soon as he looks out, he turns around again, white as a sheet and says, he's looking at us. I couldn't resist. I know I should have just taken my husband's word for it and shouldn't have looked but I just couldn't help myself. He was right. The guy was standing in his backyard right next to the graves and he was looking up at our window with this angry look on his face.

I tried to act as naturally as possible, feigning ignorance to the whole thing, so I just gave him a smile and a wave then shut the curtains to make it look like we weren't staring. But I did make sure to leave a slight crack at the edge so we could peek out and keep an eye on the whole grave situation because by that point, it had basically become our complete obsession. The next day, when we woke up for work, not only was there another wooden cross staked into the ground at the head of the second finished grave, but our neighbor was working on a third one. Then, by the time me and husband returned home from our respective jobs, our neighbor was working on a fourth.

We couldn't keep our mind off how the whole thing was going to end and the worst thing was when we got into our heads that the guy was planning on filling the third and fourth graves with us, since he'd somehow evidently gotten a pretty good idea of who had called the cops on him. We called the cops again that evening and told them that we were seriously worried about what our neighbor was up to. And when our call was forwarded to the relevant officer, we were assured that they were in the process of getting a search warrant and that they'd revisit the guy's house the moment that it was signed by a judge. The thing was, we just didn't think that we could wait that long, and I know for a fact that some pretty awful things have happened while people have been waiting for a search

warrant to be signed. It was my husband that suggested the cops get in touch with a relative of our neighbor, if they had any on record, and ask them to knock on his door to check on them before it was too late. Thankfully, we think that's exactly what happened because after about a week of complete inactivity from our neighbor, my husband managed to catch a younger looking person walking up to the guy's house with a set of keys in her hand. He asked if she knew anything about the guy who lived there and she said yes, that it was her father's place and he'd not been

feeling too well recently so he'd gone to stay with them for a while. She was just there picking up some of his clothes and stuff to take back to her place. We don't think she knew the extent of our knowledge of the situation but my husband said she looked tired, really tired, so I figured whatever she knew about her father's state of mind had really taken it out of her. About a month later, there was a for sale sign up on the front lawn and a full moving crew had showed up outside, boxing up the old guy's things before loading them into the back of the van. Then, a few days later, a landscaping crew came by and started filling in and patching over the graves. Let me tell you, they looked just as creeped out as we were.

After that, we didn't hear anything else about it and I understand why my husband didn't want to press the young woman for answers since it already seemed like she was at a breaking point. Some people say it must have been kind of sad seeing an older guy losing his mind like that, but I'm not sure he was losing his mind, not in the way that people think. He seemed lucid as could be when he was talking to the cops. The way he just figured out who called them or at least took a really good guess, that doesn't suggest a failing mind to me. All in all, it made for one of the creepiest, most unsettling experiences of my entire life, one I'll certainly never forget, and I'll always wonder, what were his intentions for those graves? To be continued... and I didn't find this out until years later, but he basically was the sole reason we ended up moving out of the house we were living in at the time.

So the way my dad tells it, it all started when the guy started making something in the shed in his backyard. Obviously he was entitled to do whatever he wanted on his property, especially during the daylight hours, but my dad said all the sawing and hammering noises were a real pain in the butt. He figured it'd only be a couple of days, but a week went by and the guy was still making all this noise in the evenings and on weekends. It went on late into the night on a bunch of different occasions, and my dad had to go over and threaten to call the cops to get him to knock it

off. Seems a little extreme, I know know but dad had already tried asking nicely and the guy was just a total jerk so it was the only thing that seemed to work. After that the guy kept the sawing and hammering to reasonable hours, still a pain apparently but nothing he didn't have the right to. But then my dad looks over the fence one day and sees the guy carrying a whole bunch of chains into the shed. Then the next thing he knows, the guy is carrying all these shackle looking things into the shed, the kind you use to keep a person prisoner. Dad asks what he's building in there, but the guy is all mind your business mister, saying things like that. My dad is starting to get pretty nervous about the whole thing and he's close to calling the cops because it was obviously looking incredibly shady and maybe it'll get the guy

to stop hammering and sawing all freaking day too. But still, he holds off for one night too long and that's when he hears a scream coming from the guy's backyard. He says it was one of those screams of the blood curdling variety. Then he goes outside to listen, then hears a few more muffled sounds coming from the shed where the guy was building, whatever it was he was building in there. He tries looking over the fence to get an idea of what's going on and sees our neighbor walking out to the shed, covered in blood, with something sharp and shiny in his hand. But just before he closes the door, dad said he caught a glimpse of someone strapped onto some kind of big wooden board. That was it. My dad runs back inside, calls the cops,

and tells them something messed up is happening in our neighbor's backyard, how he had been building some kind of torture device or whatever, and how we thought he was in the process of basically murdering someone in there. The cops show up, but they don't make it into the backyard, they just drive off after talking to the guy. My dad calls the cops back and asks them what they're thinking and they need to get into that shed right away because something unspeakable is happening in there. They tell them that they can't get into the guy's place without a warrant, that the guy had a bandaged hand and claimed the blood was because he had an accident. The cops seemed happy enough with that explanation and had gone back to their precinct. But they were in the process of getting a warrant because of my dad's claim that he'd seen a body in there,

and because of how urgent it was, it might only be a few hours before they could get one signed by a judge. Then boom. The next day, the cops show back up at the guy's house at like 6am, and it wakes my dad up because they were literally sawing a lock off the door to the shed. He watches all freaking morning, and get this, they carry out the body he'd seen in that shed. Only it wasn't a body, it was like one of those mannequin type things, and it had blood all over it. The guy has actually been building some kind of torture table in his shed, only

he hadn't actually done anything to anyone, so the guy ended up getting a full apology from the county after they didn't find anything to arrest him over. But still, my dad's not happy knowing he lives next to someone who'd build something like that, and after arguing back and forth with the cops about the guy's right to build some sort of weird torture table, he ends up just being like, screw this, we're moving. He didn't say anything to us at the time because obviously me and my sister were still young and he didn't want anything like that in our heads. But after I had moved out and my sister had graduated college, he ended up telling us at a little reunion dinner. As you can guess, our jaws were on the floor when he was telling us, as we had no idea he was anything but some annoying home improvements nerd.

It came up because we were complaining about having to move schools at that age, as me and my sister both lost a bunch of good friends and it sucked having to start at a new school right when I just started at a new one there. He figured the whole thing would be justified to us why we had to move, and honestly, I get it. I wouldn't want to live next to a freak like that, either. On February 9th of 2021, police in Chickasha, Oklahoma responded to an extremely disturbing 911 call. On the other end of the phone line, the dispatcher heard a terrified woman screaming for help, the kind of scream a person only admits when their life is in danger. When the responding officers arrived at the address, they forced their way into the property to find 67-year-old Leon Pye lying dead on the kitchen floor, with his four-year-old granddaughter lying critically injured nearby.

Leon's granddaughter would sadly pass away from her wounds while receiving emergency treatment from paramedics, leaving only the survivor of the attack being Delcy, Leon's wife. Yet Delcy would receive life-changing wounds in the form of multiple stab wounds to both of her eyes. In the living room, police found the seriously wounded 42-year-old Lawrence Paul Anderson vomiting on a couch, and at first, law enforcement believed he was another victim of what had been a ghastly and gruesome attack. But just days later, while recovering in the hospital, Paul made a shocking confession. When asked who had committed the attack, Lawrence finally admitted that he himself had murdered most of his family.

But they were not the only people who Lawrence had attacked that night. As just a few hours before, he had broken into one of his neighbor's homes at 227 West Minnesota Avenue before slaughtering and butchering her. After stabbing 41-year-old Andrea Lynn Blankenship to death, Lawrence cut out her heart, wrapped it in brown paper, and took it back home to do something unspeakably horrifying with it. You see, he had volunteered to cook a meal of meat and potatoes for his family that evening, and the meat in question was Andrea Blankenship's freshly extracted heart. When asked why he fed his family the heart of their much-loved neighbor,

Lawrence told police that it was, and I quote, to release the demons. As forensic examiners analyzed a series of pots and pans and utensils that had belonged to the Pye family, it emerged that a hideous piece of judicial misjudgment had facilitated the murders. Lawrence Anderson was a convicted felon, and at the time he cut out his neighbor's heart, he should have been serving a 20-year sentence for, among other things, attacking his girlfriend and possessing crack cocaine with the intent to distribute. However, after Lawrence attended a voluntary prison rehab program, Oklahoma Governor Kevin Stitt commuted the sentence to nine years at the recommendation

of the State Pardon and Parole Board. Then, following another facade of good behavior, Lawrence was released after serving just three years of what should have been a two-decade-long sentence. Lawrence was released on January 18th of 2021, with his aunt and uncle volunteering to take him in until he could get back on his feet. The aunt and uncle were none other than Leon and Delcy Pye, the very same people Lawrence would viciously attack after feeding them the torn out heart of their beloved neighbor. Grady County District Attorney

Jason Hicks held a press conference in the aftermath of Lawrence's arrest and addressed the outrage professed by the general public. This has to be addressed by the legislature, he said, and soon rather than later because more people are going to get killed as a result of these kinds of decisions. When is going to be enough? We have seen criminal justice reform in the state of Oklahoma now for several years, Hicks added, and in the process, we put politics and releasing inmates in front of public safety. The goal that we have set in Oklahoma is to decrease the prison population with no thought for our citizens, and that's not fair to the people of the state of Oklahoma. We have come to terms with that. At his preliminary hearing, when asked about bail,

Lawrence Anderson told the judge, I don't want no bail, your honor. I don't want no bail. As he wiped tears from his eyes with his still bandaged hands. He could then be heard whispering, oh God, over and over, as though he only then realized what a horrific crime he had committed. Yet despite what was a clear show of remorse, Jason Hicks found no reason to grant additional mercy, saying at the press conference in the days prior, the death penalty is on the table. The parents of the murdered four-year-old Tasha Yates and Taranzo Pai shared their heartbreak at their daughter's death in a radio interview on February 11th.

Tell your kids you love them, Taranzo said. Do everything with them that you possibly can because you never know when they might be taken away from you. Back when I was in 7th grade, my family had this guy move in next door to us. He seemed like a nice guy and no one had anything but nice things to say about him. But I always thought that there was something off about him. I don't know if it was the way he looked at me or the way he talked to me, but I just got this gut feeling that he was too good to be true. For example, he'd sometimes walk past our house when I was shooting hoops in our driveway and ask me how life was. Then whatever I'd say, he'd claim to be an expert on it or

have something super relevant and cool to show me in his house. Like he once claimed to have a ball signed by Karl Malone in his garage that was just gathering dust, saying I could have it if I went over to collect it sometime. I mean, a ball like that could have fetched thousands if he'd only tried to sell it, but there he was, offering it to me for free. So, like I said, I just found him really suspicious and I didn't buy the hype that he was this super wholesome guy. Anyway, this one day my mom and dad were at our grocery store shopping and they charged my older sister with babysitting me.

I was doing my usual thing of just playing basketball out front when our neighbor comes over and says he was having what he called a red, white, and blue garage sale. Little side note, my mom and dad are super patriotic, like annoyingly so. Don't get me wrong, I love this country too, but my parents are both ex-military and dad was still serving at the time and they took their patriotism to like hypersonic levels if you know what I mean. Almost everything in our house had a flag on it or was either red, white, blue or a combination of all three. Our neighbor knew this. He'd been in our house before so when he stopped by to tell me about this garage sale he sold it to me that

I could earn some brownie points by buying my mom something she'd like. Now I really did need to curry a little bit of favor with my parents as my grades hadn't been all that great at the time, but as much as I wanted to win back some affection, I had a bad feeling about going over to his house alone. So, I told him I needed to head upstairs to grab some of my piggy bank money before heading over to his place, which in fact bought me some time to head over to our other neighbor's place to ask him to accompany me over to the suspicious guy's place to check on his sale. It took some convincing, but then as soon as I mentioned the fact that the guy was

always trying to get me over to his place, our other neighbor suddenly seemed more than happy to miss a few minutes of his basketball game in order to chaperone me. But then when we got there, I felt like an idiot. Not only was the guy actually having a red, white, and blue garage sale, with all the flag-themed stuff laid out on the tables, but there was a golden eagle and stars and stripes coffee cup that my mom turned out to adore. After that, I decided to cut the guy some slack and thankfully, he stopped pestering me to go over to his place, so it was kind of a win-win, I suppose.

Now cut to like two years later and I'm walking up the block after getting off the bus from middle school when I see a bunch of people standing on their porches looking out towards our neighbor's place. And what do I see outside of his house? Two cop cars. And I chilled outside long enough to see them leading him out in cuffs. It took us a few days to get news of what he'd been arrested for, but when it finally appeared in the local paper, I actually felt sick to my stomach. The guy had been arrested for luring one of the younger neighborhood kids into his house Before showing the kids something that no child of that age should ever see from a grown man

The cop seized the guy's computer, found a whole bunch of illegal stuff on there I'm guessing you can figure out which kind too And for all that, he ended up going to prison for a long, long time I'm also pretty sure just from the name of the basketball player I dropped, you can guess which state I'm from. But I don't want to actually give away the guy's name because he has kids that I'm pretty sure still use the family name. Unlike his wife, who we know divorced him not long after he was charged. The real horrible thing, and I know this might sound a little self-centered of me, cause obviously there was an actual victim here that wasn't me,

but it sure could have been me if I'd have gone over to that red, white, and blue sale alone. If I'd have been slightly more naive or trusting of the guy, if I'd have bought his nice guy act, God knows what would have happened to me that day. I lived on a street that had a huge raccoon problem for a little while. Not giant raccoons, just a lot of them. I think maybe one or two got into some garage at some point and then the next thing we know, the whole family is there. Then the extended family. Then all their friends. It was a complete free-for-all at night with them chittering and fighting among themselves. Got to the point where some volunteered to call an exterminator

who showed up with a bunch of baited traps that he put in all our backyards. Except this one guy, our neighbor, who according to him, didn't need them. Then get this, after the traps got laid down, the raccoon problem goes away. The exterminator comes back expecting to be able to claim all the credit, only none of the bait in his traps are gone. He's incredibly confused by this since he figured it was his poison that had stopped the raccoons from coming back. But since he hadn't lost any of his product, he's a real nice guy and only charged about like 25% of his original asking price, just enough to cover his time in the trap rental. About a week goes by and everyone is happy that the peace and quiet has returned at night. But then over at our house we start

smelling this really gross smell in our backyard. I remember looking everywhere for any signs of dead raccoons since I figured that was the smell. Maybe one of them took a little nibble of the poison bait, keeled over and then his brothers and sisters picked up sticks and moved on. But then after a whole afternoon of searching I can't find anything. It smelled like it was coming from the back left of our yard, over near some rose bushes my wife was trying to grow, but I couldn't find a freaking thing. Now, you gotta know that our backyards had these big old high fences, like big privacy fences that you couldn't look over without a ladder or something. I figured the smell might actually be coming from our neighbor's backyard, so I knock over to check if it wasn't them who had a dead raccoon in their backyard, but no one was home.

So then, being the good neighbor that I was, I get my ladder from the garage, prop it against the fence, then peep my head over to check for them. What I saw, when I did, that was seriously one of the most disturbing, insanely cruel things I'd ever seen in my life. Hung up in our neighbor's backyard was a laundry line, but it wasn't clothes hanging from it. It was dead raccoons. There were maybe six or seven of all the things, and it wasn't the fact that they were dead which really got me. It was how badly mutilated they were. I'll spare you some of the grislier details here but each one of them was in a different state of dismemberment and it was absolutely horrific. It was no wonder that the

raccoons didn't come around anymore, not after seeing their relatives in such a state. I didn't want to call the cops on the guy, I'm not really that kind of person and since I figured raccoons are basically a kind of pest, the cops wouldn't do anything about it if he was dealing with vermin on his own property. I just waited until the wife of the guy got home then caught her in the driveway before really politely telling and asking her to just take it down. If they didn't, I'd just take pictures and see what the local animal rights organizations had to say about it. It was a pure bluff that worked on my part, but I figured she wouldn't like the idea of a gang of hippies picketing their home. She obviously didn't,

because by that evening, the line of dead raccoons was gone and the bad air was starting to clear a little. It definitely caused some animosity between our families though cause the guy knocked on our door over the next day to tell me if I ever threatened his wife again. He beat me silly in the street so everyone could see. Threaten? Can you believe that? She must have told him a very different story because I swear I kept myself as civil as possible even though I did want to call them a bunch of monsters. There was no love lost when they moved out the following year and we got along much better with the neighbors we have now. I have an apartment here in Hell's Kitchen, and the bathroom window looks right across the alley below and faces a window of the apartment building adjacent to ours.

Back when I first moved in, there was this seriously creepy guy living there who creeped me out beyond belief. At first, he used the room my bathroom faced for storage, but in like a just throw everything I don't need into a huge pile kind of way. Sometimes the curtains would be shut, sometimes not, so it's not like he'd given up on it altogether. At least it didn't seem that way. Then one day I see him decluttering the room, the next I see him stripping all the old wallpaper. I thought, cool, he's redecorating finally. And when he left it bare for a while I just figured he was taking his time on deciding how to do it.

Then one day I get up for work, we're talking like 6.30am and I'm half asleep when I look across the alley and see him totally butt naked. Scrawling all this totally unreadable writing on the wall and what looked to me to be black paint. I'm staring just like, what in the name of God is he doing? When suddenly, he just turns and looks right at me, like he just knew I was staring. I immediately duck out of the way of the window. Then when I get the balls to look again, it closed the curtains. Those curtains were closed for three years before they finally opened again, and the next time they did, I saw what looked like a full painter-decorator team completely purging the place, painting the walls, tearing up the floorboards and replacing them,

the whole nine yards. I never found out what happened to the guy who lived there, but honestly, I hope he's doing much better. From 1975 to 1990, the American Southlands were stalked by one of the most abhorrent and vicious killers the country has ever known. He is thought to have tortured, violated, and murdered more than 50 different women and girls during his grotesque 15-year spree. And while many other killers would have been apprehended long before they reached such body count, the secret to this killer's success was his mobility. You see, not only was he constantly on the move using his 16-wheeler truck, but he also converted

his soundproofed sleeper cab into a veritable torture chamber. This is the story of Robert Ben Rhodes, perhaps better known as the Truck Stop Killer. Born on November 22nd of 1945 in Council Bluffs, Iowa, Rhodes' formative years set him apart from most serial killers due to their relative normalcy. Although his father was a serving soldier in West Germany until his elementary school years, Rhodes' childhood seems to be objectively stable and wholesome. He was never abused, he never acted out, and by his teenage years, whatever trouble he got into is generally characteristic of a regular angsty teen. He was active and outgoing during his high school years, taking part in sports such as football and wrestling. He even regularly attended the Thomas Jefferson High School French Club and was apparently a rather proficient francophone.

The aforementioned trouble involved juvenile arrests for public fighting and vehicle tampering, but I'm sure we can all agree that very few young men make it through their teenage years without getting into the occasional scuffle. It seems that darkness only entered Rhodes' life in 1964, the same year he enlisted in the U.S. Marines. It was around this time that his father was suddenly arrested by Council Bluffs police and the local community was stunned when they learned it was on charges of inappropriately touching a 12-year-old girl. Then, just when it seemed that the situation couldn't get any worse, Rhodes' father took his own life before he could be tried. Following his father doing so, Rhodes entered something of a downward spiral and

his military conduct worsened to the point where in 1968, he was dishonorably discharged from the military for his involvement in a violent robbery. During the years that followed, Rhodes' existence was marred by his inability to settle into any kind of routine lifestyle. He briefly attended college, but quickly dropped out. He then applied to join the Council Bluffs Police Force, but had his application rejected due to his dishonorable discharge from the military. He subsequently found work in a variety of stores, supermarkets, warehouses, and restaurants, marrying and divorcing three different women in the process. One of these women, Deborah, recalls that Rhodes became horribly abusive once the flame of their

romance burned out, and she found herself constantly rebuffing his attempts to introduce sadistic and masochistic activities to their relationship. Eventually, Rhodes found a form of employment that he could finally settle on, one that would take him far away from Iowa, all the pain, torment, and shame, and of his father's despicable inclinations, long-haul trucking. Rhodes later stated that he had been preying on hitchhikers and truck stop escorts since the mid-1970s, but due to his mobility, he didn't come to the attention of authorities until 1990. It was in January of that year that Rhodes happened across a husband-and- wife hitchhiker couple named Patricia Walsh and Douglas Zukowski. Patricia and Douglas had been hitchhiking across the state of Texas and

by all accounts had experienced a pleasant journey thus far. They had no reason to be suspicious of Rhodes who seemed perfectly affable when he first stopped to pick them up. Yet shortly after they continued along the highway, the couple's nightmare began in earnest. It's not clear how Douglas was murdered, but when his body was found in Texas' Sutton County, it would not be positively identified until two years later. In the week that followed her husband's murder, Patricia Walsh was kept alive for seven long days before she was finally killed. In that time, police suspect she was essentially used as a pleasure slave, kept bound and gagged in Rhodes' soundproof sleeper cab, and repeatedly tortured until he grew bored of her.

Her body was then dumped in Millard County, Utah, and by the time her body found its way onto a coroner's table, she was barely recognizable. A month later, Rhodes snatched 18-year-old Shauna Holtz from the side of the highway, bundling her into his makeshift torture chamber, where she was tortured and kept prisoner for around two weeks. Miraculously, Shauna managed to escape captivity and immediately rushed to inform law enforcement of her harrowing ordeal. She gave the police a detailed description of both Rhodes and the truck he was driving, and this led to the speedy detention of her attacker. However, when faced with actually pressing charges against Rhodes, Shana suddenly began

to have second thoughts. She told investigating police officers that she didn't think a jury would believe her story, and even when assured that the mountain of evidence would ensure a conviction, she refused to appear in court. I don't see any good in filing charges, she said on record. It's just going to be my word against his. If there was any evidence, I would file. I would file charges and sue him. Shana was once again shown the massive amounts of collated evidence

and was told not a jury in the land would decline to convict Rhodes of his heinous and brutal actions. But still, she declined a court appearance. It's now believed that Shana found the combination of fear and trauma to be completely and utterly psychologically overwhelming. She may have believed that if cleared of the charges, that Rhodes would hunt her down to subject her to more of the same awful treatment. And if he did, she might not be fortunate enough to escape for a second time. Two weeks after the kidnapping charges against Rhodes were dropped, two teenage runaways named Ricky Lee Jones and Regina K. Walters were attempting to hitchhike out of the Houston suburb of Pasadena. Rhodes spotted them, put on his facade of friendliness,

and as the young couple climbed into the cab of his truck, their fate was sealed. Just like with Patricia Walsh and Douglas Sikowski, and as the young couple climbed into the cab of his truck, their fate was sealed. Just like with Patricia Walsh and Douglas Sikowski, Ricky Lee Jones was murdered almost straight away, with his body being found on March 3rd of 1991 in Lamar County, Mississippi, whereas Walters was told she'd suffer the same fate unless she complied. The kidnapping of Regina Kaye is perhaps the most viscerally disturbing of Rhodes' murders, because in this case, there exists actual photographical evidence of his victim's final moments. The police would later seize photographs from Rhodes' home that depicted Regina Walters and other victims being forced to stand and sit in painful stress positions.

These photographs are extremely disturbing as the horror etched into their faces is palpable. In Regina's case, the images show her having differing hair lengths with a variety of different bruises, suggesting that she had been held captive for a very long time, possibly even months. In addition to physical abuse and psychological torture Regina was subjected to, Robert Ben Rhodes chose to cruelly taunt Regina's father in a series of anonymous phone calls. In the months after he kidnapped her, Rhodes would call his home or office and say things like, I made some changes. I cut her hair. During one phone call, Regina's father asked Rhodes to at least tell him if his daughter was alive or not.

Rhodes reportedly responded with, Oh, she's alive alright. I've left her hung up in a barn somewhere, but you'll never find her. It was a lie. By the time the phone call was made, Regina was dead. Killed in a manner which is almost too sickening to recount. On the day of her execution, Regina was taken to a derelict piece of farmland where there existed a rotting, dilapidated shack. Rhodes had cut her long, flowing curls short, forced her into a long, black dress and heels, then told her to pose as if he was about to attack her.

The photos Ben Rhodes took of her that day are easy to find online, and it's possible that she was assured that she would be safe if she only complied with the request. It was a lie. Once Rhodes had finished taking photographs of Regina in her meek and awkward poses, he wrapped a piece of metal wire around her neck, then strangled the life out of her. Thankfully, Rhodes would be apprehended a short while later, denying him the chance to kill again. But it was undeniably a frighteningly close call for his latest prospective victim. On the early morning of April 1st, 1990, Arizona Highway Patrol Trooper Mike Miller discovered a truck with its hazard lights on at the side of the interstate. Deciding to stop to see if the driver needed any assistance, Miller parked his patrol car at the edge of the road, then got out to investigate.

When he drew level with the truck's sleeper cab, he heard a faint sound coming from inside. Then when he opened the small hatch, he was greeted by an ear-splitting scream. Inside was a naked and bloodied Kathleen Vine, whose arms were restrained by a pair of handcuffs which had been grafted to the ceiling of the sleeper cab. When Rhodes emerged from the driver's seat of the truck, he told the horrified trooper Miller that he had simply found Kathleen at the side of the highway like that and was in the process of seeking help for her. Thankfully, Miller didn't buy Rhodes' ruse,

and the officer drew his gun on him, disarming and arresting him in the process. It was only when Rhodes was in police custody that a homicide detective was able to connect him to a string of disappearances across America's southern states. And not long after, a charge of murder was added to an already extensive list of offenses, including aggravated assault and unlawful imprisonment. It wasn't until 1994 that Rhodes was convicted of the murder of Regina K. Walters, and as punishment, he was sentenced to life without parole at Menard Correctional Center in Chester, Illinois. Just over a decade later, he was extradited to Utah to be tried for the deaths of Candace Walsh and Douglas Sikowski, but charges were dropped after the families of the victims claimed that testifying in court would be far too painful to bear. They were reassured that Rhodes was about to be extradited to Texas to be tried for the

murder of Ricky Lee Jones and, in this case, Rhodes pleaded guilty to his death in exchange for a second life sentence, ensuring he would never again see the light of day. Rhodes is now 76 years old and is still detained at the Menard Maximum Security Prison. But although he has previously claimed as many as 50 victims, authorities have said it's unlikely he'll ever stand trial again. That means it's impossible to know just how many missing people Rhodes is responsible for, and that there are scores of family across Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, and Utah who will never truly know what happened to their loved ones.

It's also not entirely clear why Rhodes chose to kill in the first place. Perhaps it all stems from the anger and shame he felt regarding his father's deviance and eventually him taking his own life. That killing the innocent was his way of getting back at the world that he felt had wronged him while he was still in the prime of his life. The only thing we know for certain is that Rhodes was imbued with a rare, distilled variety of evil that led him not only to torture those he would go on to kill, but also to reach out and torture their families as well. It was a foggy Saturday night on July 25th of 1953 when 30-year-old interstate trucker Lester Woodward

pulled into an unlit gravel parking lot to get a few hours of sleep. It was something Woodward had done a hundred times before as he drove along the Pennsylvania Turnpike pulled into an unlit gravel parking lot to get a few hours of sleep. It was something Woodward had done a hundred times before as he drove along the Pennsylvania Turnpike and common practice among long-haul truckers to lessen their exhaustion and lower the chances of serious traffic accidents. The next morning, a fellow trucker found himself lost on the same stretch of highway and upon seeing Woodward's truck still parked in the same secluded spot, he decided to pull in to ask directions. When he drew level with Woodward's cab, he saw the man slumped against the dashboard and called out to stir him from his slumber.

Woodward didn't respond, and that's when the lost trucker noticed the single bullet hole near the man's hairline. Woodward had been executed with a single bullet, fired from a.32 caliber revolver. Police speculated the killer had quietly pulled his own vehicle into the secluded parking lot before stealthily mounting the truck's cab to fire the fatal shot. They also suspected that his speedy getaway had caused a six-car pileup nearby, one of which had caused several others to lose their lives that night. Since Woodward's wallet was completely empty, police suspected that the murder was little more than a violent robbery. But just three days later, the shooting of another trucker

would suggest that the killer's motive was considerably more sinister. Thirty miles east of the spot Lester Woodward was murdered, 39-year-old Harry Pitts took a break from making stops for the Baker Drive-Away Company when he pulled into a similarly isolated parking lot to catch some shut-eye. The following morning, a co-worker of Pitts spotted his rig sitting idle in the lot and pulled up alongside him to shoot the breeze. The sight that greeted him was truly horrifying. While he slumbered, Pitt had been shot through the mouth, leaving a gruesome gaping wound in his cheek. The bullet had then ripped through his neck, severing his spinal cord and killing him instantly.

Ballistics analysis confirmed that the bullet was a.32 caliber round fired by the same revolver that had killed Lester Woodward. Tire tracks suggested that following Pitt's execution, the killer had screeched away from the scene of the crime much in the same manner as he had the previous one. However, in this case, there was no signs of robbery, as all of Pitt's valuables were left on his person. This was down to one of two possibilities. Either the killer had been interrupted while rifling through Pitt's pockets to retrieve his wallet, or robbery was never his intention in the first place. The latter left police with a horrifying prospect, and when no witnesses came forward to confirm they'd stumbled across the crime scene, it was all but confirmed. When news of the killings reached the ears of truckers in

the region, it terrified them. The idea that such a monster would randomly target them while they were at their most vulnerable was almost too much to bear, and truckers began taking certain precautions in order to remain safe. They armed themselves with firearms and melee weapons, and began traveling in pairs or in whole convoys to deter any potential attackers. When the time came to sleep, terrified truckers piled into the parking lots of diners or service stations, and although many a joke was made regarding their circling of the wagons, the fear among them was deadly serious. Some refused to believe that something so horrifying was occurring, and suggested the victims were deliberately targeted.

I think it's a guy with a grudge, one told a reporter. Maybe he got the wrong guy the first time and then went back to get the right one the second time. I just can't make any sense that he'd go around shooting just anybody. The very next day, law enforcement announced a very different theory. There is a maniac loose on the turnpike, said one homicide detective following the shooting of yet another trucker in Ohio. Terror gripped the turnpike and an increased number of highway patrol officers kept watch along the roads. They were tasked with waking all lone slumbering drivers, sometimes telling them to move along, other times just to make sure that they'd not been executed. As expected, the media jumped on the story, capitalizing on the mortal fears of truckers everywhere as they dubbed the mysterious

killer, the Turnpike Phantom. Victim number three was 36-year-old John Shepard, and just like the other victims, he was shot dead in the cab of his truck as he slept by the roadside. Yet miraculously, Shepard survived the attack and would later participate in a press interview from the hospital bed he was recovering in. A noise like a firecracker went off in my head, and I reared up and yelled for my mother. I thought I was at home, he told reporters. Somehow the bullets intended to kill him had merely shattered his jaw. Then as he attempted to stem the bleeding, he heard a high-pitched male voice call out to him from outside. I'm out of gas, I need money, the voice said. At the time, Shepard didn't even realize he'd been shot and assumed that he'd been hit with something in the course of being robbed.

He handed over his wallet and his watch, then heard the assailant speed off in his car. After the bullet was removed from Shepard's jaw, ballistic analysts determined it had been fired from the same weapon that killed Woodward in Pitts, the turnpike Phantom, that struck again. Determined to catch their culprit, law enforcement threw the book at just about anyone who drew suspicion. They tried to pin the murders on a recently married couple who had financed their cross-country honeymoon by robbing truckers, but the case fell apart. Then there was the businessman with a.22 caliber automatic in his trunk, but the caliber didn't match the one used in the murders. Three Florida gangsters were then arrested on suspicion of the killings, but each had an alibi covering the nights in question. Following the arrest, several terrified truck drivers reported being followed by a man in a car,

but each time the police rushed to the scene, they discovered the man had vanished. However, it's not clear if there really was anyone following the drivers as it may have been the case that a deep paranoia had set in among the region's truckers. During the month that followed, and despite the many roadblocks set up by various highway patrol units, little progress was made on the case. The Pennsylvania Truck Motor Association even offered today's equivalent of $118,000 in reward money for any information leading to the phantom's capture, but the bounty failed to generate a single usable lead. It wasn't until early October of 1953 that there was a serious break in the case, and it came in the form of John Shepard's stolen watch showing up in a Cleveland pawn shop.

The owner of the shop had been given a detailed description of the item and immediately contacted police when he determined it was the same piece. Luckily, the man who pawned it had been foolish enough to give the shop owner his real name, and it wasn't long before the man was traced to a rooming house in the very same town he'd pawned the watch. When the police arrived at the rooming house and demanded to be shown the room of one John Wesley Wabel, they were told he had vanished. However, John had left behind a 22-year-old girlfriend, Leora Chrissy, who told police she'd been given a very unusual going-away present, a.32 caliber revolver.

It was the exact same revolver that had been used in the truck ambushes. After doing some research into Wabel's background, police discovered he was an unemployed factory worker who had been fired from his job back in March. Despite Wabel having no history of violent crime, they were frustrated to learn that he had been arrested on August 6th, mere miles from the scene of Woodward's murder, for failing to return a rental car on time. The cops actually had him in custody until September 23rd, when Wabel's father settled the claim with the car dealer, convincing him to drop the case in the process. Their frustration doubled when they discovered that, while being held in the county jail, Weybold had actually admitted to being the Turnpike Phantom. Yet his confession was dismissed by skeptical jailers who viewed it as nothing but a baseless attempt to gain clout, and he was subsequently set free. October 9th of 1953 saw a nationwide manhunt for Wabel begin.

The following day, a New Mexico state patrolman spotted a stolen car near Isleta, a small town just 10 miles south of Albuquerque. Inside it were three men, each wanted in connection with the robbery of an Albuquerque gas station, and one of these men happened to be John Wesley Wabel. With the police in hot pursuit, Wabel and his two sidekicks raced off at speeds exceeding 100 miles an hour, crashing through two police roadblocks in the process. By the time police caught up with the car, Wabel had fled on foot. A short time later, an off-duty nurse named Carolyn Smith spotted a hitchhiker walking toward a local homeless camp near the Santa Fe railroad track. By that point, Wabel had garnered nationwide notoriety for his crimes and many were familiar with his physical description. Smith also noted that the man seemed extremely agitated and, on a hunch, she reported the sighting to local police. Upon his arrest,

Wabel insisted that he was completely innocent of the murders. He admitted to being the owner of the murder weapon, but claimed that a friend of his named Jim Parks had borrowed the gun just a week before the killing began. There was no evidence that such a man even existed, but Wabel insisted on sticking to his story throughout his short trial. However, he did end up admitting to being at the scene of John Shepard's shooting, but said it was Parks who had shot the man before stealing his watch. Wabel's father swore that his son was tucked in bed at the time of the murders, but the prosecution's arguments were strong to say the least.

Then, after just four hours of jury deliberation, their verdict was read before the court. Guilty, they said. First degree, recommended sentence, death penalty. Wabel had been condemned to ride the lightning. On September 26th of 1955, John Wesley Wabel was executed via the electric chair. The man was gone, but his legacy remained. Wabel's terrifying murder spree forever changed the habits of long-haul truckers everywhere, and since then, truck drivers have congregated en masse at crowded, well-lit rest stops in order to get their much-needed sleep. A trucker might not believe in ghosts or spirits, but there's no denying that they're haunted by the frightening memory of John Wesley

Wabel. To be continued... Forgive me for commandeering someone else's story here, but I think it's very relevant to the thread and although my father wasn't a trucker, this incident closely involves someone who was. Back in the 70s, my dad was an 18-year-old gas station attendant at a 24-hour gas station. One night, dad was the only one working the late shift when one of the sketchiest customers he'd ever laid eyes on walks into the station. My dad said it was really obvious that the guy was concealing something in his pants and his first thought, which brings on some major panic, is that the guy has a gun on him. Now, a whole lot of truck drivers used to use his station for two reasons. Number one, it had a pretty roomy parking lot which they'd used to take naps and breaks in and number two, it was the only place for miles around that they could get a bite to eat. Usually, there could have been up to ten truckers parked up in the lot but on this particular night,

there was only one truck there. Luckily though, the guy just so happened to be in the store with my dad but since dad didn't know if he was armed or what kind of guy he was, he figured he was still pretty vulnerable. The weird guy starts walking up and down the rows in the store and my dad can tell he's not really looking at anything. Most customers either come in to pay for their gas or went straight to the hot food counter to pick out something to eat. Weird guy looks like he's just biding his time before he pulls out his gun and robs the store. At least that's what's

going through my dad's head. The trucker comes up to the counter while this is happening, puts down a bag of chips and just so happens to look over his shoulder at the sketchy guy. Then this moment of pure understanding occurs. The trucker looks at the sketchy guy. Then, this moment of pure understanding occurs. The trucker looks at the sketchy guy, then looks at my dad, then back and forth maybe once or twice more, then asks my dad what was supposed to sound like a totally random question. He says something like, quiet night, huh? I wouldn't feel safe working at a gas station alone. You keep the gun behind the counter there or something? All my dad had was a bat and even so, it belonged to the station's owner. But the trucker widens his eyes and mimes a nod at my dad, who suddenly realizes what he's supposed to say in reply.

Oh yeah, he says. I got a.45 right here. Always just an arm's length away. The trucker continues to play along and bangs his fist on the counter before kind of shielding the action with his body. Oh yeah, he says. Well check this out. .357 Magnum. Bought it after I saw that movie, Dirty Harry.

Not as big a bullet as your.45, but it sure does pack a punch. Some days I just pray some SOB mess with me so I can blow his freaking head off. But as he says that, the sketchy guy just makes a beeline for the door, gets back into his car, then zooms off down the highway. When the guy had left, the trucker turns back to my dad and says something along the lines of, you know that guy was about to rob you, right? I was going to take a nap out back, but I think I'm more in the mood for coffee after that. Oh, and do yourself a favor, call the cops. My dad says he always figured guardian angels would be all cherubic, half-naked winged ladies that descend playing harps or whatever.

He didn't figure they came in the form of some hairy trucker who smelled like he hadn't showered in three days. But as he puts it, every day is a school day. The guy spent the entire rest of his break hanging around the store, making conversation with my dad until the cops showed up and my dad could file a report. The trucker confirmed the story too, backing my dad up when he said it looked like the sketchy guy had a gun stuffed in the back of his pants. Then get this, right in the middle of talking to the cops, both of their radios start buzzing and they run out of the gas station, get into the patrol car, and speed off down the highway with their lights and sirens on.

The trucker responds, I hope our friend and his gun didn't find the trouble they were looking for. Only, they had. My dad said he read in the newspaper the next day that the very same guy, based on the description in the paper, had walked into another gas station about 10 miles down the highway. But unlike my dad, the clerk in that station hadn't been so lucky. The guy was the actual owner and operator of the station, tried to resist the robbery, and ended up paying with his life. From what my dad could tell, the sketchy guy pulled his gun, the station owner went for his and the sketchy guy just pulled the trigger. Boom. Killed him behind his own counter. Now my dad obviously didn't have a

gun but he said he was panicking just watching the guy walking around the store. If that was him getting robbed by someone with such an itchy trigger finger, he might have made a wrong move or something and bam. I literally wouldn't even be around today to write this. I think the sketchy guy ended up getting the death penalty too, that or died in some shootout with the cops, maybe even the same cops who attended my dad's call. I can't quite remember which, but dad always mentions him getting what he deserved whenever he tells the story. Now, I don't have to tell you how glad I am of that too, because even though

it's so surreal to me, the idea of someone actually hurting my dad is just on a whole other kind of rage that I would feel. Dad's story doesn't just give me a belief in guardian angels, even if they do appear in unconventional forms, but it also makes me believe that there might just be something like divine justice, too. I just want to start off by saying what a huge fan of your channel I am. I drive trucks for a living and most of my journeys are long haul which means I have plenty of time to just sit in my cab doing a whole lot of nothing. As you can probably guess, it gets really, really boring and if it wasn't for all the videos you put out I think I'd have gone straight up crazy by now.

I don't really have a lot of free time whenever I'm home, so it's taken me way longer to write this than maybe it should. But I've been meaning to share something that happened to me with you for the longest time now, and I think it'd be awesome to hear one of my own experiences on one of your videos. So a few years ago, I was cruising west about 70 on the I-76 just outside of Denver, Colorado. It had been a pretty boring haul up until that point. I mean, Colorado was pretty and all, but the whole drive had been completely uneventful. The weather had been great, there had been nothing to slow me down, and I was starting to think the whole ride would carry on without a hitch.

But then, out of nowhere, I see this huge, almost solid cloud of dirt coming over the horizon. It had to be at least 20 to 30 feet wide, completely covering the road ahead, and it was at least as tall as my truck's cab, so maybe 12 to 15 feet tall. At first, I had no idea what I was looking at. Could have been a vehicle fire or something but then I couldn't see the smoke billowing from anywhere and I couldn't see any car or truck either. Then I figured it might have been like a dust storm or something but a dust storm that's only 30 feet wide. It couldn't be. I didn't have any way of dodging it so I just slowed down, hit the washers then just prayed

that there wasn't any rocks getting whipped up that might smash my windshield. I'm an owner and operator too so any damage and it's my insurance, not some companies. Seconds later, wham, I hit it and the noise in my cab was seriously loud. That's what set it apart from a regular dust storm, they just don't make that kind of noise. Then the second thing that set it apart from a dust storm was the mess it left on my windshield. Because as I hit the mass of it, whatever it was, everything that hit my windshield left a smear of what looked like some kind of juice on the glass. That's when I worked out what I was driving into. It was bees.

All these freaking huge bees that seriously sounded like rocks when they were slamming into my cab. I'd never seen anything like it in my life. I mean, I'd seen giant swarms of locusts on TV before, but bees? I didn't think they even swarmed like that. Two things really creeped me out about the whole thing, and not so much all the bee guts on my windshield either, because I'm not a particularly squeamish person. The first thing was how, if I'd have just been walking at the side of the road, those things might have actually killed me. Couple of hundred bee stings could easily kill a person, so I read anyway, and if they're aggressive when they're in that swarming state, that'd have been the end of me. But then the second thing, and the thing that stuck with me

long after I passed through the swarm, was the idea that they'd been flying like that to avoid some epic natural disaster or something. For the next few miles I found myself getting really anxious, half expecting to feel an earthquake or see a meteor falling from the sky or something. Obviously nothing like that happened, thank god, but the first chance I could, I looked up giant bee swarms on Google to see if they were actually a thing. Obviously they are, but ones that size are an extremely rare event. When I told another trucker about the whole thing recently, he told me I was lucky to see something like that, like it was some kind of natural wonder or something.

But let me tell you, I didn't feel so lucky to be driving through it at the time. The End Some serial killers are caught entirely by accident. Some, after long and tiresome investigations. Yet there is a special breed of multiple murderers whose careers creating cadavers comes to an end when they hand themselves into the police. And one of those is Wayne Adam Ford. Born on December 3rd of 1961, Ford was born the second son of an American father and German mother in Petaluma, California. Ford's personal problems began when he was just 10 years old, with his parents' messy divorce having a deeply adverse psychological effect on him.

After just a few years of high school, Ford dropped out and enlisted in the U.S. Marine Corps, where he served for six years before receiving an honorable discharge in 1985. It was an amicable split, as increasing psychological decline necessitated several stints in psychiatric hospitals. He grew to hate the marine lifestyle, and the Corps had no interest in holding onto someone with increasingly dangerous deviancies. Ford went through two marriages, both of which ended in divorce, and like many others who failed to settle into any kind of set routine or lifestyle, he became a long-haul trucker to make ends meet. It was during his career as a trucker that he began to

have scrapes with the law, but nothing ever seemed to stick. In just a few years, Ford was accused of beating and robbing and escorts and several other instances of vicious violence and animal cruelty. But no one could have suspected just how evil and deranged he truly was. Finally, on November 3rd of 1998, Ford walked into the Humboldt County Sheriff Department in Eureka, California, and told the deputy on the front desk that they needed to arrest him. When asked why they needed to arrest him, Ford simply reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a Ziploc bag containing the severed breast of one of his victims. He then told a gathering of horrified deputies that he had murdered four women between October of 1997 and November of 1998. Following this confession, he was swiftly arrested and detained. For some reason, even with Ford's detailed confession, it took

until June of 2006 to find him guilty on four counts of first-degree murder. His haunting handiwork was so utterly harrowing that, even with a guilty plea, Ford was sentenced to death for his crimes. He is currently on the death row of California's San Quentin State Prison, but thanks to the moratorium on executions in California, he is unlikely to go the way of his victims anytime soon. To be continued... for the better part of 15 years now and all my time on the highways and byways of this great nation of ours I've only seen one thing that's ever really scared me. I'm not saying that I'm hardcore or something. I've had plenty of things make me anxious or nervous and I sure do a whole lot of worrying when I'm out there in the great unknown all on my lonesome. But only one, a single solitary thing that I can safely say terrified me. I was driving through South Dakota hauling lumber down Highway 73 and out there is some of the most

barren, featureless land you could ever have the misfortune of seeing. Don't get me wrong, I love this state. It's home and it'll always be my home. But sometimes you just want something to look at while you're driving, you know? Anyway, I'm driving down this particularly empty stretch of 75, a place where you can see for miles and miles in every direction, just all horizons as far as the eye can see. When suddenly, I see something on the side of the road. I couldn't tell exactly what it was until I was maybe a few hundred meters away, but it looked an awful lot like a guy crouching over something that was lying at the roadside.

It looked like he was picking something up off the ground and bringing it up to his face, and it was only as I passed them that I realized what was going on. The thing that was lying on the ground was a piece of roadkill. I don't know if it was a deer or antelope or whatever you want to call it. In fact, I'm not exactly sure what kind of animal it was. I just know that the hands and face of whoever was leaning over it were covered in blood. They were eating that piece of roadkill. And it doesn't take a genius to figure that out. I just have no idea

why. I've had people ask me why I didn't stop to see what the person's deal was, but I always turn the question around on them and ask if they'd want to stop their truck in the middle of nowhere to talk to someone who was eating dead animal. Apart from the occasional tough guy who lies through their teeth and claims that they'd have gotten out with a gun to play 20 questions or whatever, the answer is always the same. No. I've had a few fairly reasonable suggestions to explain what I was looking at and some not too reasonable ones too. Some of the less believable range from Bigfoot to Wolfman to the zombie apocalypse. Some people have seen too many movies, but I actually buy one of the more legit suggestions.

We have a few weirdo survivalist enclaves out here in South Dakota, one of which is the old military base turned survivalist compound in the Black Hills that they call X-Point. You have to have a fair amount of scratch stashed away to buy one of those bunkers, but I've heard people really do live there. People that have half lost their minds anyways. It could have been someone like that, eating the roadkill. Someone with too much money and not enough brains who had decided to train themselves for the end of the world. But I can almost guarantee that by eating raw roadkill like that, the only thing they'd be preparing for is their own grave. I use quite

a sophisticated GPS system in my truck, meaning I'm able to track and review my journeys in some pretty amazing detail. So when I had enough bars on my cell phone, I called 911 to let them know that there was some crazy person eating roadkill along 73 and passed on the rough location of where I'd spotted them. I didn't do it to be a narc or anything. I mainly did it because whoever it was obviously needed some serious help. That and the obvious danger they posed to any regular people who might be unfortunate enough to bump into them while they're in the mood to eat raw roadkill. I just can't imagine what would possess anyone to do something like that. I mean, how close to insanity or desperation do you have to be to just shovel

some dead animal's raw guts into your mouth like that? I later had an uncle tell me about feral humans, like this one girl who escaped her abusive parents in the 70s and when the authorities found her, she was growling like a dog or something. He thought maybe the guy was like that, just totally feral, and had maybe just adapted to eating raw meat like that. I'll file that one under one of the less believable explanations, and the truth is, I don't really think I want to know what was going through their head. The End Way back when I was like 8 or 9 years old, I remember talking to my dad about religion and God and stuff. At one point in the conversation, I have this really vivid memory of a question I asked and the answer he gave me. The question was something like, do angels really exist? And his answer was

something along the lines of this. Before I was born, before mom and him were even an item, my dad used to drive trucks for a living. And this is way back before labor laws were strict about breaks or mile limits so dad would sometimes take jobs that would require him to drive for maybe 24 or maybe 36 hours straight. So this one particular night, after having already driven for a really long time, he noticed his eyelids getting heavier and heavier as he got sleepier and sleepier. Even worse, any attempt to wake himself up just didn't seem to be working. He chugged down the rest of his coffee, tried blasting himself with cold air from the AC, but nothing did the trick. He says he remembers passing mile marker 146 and since he had this straight stretch of road in front of him,

he decided to rest his eyes and take a deep breath for maybe only two seconds tops. Then the next thing he knows, he feels his head do the nod jerk thing which woke him up with a gasp. He opened his eyes to see that he was driving straight toward mile marker 158 which was right up against some ravine type thing. If he had woken up a second later, he and his whole truck would have plummeted down the ravine and he'd have surely been killed. But because he came to at that exact moment, he was able to safely course correct. He says if the difference between life and death came down to literally just a second,

I actually wouldn't even exist right now. Once he stopped, he just pulled into the side of the road first chance he could and did the math on the whole thing. He said he must have slept through miles of driving down perfectly straight highway, doing anything between 50, only to wake up right at the moment he needed to in order to save his own skin. It was a really long-winded way of saying that he didn't actually know if angels really existed, but he sure believed they did.

Either that or there was some kind of force in the universe that woke him up just as he reached mile marker 158 right at the exact split second that he needed to. Because as I already said, if he'd nodded off a millisecond later or nodded himself awake a millisecond later, I wouldn't be writing this right now. I was driving my 18 wheeler on this long haul stretch one time when I suddenly needed to pee real bad. I figured I'd just wait for a gas station or something but after maybe 5 or 10 minutes of driving there was no sign of any and no signs to tell me if I was close to one or not. So to save from soaking my drawers I decided to pull over and take a leak at the side of the road.

It was incredibly dark outside and although the side of the road I stopped on had a bunch of woods in it, I'll admit it was way too spooky for me to just wander off into the dark. And being as dark as it was, I figured I'd be able to just put my hazard lights on and take a few steps to the side before whipping it out. Then right as I'm peeing, I hear something running through the trees towards me. I mean, whatever it was was pounding dirt as it came at me. I couldn't see a freaking thing and it scared the life out of me even more so I tried to stop peeing and put my junk away then just bolted back to my truck cab as quickly as

I could. I half expected whatever it was to slam itself up against the door of my truck and since I keep a gun in my glove box, first thing I did was grab it and then aim it right towards the window getting ready to blast the first thing I saw. It felt like I was lying there on the seat for like half an hour but in reality it was maybe only a minute or two and absolutely nothing appeared at the window or banged up against the door of my truck. I know it was dumb of me, but I spent the next few minutes looking out of the driver's side window,

checking for whatever it was I heard running, but again, I didn't see anything. That was about the same time I realized that I hadn't actually stopped peeing when I thought I did, and in the process of putting it away and diving into my truck, I soaked the entirety of my pants and seat. I spent the next few miles driving back buck naked from the waist down, with my pants slung over the air conditioner trying to dry them before the next rest stop. Definitely one of my worst nights ever on the job, and for more than one reason, too. I'm not a long-haul trucker and I don't drive an 18-wheeler, but I do drive a flatbed truck that makes deliveries around my home state of Maine. And more importantly, I definitely have a creepy story to share with you guys. This one night back in the winter of 2008, I was driving down this dark stretch of road in the late evening and with it being winter,

it was dark out. I'm driving between towns too and some stretches of road out here barely have lights on them. I can only see what my headlights are lighting up, so imagine how scared I was when suddenly they pick up a guy just standing right in the middle of the road. I had to swerve to miss him, and I swear I only just missed the guy. Put it this way, I passed so close to him that I could tell the guy's eyes were closed as I passed him. Yeah, that close. And that wasn't the only detail I noticed about the guy. Not only was he dressed entirely in white but he looked like he had some kind of white makeup all over his face and head too.

The guy was bald and he had this same bright white skin tone all over. The second I came to a stop I jumped out of my truck and ran back to see if he was okay. I mean I was still worried I might have clipped him on the way past or something because like I said, I must have been just inches from smashing this guy. But as I ran back just a few feet, I noticed the road was completely empty. I've had people say to me, oh, it's definitely a ghost. And let me tell you, it wasn't a freaking ghost. Not that I don't believe in all that stuff, more like I heard the guy running off through a field at the side of the road. I didn't see him run, but I could 100% hear him running. I don't know what in God's name he was thinking,

if it was some weird attempt at taking his own life or what, but Jesus Christ, am I glad I didn't hit him, because I think that would have messed me up for the rest of my life. For a bit of context, I'm a woman. I'm 21 now, so some of the details are a bit hard to recall, but this whole situation had a huge effect on me and was super traumatic. Back in the 7th grade, I had a middle school boyfriend, his name was Kevin. We went to a really small religious school and being new to a school where everyone grew up together I felt relieved to have someone I could talk to and sit with at lunch every day. Kevin was my first kiss and the relationship was pretty innocent

except for a few instances that made me feel really uncomfortable. We shared a notebook that we would trade off to each other in between classes to leave cute notes and drawings for one another. One day I had just finished running the mile for my gym class. I handed him the notebook and when he gave it back to me later in the day, he had written something about how my pheromones had really turned him on. I had no idea what that meant back then, but still felt somewhat uncomfortable about it. He even tried kind of uncomfortably touching me a few times, and he seemed a little bit off, but was really well liked by my small school, so I just figured it was me overthinking the whole situation. As time went on, the relationship ended like most middle school relationships do.

A while after we had broken up, we still talked on the phone occasionally and remained friends. He began calling my home phone constantly even in the middle of the night which annoyed my parents. Eventually, I stopped answering as often realizing that he was starting to become obsessive. Around the same time I was lying in bed one night and around 1 to 2 in the morning I hear a knock on my window. My blinds were closed and my bedroom was on the second floor so I was very confused about what I was hearing. The knocking continued and I heard someone saying my name. I had no idea who was on my roof knocking at my window and I was freaking out. I ran to my parents' room to wake my dad up saying, dad, someone's on our roof and they're knocking on my window. My dad ran outside to catch the person but didn't see anyone. I went

back to bed thinking I was just making things up in my head but it happened again a few minutes later. My dad went back outside and didn't see anyone. This cycle continued for another 30 minutes until eventually my dad decided to sleep on the floor of my room with me just in case and I really thought that I was going crazy. A week or so later the calls from Kevin continued. I answered at one point and eventually, he had told me that he was the person knocking on my window. He said whenever my dad would come outside that he hid behind my chimney. He wanted me to let him into my room and told me that he thought it would be romantic, like Romeo and Juliet. I told my parents and stopped answering the phone entirely. I can't remember how far in between these next few instances happened but it gradually escalated as more time passed. I avoided him at school and he didn't make much of an effort to talk to me. At some point I

changed schools to go to a public middle school instead. During the beginning of the school year I was asleep in my bed when my mom pounded on my door, yelling at me to lock my door because someone had broken into our house. I jumped out of bed to lock my door and hid in my bed under my covers, paralyzed with fear and trembling as I strained to hear what was happening outside the bedroom. I could hear my mom scream for my dad to ask if he was okay. Then a few minutes later, she grabbed me and my sisters and locked us in my parents' bedroom. Apparently my dad had decided to sleep on the couch that night because our dog was acting strange and annoying him.

While he was sleeping, my dog started barking and losing his mind. Up until that night, my dog never acted that way so my dad got up to investigate. He found Kevin leaving our basement and saw that our basement window had been broken. He yelled for my mom and woke her up as he put Kevin in a headlock and she called the police. He broke the basement window with a hammer, took his shoes off and left them on the window ledge, then jumped down from the window, landing on the broken glass. He left bloody footprints all over the carpeted stairs and was headed up with a hammer when my dad found him. I still don't know his intentions that night but it terrifies me to think about.

When the cops arrived they took him out in handcuffs and I spied on them as they told my parents that the look in his eyes was the look of someone who would grow up to kill his parents. His eyes were wide and insane looking. It was one of the most terrifying nights of our lives. We later found out that he rode his little sister's bike for several miles in the middle of a storm to get to my house. I was able to get a restraining order against him after that, but he never had to pay to repair the window and only had to do community service. After that, my parents decided to get security cameras for the inside and outside of our house, along with motion lights. A while after the break-in occurred, maybe a month or two after, my neighbor called my parents in the early morning to inform them that he had gone outside and smelled spray paint. When he went to see where

the smell was coming from, it didn't take long to realize the entire outside of our house had been vandalized. There was a giant smiley face on our garage door with something along the lines of, well, I won't repeat it here, but it was very bad stuff written on the side of our house and random lines and doodles all over the doors and windows. There was also spray paint on the security sticker on the basement window that we just recently repaired. Whoever had done it apparently hidden behind my neighbor's car and also got paint on his car. We checked the security cameras while waiting for the police to arrive and saw footage of someone that was

Kevin's height and build spray painting the windows. What's even more terrifying was when we watched the footage from before that. It showed me walking downstairs in my underwear and a t-shirt to get a late night snack, with who we assumed to be Kevin watching from the window outside. It had rained that night, so despite having the spray paint cans and security footage, the police weren't too positive that they would be able to get fingerprints from the cans and said the security footage wasn't clear enough to say it was for sure Kevin. I know it was him, but he never got caught and my family had to pay thousands of dollars to fix the damage he did to our house. The harassment continued for years despite me having a restraining

order against him and by the time I was in high school, he had made countless fake accounts pretending to be me. He posted very embarrassing things and followed everyone at my new school. I constantly dealt with people asking if the accounts were me, which turned into bullying and even more harassment. I would get messages of him saying, I know where you are, I'm watching you, and threats of him saying that he was going to kill me. This went on for another year until he finally stopped. He later ran an anti-bullying campaign and never had to face the consequences of his actions. He put me through torture. I can't even begin to express how terrifying those years of my life were.

At the beginning it was too much to handle and I ended up in a mental hospital after a mental breakdown. I wish I could say I've healed from that time of my life all these years later. But I still struggle with the aftermath of the trauma he caused me. I have panic attacks when I get message requests. I keep my blinds shut and doors locked at all times. And any knocking noises on my windows causes my heart to jump. I'm so upset that he gets to live his life and not deal with the aftermath of what he did to me and my entire family. What's worse is people from my old school

loved him and still do despite knowing what he did. One person messaged me years ago and said I was lying and even if it was true, it was my fault. Seeing the love that he still receives despite acting the way he did fills me with so much anger I'm just hoping that writing about this and telling the story helps me to continue to heal I had a really messed up childhood. My parents divorced when I was really young and I ended up being traded off every weekend. So this one time, it was my dad's weekend to have me over and he was acting super weird the whole day but I didn't notice it because I was just a kid. And when you're that age, you don't really get adult stuff at all. You just kind of go along for the ride. I remember he had to run errands, so he took me with him.

Then he stopped at a friend's house and came back flustered and angry and sped out of the driveway. That was weird enough for me to notice, but things soon got back to normal and so we carried on running errands until it was dark. We then drive to a run-down motel on a bad-sided town from what I can remember and get out of the car. I asked him what we're doing there and he told me that we were hanging out with some of his friends. I didn't think anything of it and we went into the motel room. It was a small room with one bed and my dad's friend was in there alone. They started having drinks and talking.

Then I remember my dad's friend giving him like an envelope or something and then my dad said that he had to go somewhere and that he'd be back soon. Hours went by and I was alone with that guy and when I asked when my dad was coming back, he just kept saying, soon, don't worry, your dad will be back to get you soon. Then it got super late and I started to get incredibly tired so I ended up falling asleep on one of the beds. I want to make it clear that nothing bad happened with that guy. But when I woke up later, he was asleep next to me on the bed. My first thought is kind of anxiety filled, wondering where my dad is. So I got up and snuck out of the room, then started looking around the

motel for my dad. I ended up getting so frightened and sad that I ended up walking up to the motel's reception area and asking the nice lady there to call my dad. She obviously didn't know who I was, so she ended up calling the cops instead. The next thing I know, I'm down at this police station, and my mom is coming to pick me up, and she's crying too. And after that, we ended up moving away, and I never saw my dad again. He'd lost visitation rights because he'd tried to sell me to that guy at the motel. He wasn't a friend of his, but he was someone he arranged to sell me to, half as a way to get money because he was broke and half to like get revenge against my mom I

guess. My mom ended up changing her name back to her maiden name, which I use now instead of my dad's last name. I'm thankful that that guy must have had a change of heart in the middle of all of that. I have a regular job nowadays, but I also go to elementary schools across the country as kind of a part of a program that teaches kids when to recognize when something is wrong with their parents, and what to do when they realize something is weird and they dons whenever I think about it. I was finishing college, living back with my parents in our sleepy little town, and had rekindled an old friendship from high school to pass my days. Madison was a chill girl and I got along pretty well with her boyfriend and brothers, so I ended up spending a fair amount of time over at her place.

Madison's mom was a nurse who enjoyed training for marathons, so when she wasn't at work she was usually out running. Her dad, on the other hand, was off on disability and home every day, except for delivering the paper around the neighborhood at about 4am. Through passing conversations with Madison, I learned that he had been a professor before going off work, but I didn't feel it was my place to inquire any further than that. He was never anything but pleasant to me during our interactions, but I was always struck with the notion that he seemed very distracted by something, as if there was always another conversation happening that he needed to return to.

My parents are the type who always have questions about my friends, even if I was a 22-year-old college student, so I filled them in on what I knew and where I'd been spending my afternoons. My mom asked me if I knew what her dad was off on disability for. I told her I did not, at which point my dad piped up and said that he believes he deals with some type of mental illness. He then gently explained that he had responded to a 911 call with the volunteer fire department to go retrieve Madison's father out of their garage after failing to take his own life. My heart went out to everyone involved and

my questions surrounding her dad were satisfied at that point. I continued hanging around Madison and her family for the rest of the summer, never having any issues beside a hangover the next day. One night we were all over at Madison's house celebrating someone's birthday, I think. Everyone was congregating in the kitchen, sharing snacks, drinking wine, dancing, even Madison's parents were down and having a good time with us. Her dad came over to me calmly with his drink and asked if he could speak to me in the other room just off of the kitchen. I agreed and followed him, thinking he was probably going to ask me to move my car. When we got into the other room, I could see the concerned look on his face and became a little worried,

hoping I hadn't done something wrong. Amanda, I don't mean to scare you, but my paper route is through your neighborhood, and I saw something the other night. While I was heading down your street, I noticed a man coming towards me on the other side of the road. I don't usually see anybody else out that early, so I was a little surprised, but as he got closer, I noticed that he had no feet. He made eye contact with me as he said the last part and I could tell that he was being serious. I had no idea what to do and I just froze and he just floated on past.

He said with a dramatic arm wave. He then began to shake his head as if saying, no. Anyways, it's a reaper, and I thought you should know. And they made further eye contact again, but smiled sweetly. I picked my jaw up off the floor and managed to thank him for letting me know. He nodded dutifully, and we went back into the other room rejoining the party. I told Madison about it later on in the evening, just so she would know what was going on with her dad. She seemed embarrassed but not surprised by this information and told me to ignore her dad because, as she put it, he was crazy.

Her dad carried on as usual around me after that and never brought it up to me again. After I finished college and moved out, Madison and I sort of lost touch. I don't really think about her that often. I do, however, always check to make sure people have feet when I were sound asleep in our bedroom. Around 2.45am our German Shepherd Duke started barking viciously. We'd never heard him bark like this before so we assumed something was amiss. I got up to check and see if something was up and ended up spilling a water on my nightstand. It took me 2-3 minutes to clean up the water and I figured maybe Duke was simply barking at the rain. I went back to sleep and a few minutes

later Duke starts again with the vicious bark. My wife starts freaking out and turns our lamp on. We sat in bed for a second, kind of spooked, and then we heard someone trying our front door. We heard the screen door clicking into place after being shut. The front door was locked so he had no way to get in. At this point, I'm freaked out and so is my wife. From our bedroom, we can see a window into our kitchen that leads out front. My wife starts staring at it intensely and tells me she can see a shadow moving back and forth. She said it was a dark silhouette walking up and down our front sidewalk. At this point I'm getting scared and when I get scared I get angry.

I get up and turn on our kitchen light in hopes of spooking the stranger outside. You would think he would leave with our dog barking and lights turning on. At this point I didn't know what to do and made a stupid mistake. I went to my garage and opened the garage door. I then realized that I wasn't wearing shoes and went to my living room to put them on. I wanted to go outside, find the disturbance and deal with it. Duke was with me the whole time and when he suddenly turned and started running towards the door that connects the garage, I knew I had messed up. I turned and looked and this dude was just standing in my kitchen

with mud on his face. The dude smelled like feces. He was wearing relatively decent clothes and didn't appear to be homeless or anything like that. I live in the heart of a really nice part of town as well. As I started approaching him, it looked like he was trying to take his jacket and shoes off. It was very bizarre. I yelled at him to get the F out of my house, while Duke was jumping and growling and barking at the guy. He took a step back and said something incomprehensible. I yelled again that it's three in the morning to get the F out of my house and I shoved him. He sort of stumbled and made his way out of the house into the garage and just left. I shut the garage door and immediately called the cops. The cops came and said that

there were a couple of meth heads in the area known to do things like this except they didn't seem to fit the description of the guy I described. I haven't been able to sleep for a few days now. I don't know what this guy was after. Best case scenario, he was just incredibly messed up and had no idea what he was doing. Maybe he thought it was his house since he started taking his shoes and jacket off. From the door leading from the garage and into the house there's a glass. Where I was standing, he couldn't see me but he could see my wife. Is it possible he saw her alone and thought maybe she was by herself and came in? The guy wasn't aggressive towards me but

he also wasn't bigger than me as I'm 6'2, 210 pounds. Before y'all say it, I know I shouldn't have opened the garage. He obviously took it as an open invitation and I felt guilty about it since the time it happened. I figured dogs barking, lights on, garage opening, a normal burglar would just scram. My wife and I are incredibly lucky he wasn't armed or couldn't do anything violent towards us. This all started when I was 14 when my mom met her new boyfriend, who I'll call Ray. I remember the first time he met me and my siblings he looked at my mom and said, oh wow, didn't know you had a gang. Which looking back on was a very weird thing for him to say since he had been on a few dates with my mom before and she had told him exactly how many kids she'd had. Ray seemed like a normal guy at first. He was in his 40s and had two older sons from his last marriage who would sometimes come over for dinner but things went wrong after he moved in. He would yell a lot and have loud arguments with my mom

and throw things at her. He would always sweet talk his way around her afterwards and this was probably why she didn't leave him sooner. My mom was crazy young when she had us and she has always been a bit immature for her age so I think it made it easier for him to manipulate. But Ray found it difficult to get along with my siblings and me. He would complain about every little thing we did wrong and quickly became very controlling. But whenever we complained about how he was acting to our mom, he would accuse us of trying to ruin their relationship. This worked pretty much every time since it would cause her to get angry and yell at us instead of him. As we got older, he stopped us

from seeing friends he didn't like and wouldn't allow any friends to come over unless they had his approval first. I realized he was crazy when he picked me up from school one day, which he never did, and while driving home he accused my sister and me of trash talking him behind his back. When I asked him how he would even know that, he told me that he had proof. When we got home he showed me a tape recorder and played back a recording of my sister and me complaining about him in our bedroom at night. I asked him why in God's name he put recorders in our bedroom for and we had a big argument. I immediately called my mom and told her but later found out from her that she never actually said anything about it to him.

I made him remove all the tape recorders from our bedroom but I'm convinced that he kept on hiding them since he would sometimes bring up conversations that my sister and I had while he wasn't around. We were so paranoid that we would whisper and we never talked about anything private in case he somehow overheard. We were so terrified that he also hid cameras as well as tape recorders and we would dress and undress super quickly so there weren't any cameras and he wouldn't be able to see anything and it gets me angry thinking about the fear we lived in while living there. When I was 16, I got a job at a fast food place and Ray had a big problem with that as well. His reasoning for this was that my boyfriend at the time worked there and he believed that I was just going there to mess around with my boyfriend. So his way of checking on me was to

come and sit in the parking lot and record me. He did this for a whole month. He would show me the recordings after, which would just lead to even more arguments, ending with 16-year-old me begging a 40-plus-year-old man to not stalk me at work. I was pretty much done at that point and moved in with my dad who had just moved back from New Zealand. My dad was livid when I told him about everything that had happened and he wanted to call the cops on Ray, but my mom begged him not to. Thankfully they broke up a few years later over something completely unrelated. related. This guy, who we'll call Jimmy, and I met in high school some years back. I met him through my now ex-boyfriend and we hung out a lot during class.

Never just the two of us though. He was really funny and a charming guy so it felt good to be around him and just chilling and laughing all the time. Little did I know who he really was under that facade. guy so it felt good to be around him and just chilling and laughing all the time. Little did I know who he really was under that facade. About a year goes by after we graduated high school and we hadn't really talked or seen each other since. Randomly he started sending me DMs on Instagram and we got back in touch again. He had a girlfriend during this time, yet he kept flirting and saying really uncomfortable things towards me. One day, he even sent me lewd images that I'd never asked for, which made me feel really disgusted and upset. On that same day, his then-girlfriend sent me a DM asking if he was doing these things and I of course said yes. She then went on

to make a group chat for the three of us where she roasted him into oblivion. He literally just continued sending these explicit images in the group chat which was really messed up, at which point I finally lost my temper and just stopped talking to him completely for a while. Then, about a year after this whole debacle, I let him back into my life again. Yes, I know that was a stupid move on my part, but I'm the type of person who forgives easily because I see only the good in most people. We talked for a few days, then realized that we kind of had a crush on each other for a long time. And this is when he started asking if I wanted to hang out at his place, just the two of us, which had never really happened before.

He admittedly gave me butterflies so I said I'd think about it just to be coy when really I was planning on hanging out with him soon. But that very quickly changed moments later. One of my very good friends, Diane, asked me if I was friends with Jimmy. I said, yeah I am, why do you ask? She then goes on to tell me that Jimmy is a child predator. Instantly I'm like, what? Laughing. I was obviously really confused considering for the most part he's always been such a good guy.

Sure he has some weird moments, but he was cool to hang around with. Then Diane showed me the evidence, and I mean there was a lot of evidence. Apparently a whole group of underage girls had gotten together and shared their experiences with Jimmy in a group chat, which included Diane because she had a family connection to one of the girls. Thank god there was no physical assault experiences but there were an incredible amount of texts. So many god awful and disgusting texts. He was saying these terrible things to these girls and that's only the least messed up things he said to most of them and I can't go into most of the stuff and one of these girls was actually as young as 11 years old. After I saw all the evidence I began having a massive panic attack.

This guy who I had been so close to who I almost was in a relationship with turned out to be a repeated offender. It made me sick to my stomach and still makes me feel like puking to this day. I actually had felt things for this absolute monster. I also found out that he had been on house arrest for some sort of crime at some point and didn't even tell me. I don't want to think of what crime he may have committed, but I didn't even want to know. All I knew was I wanted this guy completely out of my life. So I told him he was disgusting and blocked him. And I haven't heard from him since and hopefully never will again. I don't want to know what could have happened to me if we had met up alone in his house.

I feel like I definitely wouldn't have been safe. I'm a 24 year old female living with my roommate, a 23 year old female in an apartment in the suburbs of Atlanta. As you may know, Atlanta is super dangerous and crime riddled right now so we have a ring peephole camera, perfect for apartments and a digital lock on our door for safety and about three months ago the sweet family across the hall moved out and we got a new neighbor his name is David and let's just say that he's interesting when we first saw him moving in we were a bit taken aback by the sheer amount of stuff that he was trying to fit into his one-bedroom apartment. All of it was

anime merch and Star Wars memorabilia. Definitely gives me sort of hoarder vibes, but it's none of my business. When the moving trucks left and a few days had passed, my roommate and I knocked on his door to give him a welcome to the neighborhood gift basket with some baked goods, dog treats, and poop bags for his dog and seasonal candles. Apparently, this was not the correct thing to do. After that day, David got creepy. It started out innocent enough. He would come to the door whenever he heard me or my roommate coming or going to have a quick chat and he would come over regularly to ask for salt or sugar or toilet paper. Sometimes he would ask if we would come over and watch his dog. But within the past two weeks, things have

really escalated. Two weekends ago, we were out pretty late partying at the bars near the Brave Stadium. We ended up getting home at around 3am only to find David sitting at the top of the stairs waiting for us. He acted all upset, asked us where we'd been and requested that we tell him if we were planning to be out past midnight. I just laughed in his face and he called me a mindless Stacy. Still not sure what that means. He also asked for access to our ring camera so he could make sure we were safe. We laughed at him again and just went into our apartment. Now here's the scary part.

We checked the ring the next morning and he sat outside his apartment staring at our door for the rest of the night. When we saw that, we contacted the complex to let them know that he was starting to act crazy. They told us to contact the police, so we did. The police told us to contact them if he made any threats, but since we lived in a shared space, they couldn't do anything until he entered our apartment or threatened us. I assume the complex said something to him because he left us alone for the next five days or so. This week, he's out of control. He's constantly sitting outside our apartment. My roommate has started leaving for work an hour earlier so that she doesn't cross paths with him. I cannot leave the apartment during the day because he is constantly waiting

outside for me. He's asked me out, left love letters on our door, on our cars, and in our mailbox. I told him once that I wasn't interested and he told me that he would take his own life if I didn't go on a date with him. Of course I don't have that in writing so the police won't do anything about it. He has also put up a ring doorbell of his own so he can track all of our movements and will leave really creepy notes when we're gone so we find them when we come back. I'm really scared. What do you guys think we should do? Growing up, my school was about 5 kilometers from home. I had to walk it because my parents would work until 7pm every day. The walk would go through a huge forest. I can probably count the number of times I encountered anyone through the forest on

one hand. This specific time has always stuck in my head and looking back I think I may have seen a kidnapping or some children trying to escape a kidnapping. I was 12. It was late spring and very hot outside. I was on my way home and had probably been walking for maybe one or two kilometers when I noticed a group of boys walking my way. The boys had no clothes on at all and were carrying what looked to me like a bat, the animal, not the sports equipment. There were three of them, two were around the same age as me and one looked a little younger. They looked flushed and sweaty as if though they had been running or walking for a while. They were almost dragging the younger boy along as he seemed like he needed to rest. I just froze and looked at them confused. They were speaking a language I

didn't understand and I can speak both Spanish and English so it was neither of them. The two older boys had olive skin with dark hair while the younger one was more pale and blonde. One of the older boys tried to talk to me but as I said I couldn't understand whatever language they were speaking. I said to him in both Spanish and English I can't understand you, and he seemed confused but he didn't waste any time. He pointed at the big one liter water bottle I had in my backpack's side pocket and shook his fist by his chest as if he was begging me. I gave him the bottle and he made sure the younger boy drank first. They finished off the water I had left in there and nodded their heads as if to say thank you before carrying on their way they were going. I kept on walking home but I felt creeped out by whatever I had just witnessed.

After another kilometer or two I saw a man. He was tall and thin and looked to be in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. He was pale but pale in a way that he looked ill or sick. Looking back, I think he may have been on something, but that didn't click for me at the time. When I saw him, I tried to keep my head down and keep walking, but he stopped me. And in broken Spanish, he said to me that he was looking for his little brothers. They were lost and asked if I had seen them. I just shook my head. He said gracias and carried on walking. I tried my hardest to walk normally but as soon as he was out of sight I ran and I didn't

stop until I reached my home. Once my parents got home I told them what had happened and they just shrugged it off and told me I shouldn't worry. When I insisted that I was serious my dad promised that he would call the police in the morning and tell them what I had seen. If my dad did call them, I was never called in for further questioning. No police asked me for descriptions or anything. My dad swears he reported it, but I have doubts. I just wish that they would have taken me seriously. For some background, I worked as a cop for several years before becoming a ranger. I've been a ranger in a large US national park for a while now and have some things I'll never forget.

Creepy things and things that show the brutality and hatred humans are capable of. I was on night shift. I patrolled the park looking for any type of illegal activity. Like drug use, people selling themselves, poaching. I got a call for a man looking into a cabin where a summer camp was going on. So, great, some creep probably just touching himself to you know what. Very, very weird, but I blacked out, no headlights or sirens, parked a little ways down and walked in hopes of catching the guy. And I kid you not, homie was just looking in the windows. I start my approach and flick my flashlight and told him not to move and show me his hands. He turns around, looks at me and starts saying he's sorry.

I put him in handcuffs and detained him while I searched him and waited for backup. I found his ID, a knife and some miscellaneous things. I put him into another officer's vehicle while I made contact with the counselors. They stated they had seen him earlier in the day but thought nothing of it. After taking statements, I run his name. As he can guess, he is a registered offender. I open the door to talk to him and not my proudest moment but I was tired. He was looking at little kids and I said, what do you think you're doing, you sick freak? He looked me in the eyes, no reaction, and said in a cold, monotone voice, I was able to smell them. They're ready to breed, officer. I didn't know what to say to that, so I just closed the door. I stayed on scene for the rest of the night to ease everyone's mind and act as a deterrent.

Obviously he ended up being charged. Thinking about what he said and the way he said it, it still makes me feel sick. He's now banned and I believe still in prison, where I believe creeps like him should stay forever. He ruined a great outdoor experience and they have scared these poor kids from camping, hiking, fishing or hunting and just enjoying the outdoors of life I could go on and on about the awful people and stuff I've heard and seen and responded to but Cases involving children are just the worst in all the ways So, in the years of the 1960s, my grandfather was a hospital porter. His work usually entailed daily chores such as moving patients from room to room, delivering medical supplies, shifting deceased patients to the morgue and taking out the rubbish and waste.

During my grandfather's time at the hospital, he made a collection of videos with his work colleagues where they would all be doing goofy activities. One such video had him going to one of the many barrels full of thrown out hospital food, grabbing a scoop and then delivering it to his colleague who was sat at a chair and table in an alleyway pretending to be a diner at a high-end restaurant. He told the reason for that video is because they were all angry at the amount of food waste left over by the hospital. Apparently it was perfectly good food too. I will add here that the videos I've seen have never had any sound to them and have all been a grainy black and white but I believe that video cameras were only just being made back then.

I don't know the history too well. Nothing ever seemed to bother my grandfather. His videos showed him being mischievous and playful with the other porters until one day. Back then, hospitals contained a ward where people were severely mentally ill and they would be housed there. I'm not sure if they were there their entire lives or if it was just temporary until they could be moved elsewhere. But for some reason, the hospital had put this ward on the highest floor and this is the stage where my grandfather's nightmarish encounter started. While he was doing his usual rounds, a woman from the ward had gotten free and wandered over to an open window. It was then that she decided to jump to her death.

My grandfather had gotten the call to go and collect the remains. I don't believe the police investigated the incident as it was just seen as a hospital mishap. But I could be wrong as he had never really mentioned the police. He walked around the grounds where her body lay with a stretcher and with his partners, they helped lift the remains. But as he did so, what was left of the woman's flattened head fell into his arms and separated from her body. The way he tells it, her head was like a pancake, she must have just gone down head first. I can only imagine the ground must have been concrete but again he never gave specifics. Since that moment my grandfather

found that he couldn't walk around that section of the hospital and flashbacks of her head in his arms would haunt him for a very long time. I was in 7th grade. Didn't have much friends because I used to hang out with high school kids. I was pretty alone at school because I never liked anyone in my class. That year, a new teacher came and he was about 55 or 56 years old. Always bragged about being rich, how he used to be a military pilot and so on. When someone asked him, if you're so rich, why are you a teacher? To which he replied, Because I love children. No one thought of that as creepy at the time. I mean, a lot of people generally love kids in a

non-weird way. However, he was always extremely touchy with some students. He would give better grades to some girls, only a few, and including me. I'd never let him get near me though, but he would hold my hand and sometimes pat my head. The thing is, his relationship with me was different and I guess I could feel it. I had no one to talk to in my class and he took the advantage of me being alone. He would shower me with compliments, tell me how I'm the prettiest in the class, say I'm special. He even decided to talk to my mom about how much he likes me. At some point it started to get really weird and a girl, a lesbian by the way in my class started to hang out with me. He didn't like that, he

would gossip to other students to get us away from each other, just some weird stuff and he also decided to give both of us bad grades and didn't want to teach us so he basically refused to ever help us. That girl and I became good friends and one day she said, I wish he doesn't come to class tomorrow, that's honestly my birthday wish. And I laughed and agreed. The next morning we sit in the classroom and suddenly the principal and some other teachers came to tell us that that teacher died yesterday due to a heart attack. I still think about this and how strange it was. By the way, his wife was like 20 years younger. To be continued... Hey friends, thanks for listening. Click that notification bell to be alerted of all future narrations. I release new videos every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 7pm EST.

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