The Lets Read Podcast - 202: MY EX WAS CRAZY NUTS! | 20 True Scary Stories | EP 190

Episode Date: August 29, 2023

Check out Unexplained Encounters! -- eeriecast.com/unexplained This episode includes narrations of true creepy encounters submitted by normal folks just like yourself. Today you'll experience horrifying stories about Bouncers, Crazy Exes & Airbnb... 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 & Bonus Content!►http://patreon.com/LetsRead

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Valid email address required. Terms apply. See pennzoil.ca slash offer for details. MasterCard is a trademark of MasterCard International Incorporated. Ghosts. Aliens. Skinwalkers. What do you believe? Well, brace yourself for Unexplained Encounters.

The podcast where people from around the world share their most bizarre and terrifying experiences with us. And I narrate them to you. From alleged sightings of werewolves to demonic entities in the dark shadows of the room, we're not asking you to decide what to believe in. Rather, decide what you fear. Get somebody out here.

Follow and rate Unexplained Encounters on Spotify and Apple Podcasts or go to eeriecast.com Back in 2018, I ended up flying over to Greece for a week-long solo vacation. There were a few hotels I had my eye on while I was planning the trip, but then for the same price, I could get an entire apartment on Airbnb. And some of the stuff they had available for rent was absolutely amazing. For the price of an entire en suite hotel room, I could get an apartment that looked something like a legitimate millionaire might choose to stay in during a visit to a French Riviera or something. Greece doesn't exactly have the

strongest economy, so it kind of made sense that it would be going so cheap, but even so, compared to the other listings, there's no way to describe it other than suspiciously affordable. Like any other sane person would have done, I immediately went to check the reviews, and even with all the five-star reviews and glowing praise of the apartment's owner, I still thought the whole thing was just way too good to be true. But then again, there were only two windows where the place wasn't booked, so not only did that show that the other people were genuinely interested in the place, but it also meant that it was a case of poop or get off the pot, so to speak. I could book the place, check it out, then

if it turned out to be some well-distinguished nightmare, I could just maybe just find myself a hotel chain with a simpler but more reliable kind of room, and just use the place to rest my head after long days of exploring my ancestral home. The flight over to Greece was the first long flight I'd been on, and the whole process just completely exhausted me. It's weird that just sitting on a plane for almost 10 hours can do that to a person, but I guess it was mainly the stress that took it out of me. Worrying that I'd lost my passport or my e-ticket, constantly worrying that I'd left something

crucial back in my apartment, all irrational first time flyer stuff I know, but after the relief of landing without a hitch and making it to the Airbnb okay, I felt like I could sleep for days. Even the elation of seeing the apartment didn't keep me up for long, and my god was I elated. It was everything I could have possibly hoped for. A magnificent mosaic of black and white tiles, and wrought iron spiral staircases. Hell, they could have charged double the asking price and people still would have paid it to stay in a place like that. But then the question remained.

Why exactly were the owners charging such a low rate? I know, I know, it was a huge question. One that any right-minded person would have still been asking themselves. But I guess the place's beauty and my exhaustion made for this perfect cocktail to wipe my brain of thought and I told myself that I could always properly survey the place the next morning after a good night's sleep. I remember waking up just before dawn to the sound of something scraping really close next to me. I mean, maybe scraping isn't the right word, but I ended up leaning over to the bedside table, switching on the light and seeing what was definitely a cockroach running for the darkness below the bed. I hate bugs, and cockroaches have to be the top of the list for me.

And suddenly, I understood why the pricing of the Airbnb was so low. The entire building probably had an infestation that they just couldn't get rid of, and maybe they couldn't afford to have the place bug bombed so they were hoping for a few quick bucks from Airbnb so they could afford it. That little theory of mine made much more sense when the owners refused me any kind of refund, giving me some bullcrap excuse of how Greece has lots of bugs in the summer, other guests didn't have a problem with it. They knew what they were doing, acting as if though a roach infestation is just like having a few house flies, and trying to get a refund became a whole other story, just not nearly as scary as the one I have to tell here.

So, if it wasn't already clear, there was no way in hell that I was about to spend another night in a place that had roaches so close to the bed. And luckily, I hadn't actually unpacked by that point. So I was able to just grab my stuff, jump in the rental and drive down through town towards the harbor front where I knew that there were a bunch of hotels. Only as I'm driving, I can feel that there's something wrong with my left ear, kind of like it felt cold on the inside. I started thinking that maybe I had some kind of ear infection, that the exhaustion and the stress of flying had messed with my immune system.

But then, I was driving, on my way to book a new hotel room, and start some epic email battle to get a refund so it wasn't like I was in much of a position to do anything about it. But the thing was, it was still like 5 or 6 in the morning at that point, so it's not like any of the local clinics were open for me to get looked over. So, when the weird feeling in my ear started getting worse, I decided to pull over near the harbor front and stick a cotton swab in my ear to see if there was any blood or pus or whatever.

And apologies to those who found that a little gross, but if you did, stop reading now, because things are about to get way, way worse. I pull over, fish around in my hand luggage for a little Tupperware box of bathroom related stuff, pull out a cotton swab, then gently push one into my ear. But then when I did, I felt something actually move inside my ear. At the time I couldn't tell if it was cause I'd actually pushed a clump of earwax or something further up my ear canal. But then, when I pulled the cotton swab out again, I see these two real thin, dark brown things stuck to the tip. I remember looking at them and thinking,

what the hell are those? Until suddenly, the thought hit me like an entire brick wall falling on me. I kind of wiggled my head again and felt that same weird movement in my left ear, and that's when I realized something that was like a worst nightmare come to life. There had been roaches near my bed when I woke up. Something was moving in my ear. The two little skinny things on the cotton swab were roach legs, and there was a freaking cockroach inside my ear canal. I was in complete denial for a minute or two, actually saying no,

no, no out loud, trying to talk myself into being something else. But then, when I actually accepted what was happening, I started to hyperventilate. It took me a while to calm down, but when I did, the next move was to grab the pair of tweezers I had with me, carefully insert them into my ear, and try to get the roach out all on my own. I can barely even describe how horrifying it was, trying to work the tweezers in, touching the roach, then feeling it trying to scuttle further into my ear canal. It was like it was trying to burrow into my brain. I know that's not exactly how ears or brains work and that they're not remotely connected in such a way, but in my groggy, terrified state, that's exactly what it felt like it was trying to do.

The more I tried, the more it seemed to crawl away from the biting pincers of the tweezers, and I realized that if I was actually going to get this roach out of my ear, I'd have to drive to an actual hospital. That's how I ended up driving over to the Patrasus University Hospital, and throughout the whole of that drive, I was acutely aware of the thing trying to burrow its way further into my ear canal. At this point, I feel like I should make it clear that while none of it was actually painful in any way, it was by far the worst kind of mental torture that I'd ever experienced in my whole life. Walking into the ER was the first piece of real luck I got as, because it was real early

on a Monday morning, there was next to no one else waiting to be seen by the doctors. After some mother-daughter combo got themselves seen to, I was called up to the desk to tell them what the problem was. The first nurse I spoke to didn't speak English all that well, so I had to wait a few more minutes while she found someone that did. The next nurse spoke amazing English, but when I explained what the situation was, she had this look on her face that told me she just straight up didn't believe me. She asked me if I was in pain, and I said no, but then I felt like I was going to puke. She still seemed skeptical, but then she took me to see a doctor who looked in my ear with an otoscope and

although I don't speak Greek, the muted reaction the doctor had told me that there was definitely a cockroach in my ear. Using the nurse as a translator, the doctor told me that the most important thing was for me to keep calm. As they put some wristband thing on me, I was told that getting the roach out would be relatively easy and they could 100% get the thing out, but I had to try and keep calm. If I didn't keep calm, I wouldn't be able to keep still, and to get the roach out they were going to need to use some pretty delicate instruments that might damage my ears if I didn't keep perfectly still. Hearing that was hardly relaxing, but the nurse advised me to control my breathing and focus on the fact that everything was going to be okay and that actually really helped me regain my focus.

After that another nurse took my blood pressure which turned out to be alarmingly high but then I put all that down to the stress of the whole situation and we all agreed that I didn't require any kind of medication for it. I had no idea exactly why they were doing all these tests on me and I'm sure they had their reasons but I was just desperate for them to get to the actual extraction already. Thankfully, that's the next thing they did and the nurse explained all the stuff the doctor was saying, how they were going to use the stuff called lidocaine as a prep for getting the roach out. The lidocaine would act as a numbing agent, making it so the extraction didn't hurt while also killing the roach. The lidocaine did its job alright, but before it did, the roach went

into overdrive trying to escape the fluid. And this is probably the worst it felt for me, and I'm so glad that it was over after that. But literally being able to feel the thing dying in my ear, like speeding up and speeding up and just suddenly slowing down as it died, I'm not sure there are even words in the English language to sum up how horrifying it all felt. After about two minutes of feeling the roach die, the doctor took these big curved tweezers and started removing the roach, but not in one go. He did it piece by piece. Once the whole thing was out of me, or at least as much as they could pull out, the

nurse showed me what they'd removed on a napkin. I guess it would have been about an inch long when it was intact, which I know isn't all that big, but it was still a cockroach running around my ear canal, so I don an inch long when it was intact, which I know isn't all that big. But it was still a cockroach running around my ear canal, so I don't care how small it was. After that, my ear canal was given one final check over just to make sure that there was nothing left behind. Then they basically told me that I was free to go with a prescription for oral antibiotics and a type that I would need to put directly into my ear. My whole left ear basically felt numb for the next 24 hours, but then as the week went on, it didn't really feel any better. I guess it was just the aftermath of having my ear invaded by both a cockroach and a pair of

surgical tweezers. But then the half-dead scratch session in my ear just didn't stop so when I got back to Baltimore I went over to my doctor to get checked up again. So about a week after I got back from Greece I went for my appointment and told her about the whole cockroach trauma. But just to be safe she asked a physician's assistant to flush my ear in the hopes that removing any wax buildup would help my hearing and get rid of the pressure. Then, once my ear had been flushed, they each took a look inside. I can't even begin to explain how much my heart sank when I heard the physician assistant say she saw what she believed to be a spiky insect leg inside my ear canal. I felt sick.

The whole ordeal wasn't even over, and all I wanted was for it to finally just be over. My doctor ended up flushing my ear again, and pulling out six more pieces of the roach that the Greek doctors hadn't even seen, and this is almost two whole weeks after the whole incident first took place. I guess what I'd been looking at wasn't the whole roach and I just wanted it to be the whole roach out of pure wishful thinking. I just quietly cried while the whole thing was going on and my doctor was amazing because she actually gave me a hug when the whole thing was done. She's been my family doctor for years so we had quite a close relationship like that for those wondering why she was getting a little too personal. But she also comforted me because she told me that there might be more of the roach

in my ear and that she was going to make me an emergency ear, nose, and throat appointment for the next day. When the appointment was over, I went home and tried as best I could to relax before heading to the ENT clinic the next morning. When I got there, they sat me in this real comfortable examination chair, then the ear, nose, and throat doctor placed some sort of microscope next to my head. He didn't say much at all. The whole examination basically took place in silence, right up until he said the dreaded words of, there's something in there alright. The next thing I know, he is using what looked like a large pair of scissors with a blunt end to fish around my ear canal for the rest of the roach.

That time, no kind of numbing agent was used so it was actually painful sometimes and because of the piece of equipment he was using, I could hear the pieces of roach crunching as he gripped them and pulled them out. Even when he finished and had flushed my ear out with water again, to the point that he was 99% sure that he had gotten everything out, I still didn't feel that much better. That surprised me because I figured that once it was all out I'd actually start feeling free of the whole thing. But I didn't. Instead, I couldn't stop thinking about the fact that the remnants of that roach existed in my ear for like two weeks, meaning there was still a chance that I was going to develop a nasty ear infection. I've only ever really gotten over the

whole thing over the past year or so, but even so, I'm deathly afraid of any crawling insect that might find its way into my ear, especially cockroaches. I'm not nearly as bad as I used to be, but it's definitely still a thing for me, and honestly, I don't expect to be completely over it anytime soon. My name is Jen. I'm in my 40s and me and my friend run a business via Airbnb here in the UK. We own a few different properties across London and while my friend acts as the financial backing, I run the day-to-day business of dealing with repairs and quest queries, as well as inspecting the rentals both before the guests arrive and after they check out.

As you can imagine, summertime is our busiest period of the year, with business picking up a lot around Christmas too. But then we always have this really quiet period around the autumn where we struggle to break even, and it really puts a dent in our annual profits. So imagine our joy when last year, we got a three-week-long booking for one of our swankier properties in North London. It was a huge payday for us, even with the block discount that Airbnb mandates, and we tried to be as welcoming and accommodating as possible to increase the chance of repeat business. For those of you that have used Airbnb before, you'll know that the vast majority of rentals are completely non-contact, and that

style of rental only increased over the course of the pandemic. That means that we didn't meet our renters even once, and throughout the whole of their three-week stay, we didn't receive a single call from them. The only thing we knew is that one of the two guests was a girl named Alice. Alice paid the deposit, the rental fee, everything. So about halfway through the stay, I dropped Alice a text to ask if everything was going okay. The reply said nothing other than like, fine, thanks, so we assumed their stay was going wonderfully. I certainly wasn't complaining that they were low maintenance guests because as much as I don't mind helping out where and when I'm needed, there's nothing worse than a guest who keeps

calling you up every five minutes, asking where things are, claiming that things are broken when they're not. When their three weeks were over, I made my way over to the flat to make sure everything was in order. I wasn't expecting anything to be rough, maybe a few towels left on the floor, maybe a few towels left on the floor, maybe a full bin bag, the usual stuff that people leave behind when they're in a hurry to leave. We'd had someone really make a mess of one of the flats before after having an all-night party there, so I was always ready to be greeted by an absolute horror show. But nothing could have prepared me for what I found in that flat that day.

I knew something was wrong almost immediately after trying to get into the flat as there seemed to be something blocking the door from the other side. It took me a good few shoves to get in then I saw that someone had piled some chairs up against the door as a means of slowing down entry but not completely barring access. I also noticed how cold it was, which was the first hint that I got that someone had left one of the windows open, something we specifically asked guests not to do since the area had something of a pigeon problem.

I rather quickly deduced that whoever had tried to bar the door had done so than used a window to actually leave the flat. By why ever in God's name they'd want to do that was a complete mystery to me. At least for the next few minutes anyway. I walked into the living room to shut the window and I could tell that it was the living room because of the cold breeze coming from it. And that's when I saw the mess they'd made. But unlike the mess the partiers leave behind, which tended to be loads of empty bottles and cans, cigarette butts, that sort of thing, the place looked like there had been some kind of fight. Loads of glasses and plates were smashed, the chairs were gone, the tables were overturned, it was a complete mess. The next place I checked was the bedroom, deciding to leave the bathroom till last because

I was honestly dreading whatever had been left in there and seeing the state the bedroom had been left in just made me dread it even more. There were all kinds of empty condom wrappers all over the bedroom as well as all kinds of adult toys strewn around the room. The sheets had stains on them, and God knows what they'd come from, but the whole room just reeked of you know what. It was disgusting. Finally I braced myself to check the bathroom to see what kind of mess had been left behind, expecting something god awful that I'd probably have to spend the rest

of the morning cleaning. But then, like I said, I could never have been ready for what was behind that door. I pushed open the bathroom door, took a peek inside, then immediately slammed it closed after seeing something lying in the bath. Something person-shaped. I say person-shaped because just from the split second I saw it, it didn't actually look like a person. Not a living one anyway. It was all lumpy and covered in gore. Almost like it was just pieces of fresh meat butchered and piled on top of one another. I think I was just in denial about what I saw at first. I mean, I didn't want it to be what it was. And so in those few moments, I tried to think of everything it could have been, instead of what it actually was. I don't know what actually drove me to open

the door again. I certainly didn't want to, if that makes any sense. I think I'd actually managed to convince myself that what I'd seen wasn't real, that I'd just assumed the worst after seeing the rest of the flat and that it just wasn't as bad as I thought it was. Only, it was as bad as I thought it was. If anything, it was worse. It was a body, and it was just lying there in the bath in probably the worst condition you can possibly imagine. Partly the reason why I didn't recognize it as one immediately is because the girl's face was so beaten up that she didn't even look human anymore. There wasn't a single patch of skin that didn't have blood drying on it, but it wasn't that brown looking blood that had clawed it. It actually still looked kind of fresh, like it had only been there looking blood that had clawed it. It actually still looked kind of

fresh, like it had only been there for a few hours at the most. I immediately pulled my phone out, dialing 999 to tell them that I needed the police as quickly as they could get there. The girl, who I assumed was the girl who'd rented from us, was just laying there, perfectly still, and I couldn't hear her breathing or anything, so I just assumed that she was dead. I even told the bloke on the other end of the line that I was almost certain she was dead, and that's when he asked me to check her pulse to make sure. I did as he asked, 100% certain that I wouldn't feel a thing because in my mind, no one on earth could survive the

kind of violence that she'd been put through. I don't even think I was touching the right spot on her neck at first, because again, I couldn't feel a thing, and after racking my brain for a minute, trying to remember the girl's name, I think I just blanked because of the panic. I just said, Alice? And then, she opened her eyes. Having that happen, like she'd probably come back from the dead or something, was the single most terrifying moment of my life. It was absolutely horrendous. They were all bloodshot too, and one of them had absolutely no white in the eye whatsoever.

It was just a bright red mess of broken blood vessels. Then, as soon as she laid eyes on me, she started screaming and lashing out, terrifying me so much as I just ran out of the flat and into the corridor outside while shouting that she's alive, she's alive, down the phone. I remember the guy on the other end of the phone telling me to go and unlock the front door to the flat building, since it was an old-style place with a door you could leave on the latch. After that, I had to run back upstairs to make sure the girl didn't let herself out of the flat, as she had obviously just launched into fight-or-flight mode after waking up and thinking that she was still in danger. When I got upstairs, the girl was half naked, just slouched in the hallway outside the flat, and she was crying her eyes out. I told her to stay put, and that the ambulance was on the way. Then all she did was cry those choked sobs while her tears cleared the blood from her face.

That's another image I'll never get out of my head, how her tears cleared the blood from her face. And that's another image I'll never get out of my head, how her tears actually seemed to clean the blood from the parts of her deformed face they'd touched. When the paramedics arrived, I found out that the only reason she hadn't actually run off after waking up screaming was because she literally couldn't. I don't know what kind of damage had been done to her legs, but the paramedics had to bring in a stretcher up to the hallway to actually get her down into the ambulance. After she was taken to the hospital, a second set of policemen, the first went with her to the hospital, asked me to stay out of the flat on behalf of a forensics team,

which were on their way down. Then they proceeded to ask me a load of questions regarding exactly what I'd seen and what I knew about the people renting. Obviously, I knew next to nothing other than her name and the amount of time that she'd been staying for, but I answered their questions as best they could. They also promised to keep me in the loop regarding certain details of the investigation so I could pass on the details to our insurance company for the eventual claim we were going to file with them. About a week or so later, I got a call from an officer, and while he didn't tell me exactly what had happened, he told me everything he was permitted to tell me. Basically, the two girls

who rented the flat were call girls, who'd come down from the north to use the place as a kind of base of operations for three weeks because they could basically charge more for their services in London than they could up north. At least, that was their logic. Apparently, their little idea had worked really well, and they'd had a profitable, relatively trouble-free few weeks. But then, on the night before they'd been due to check out, some local gangsters had gotten wind of their little operation, and didn't take kindly to them operating in their area. Apparently these girls were charging quite a bit of money, but it was still lower than the rate that these gangsters had agreed upon for all their girls.

So, they hatched a little plan. They would raid the flat the girls were staying in, scare them enough that they'd leave the area, and take any money they'd made in the process. But the thing was, the girls didn't keep much money in the flat with them, and were taking the cash to a friend of theirs who just so happened to live in London too. That's how only one girl ended up getting left in the bath. She ended up being the only one they beat the crap out of and torturing as a means of scaring the other girl, who they forced out of the window before making her lead them

to where they'd stashed all their money. And that was all I was told. And as much as the officer hinted that they got a few blokes in custody, he obviously couldn't tell me who they were or who they were affiliated with. And that's all the info I got too, as the police didn't get back in touch aside to tell us that we were free to use the apartment again, and I was more focused on the insurance claim than anything else after that. That was the single worst incident in the history of our little Airbnb business,

and probably one of the worst things I'd ever come across in my entire life. In June of 2018, Boston area anesthesiologist Jaleesa Jackson and Chidozie Uwandu decided on a week's vacation in Southern California. 29-year-old Jaleesa and 28-year-old Chidozie had met while studying at the prestigious Johns Hopkins University of Medicine down in Baltimore, and were already an item by the time they moved up to Boston together. Their personal life was hallmarked by a deeply loving romantic relationship, but their professional lives were deeply stressful, with each routinely working 14-hour shifts either five or six days a week, and even on their days off they were sometimes called into work to conduct essential medical procedures. Each of them found this lifestyle to be utterly exhausting, so when it came time to pick a vacation spot, they chose a place as far away from Boston as they possibly could, Los Angeles.

After traveling 3,000 miles across the country, they checked into a small ocean-side guest house they'd rented via Airbnb. The place had some truly excellent reviews, and its owner was so popular with those that rented from him that the company had designated him a superhost, meaning he provided almost flawless customer service while making himself easily available to those that stayed at the property. Waiting for them at the property was a chilled bottle of wine, along with a friendly welcome note from the owner, who referred to himself as JJ. He wished them a delightful stay, thanked them for their custom, then left his contact details just in case they needed anything. Then, feeling like they were in safe hands, Julissa and Chidozie packed away their things, then settled in for the night. They believed that they were in for a dream vacation,

the perfect anecdote to their high-pressure, career-driven lives. Yet little did they know, their vacation would turn into a living nightmare. Around 5.30 the next morning, the couple woke up to the sound of a loud and violent banging sound coming from the front door. The commotion just about frightened the life out of them, but a brave Julissa grabbed her phone, readied herself to call 911, then approached the front door to see what was going on. As she got closer, she heard a rough male voice barking. I know you're in there, Kevin. Julissa peered through the door as people, spying an unhinged, enraged man on the other side and after barking at him to get away from the property, she decided to call JJ

to let him know what was going on. But then, just as the dial tone started, the sound of a phone ringing could be heard from the other side of the door. Julissa then opened the door, looked the man dead in the face and asked, JJ? Yet the man simply looked up at her with a startled look on his face, then ran off into the night. As you can imagine, Jaleesa was horribly confused, as was Chidozie when the details of the incident were relayed to him. Then, demanding an answer, Jaleesa began calling JJ incessantly until he finally answered his phone. JJ seemed completely unapologetic regarding the bizarre incident and told Jaleesa,

Yeah, that was me. Sorry about the confusion, but that's too short for me to give you an explanation. Have a nice time in LA. Jaleesa tried to fish for more of an explanation, but mused and outraged that a so-called super host, who had seemed so warm and friendly in their welcome note, had turned out to be anything but. Yet before she had a chance to ask him anything, JJ hung up on her. Maybe things are just different on the West Coast,

Jaleesa told Chidozie, in an attempt to explain JJ's bizarre and alarming behavior, and both agreed that it certainly made for a memorable welcome to one of the United States' most famous cities. The couple then spent the day at a nearby beach, and by the time the sun began to set, that morning's incident was almost completely forgotten. When they were done at the beach, Jaleesa and Shadozie made their way back to their Airbnb, with the remainder of their evening being pleasantly uneventful. They finished off the rest of their wine, ate some of the best tacos they'd ever eaten in their lives,

then sank into bliss while enjoying a saccharine rom-com courtesy of Netflix. It was only after they'd retired to bed did the terror ramp up exponentially. Shortly after two o'clock in the morning, the couple was scared out of their skin when a hooded figure literally came crashing through the large window of their darkened bedroom. The violent intrusion sent shards of glass everywhere, and both halves of the couple let out screams of terror as the figures smashed their way into the bedroom. I had no idea what was happening, Chidozie recalled, but I reacted like we were under attack. In an instant, the 230-pound six-foot Chidozie

leapt on the man as he simply lay there motionless on the bedroom floor. He tore up his bare feet on the broken glass in the process, but the surging adrenaline meant he barely felt it. In that moment, all that mattered was securing and detaining the maniacal intruder so that they wouldn't be free to harass them again. As he shoved his knee into the intruder's back, Jadozi screamed at Jaleesa to call 911. He later said that he feared that the man might be hiding a weapon, or that more intruders might be attempting to force their way into the residence. As Jaleesa grabbed her phone and rushed to call 911, her boyfriend barked at her to hide under the table, just in case any other armed men were about to burst into the bedroom.

As she did so, Jaleesa made a mental note of the man's attire, the goal of which was to provide as accurate a description as possible to the emergency dispatcher. Yet when she tried to get a look at his face, and as the hood of his jacket began to work its way back from his face, she noticed something that instantly sent chills through her. JJ? She called out, recognizing their so-called super host as the man who had just smashed his way into their bedroom. Jadozy was so shocked by his girlfriend's cry that he took his knee off of JJ's back, turning him over to confirm that the person terrorizing them was actually their apparent benevolent landlord. At the moment he loosened his grip, J.J. tore himself free, then bolted from the building as fast as his legs could carry him. Minutes later, Jaleesa Jackson was telling the police that they had just been attacked by their own Airbnb host,

and that he had gone crazy, and that they needed assistance as soon as possible. Then, while awaiting the arrival of armed officers, Julissa and Chidozie armed themselves with the biggest kitchen knives, then hunkered down in preparation for another assault. Yet while they waited, they suddenly heard the sounds of a helicopter hovering overhead. Then moments later, the courtyard between the guest house and the main house was awash with flashing lights. Jaleesa then noticed two police officers leading a handcuffed man back towards the property. It was JJ, and he was ranting and raving about cleaning fees. He had apparently told the police

that he had ordered his tenants to move out after they failed to pay cleaning fees, but as commotion unfolded, an elderly woman emerged from the main house and asked what was going on. It turned out that the woman was the property's true owner, and that she had rented the guest house out to JJ on the condition that he wouldn't sublet it from anyone else. Jaleesa and Chidozie told her that, as far as they knew, JJ rented the place out all the time, and that it was in fact his primary source of income. They asked her how she hadn't noticed all the people coming and going with luggage,

but the woman meekly replied that she thought that they were all just JJ's friends. Thankfully, after placing a few calls to Airbnb, the company refunded the couple the full $708 they had paid to rent the guesthouse, and also offered to relocate them to another property at no additional cost. However, due to the trauma they'd experienced, Jalisa and Chidozie had no desire to patronize Airbnb in the future, and checked into a local Hilton hotel, even though it cost them an additional $2,300 to do so. In the aftermath, they sought $5,000 worth of compensation from Airbnb, owing to the terror and trauma they'd experienced.

But after a period of intense haggling with the company's grievance department, the best offer they could get was $2,500. Airbnb did offer to sweeten the deal by paying for five therapy sessions for each of the couple, which they argued would tip the total compensation amount to well over $5,000. But Julissa and Chidozzi refused. If you think that seems extremely miserly of Airbnb, you'd be right, as according to Forbes magazine, the company is worth around $38 billion, with an annual revenue of just over $2 billion. Almost every single night,

a jaw-dropping 2 million people stay in Airbnb properties in over 8,000 cities around the world. So surely, they have the revenue to properly compensate a couple who went through something so horrific and traumatic. And for a company whose entire business model is based on trust, and who proclaims your safety is our priority, the incident in LA shows a chilling failure of Airbnb's screening system. The company itself has claimed that no screening system is perfect, but while this remains the case, couples like Julissa and Chidozie will continue to be at the mercy of crooks and villains who only wish to prey on their fellow man. Okay, so a few years back, me and my girlfriend decided to get out of the city for a few days by renting an Airbnb. We spent a while looking at a bunch of different places, then finally settled in this place on a farm about two hours drive outside of the city. It was this little guest house on a farm, just across from the main house where the owners must have lived. We talked a little via

email after actually paying for the place, just little things like if we wanted some wine or some coffee left for our arrival. They were really friendly like that. Then just a few days before we were due to drive out there, they suddenly stopped replying to our emails. It was a little worrying, but not hugely so. I mean, we paid our fees and stuff, so we were definitely entitled to rent the little guest house for the week that we paid for. Besides, we figured that they were just busy or something and would get back to us as soon as they could. They told us in one email that the keys to the place would be in a lockbox that was attached to the place's porch, and that they'd email us the

code on either the day before we arrived or the day of our arrival for security reasons. But then like I said they seemed to just go totally dark just a few days before and they ended up not emailing us any kind of code. We were kind of annoyed as anyone might be and as we'd already paid our money and all that. I know we probably should have just cancelled the trip and got a refund from Airbnb, but we really liked the idea of staying out on this farm place as it would make the perfect little break from our busy urban lives. So we decided to just roll the dice, drive out there, and get the code to the lockbox by knocking at the actual farmhouse instead of relying on email and stuff. The place was relatively easy to find and both the farmhouse and the little guest house looked awesome. There was just one problem. The door to the main house was wide open and there was a trail

of clothes and household items leading up to a spot that looked like a truck or car had once sat. As you can guess, we could instantly tell that something wasn't right, as it looked like whoever had lived there had left in a hurry for some reason. Just to be sure, we walked up to the door, knocked on it, even thought it was open and called out, Hello? Stuff like that. We didn't get any reply, so there was definitely no one home and we didn't actually have

any of their numbers so there was no getting in touch with them to find out where they'd gone or when they'd be back. Not that we actually thought that they were coming back anytime soon, the trail of stuff gave us a pretty good idea that no one would want to be returning at all. The only real questions we were faced with was, why the hell did the family leave in such a hurry, and what exactly scared them so bad that they'd want to leave so fast? We didn't exactly stick around for very long. The bad vibes were seriously heavy in the air, and my girlfriend was begging me to get us out of there from almost the moment we got out of the car. But in the time we were there, we didn't see any blood or anything like that. No bullet holes either, nothing to indicate

what had happened to make people want to run away. We made sure to call the cops on the way back into the city just to let them know that something had happened if they didn't know already. Getting our money back from Airbnb was actually much easier than we figured too. I guess they didn't know already. Getting our money back from Airbnb was actually much easier than we figured too. I guess they couldn't get in touch with the family either, and since it was still the day that we were due to check in, the money was still in digital limbo or whatever system they used to get us the money pretty quickly. I always wondered about what happened to the family though. We didn't end up getting any real answers about it other than the fact that we got our money back pretty quickly which I'm guessing meant that they didn't contest the refund with

Airbnb. We've rented Airbnbs since then too with none of that same creepiness being repeated. So while I definitely recommend using the company, I suppose you just don't know what you're walking into until you're actually there. A few back, me and my husband got an Airbnb in the city we live in as a little staycation. We have a small apartment, and we rented this big fancy one for a weekend while my husband's parents looked after our son, who was three years old at the time. We arrive at the place, as it's just as nice as all the pictures, but the only problem was that the TV room had this really overpowering smell to it. It wasn't even like it was a bad smell either. It smelled really strongly of cleaning products, which, like I said, wasn't the worst thing a place could smell of, but it was verging on overpowering. We didn't spend long in there on the first day,

mainly because we were out for dinner and a movie before taking a bath together and going to bed. But then the next day, while hanging out in the lavish TV area, we really started to get irritated by the smell. We tried opening some windows and that kind of helped but it was almost winter time so even with the heating cranked up it ended up being uncomfortably cold in the one place we really wanted to hang out. We ended up basically sniff testing everything to find out exactly where the smell was coming from and in the end we both decided that it was coming from the carpet. Then almost immediately my husband tugs on the carpet to see if there were any stains underneath, anything that might indicate why someone had really gone ham with the cleaning products on it.

But it won't budge. Turns out it had those double-sided sticky things on it to hold it down, so it took a little elbow grease, but we eventually pulled the thing up and off the ground. Almost right away, we see what's underneath. The both of us are like, oh my god, because there's still a huge dark brown stain on the wooden paneling. We both knew what it was right away, and we both demanded answers from both the owner and Airbnb. Airbnb were the most receptive, but they didn't know a thing about it. The owner, on the other hand, hung up and pretty much went AWOL on us as soon as they realized what the call was about. We had to google the address along with keywords

like murder and almost instantly, we start getting hits about how a guy killed his girlfriend in the exact same apartment, maybe only a few months previously. The owner must have bought the place up, hired someone to do a half-hearted cleaning job, then just put the place right up on Airbnb for someone to rent, and that someone ended up being us. We just went right back home, canceling our little staycation, but not before getting a bunch of different pictures of the stain on the floor as well as forwarding Airbnb customer services the articles about the murder. They managed to refund our money and they promised us that the owner would have their properties delisted because apparently you're supposed to tell the company about stuff like that before you put an advertisement for a place up. But then the next time we went looking for a staycation place, we saw the exact same listing up there, like Airbnb had just totally ignored us. We got in touch again to leave an actual complaint against the company,

but that time, Airbnb said the stain had been completely cleaned and that they were personally satisfied that the quality met with their terms of service. I mean, I guess people have died in tons of apartments all over the city and that it's just easier to tell which ones than others. But the fact that we knew something terrible had happened there didn't sit right with us at all. I'm not talking about spirits lingering or anything supernatural like that, it's just really disconcerting to know that something creepy happened in a place where people were trying to relax and have fun. A few years ago now, me and a friend of mine got Airbnb in Berlin for the weekend, a converted attic with two beds and some basic accommodations. The first night at around 4am, I heard footsteps walking up the final staircase which led directly

to the door of the attic. The next thing I know, I see the door slowly peeling open, as if someone was trying to sneak in and I get this gut punch feeling of terror, realizing we've forgotten to lock it. I just lay there with my eyes glued to the doorway as it continued to open until I called out thinking it was a friend trying to mess with me. No response, but then the door stopped inching open for a second. I called out again and again and got no response, but then the door swung wide open, slamming against the wall, and I saw a shadow outline of a person, distorted by the darkness and

illuminated from the window behind it. I went full fight or flight mode and sprang up and out of bed, grabbing a nearby lamp to use as a weapon. I swung it while moving around the figure, then, after what felt like a few minutes but was probably only a few seconds, I found myself with a clear path to the doorway and the subsequent staircase. I then threw the lamp at the intruder, and I flew down all three flights of stairs with so much energy I was lucky not to fall and hurt myself. I shook awake my friend, told her that we were leaving right now, calling the cops and

that she should join me. A few minutes later, my other friends arrived and told us that the place was all clear but we were idiots for leaving the door open and trashing the place. We did leave the door open but we didn't trash the place. That must have been the intruder. Never stayed in another dodgy place like that ever again, and I wouldn't if you paid me. I'm fully aware of how crazy what I'm about to tell you sounds, but at the time it seemed like the only way to solve the problem. Anyone who has been in a similar situation probably understands where I'm coming from, and maybe back before social media you could make yourself disappear. But these days, there's just too many eyes on you.

If you overlook one small thing, your plan is ruined. It was an aunt that uncovered my ruse. In her defense, she didn't do it on purpose. She'd been living in another country for so long, I think we just forgot about her. Therefore, if you ever try what we tried, be sure to cover every possible angle. I suppose I've led you guys on long enough. The mysterious plan I've been speaking of was the faking of my own death. I didn't undergo this for the usual reasons most do. I wasn't wanted.

I didn't embezzle a bunch of money from my job. There was no simple reason. I had a crazy ex-girlfriend that had been making my life and my family's life hell for almost three years. My story will be different for most guys. I know what I was getting into. Connie was always an intense girl. She never did things halfway. If she drank, she didn't stop until she passed out. Her diet was always planned out to the smallest calorie. This was the trait I liked about her most. Life was never boring while she was around. I never felt more alive than when I was with her. This personality had its downsides too, but I wouldn't experience those until much later. The initial six to nine months were great, but then her mother died. Connie appeared to be on

bad terms with her mom when she was alive. You would expect her to be a little sad, but nothing overboard. And it turned out to be the exact opposite. From the moment she received the news, she became inconsolable and stayed that way for over a year. I assumed that she felt guilty about the way that she had left things and this was the only reason for her extreme mourning. I've discovered since then her thinking has no real logical stream of thought. It's just all emotion for her. And during this period of time I tried my hardest to play the role of the supportive boyfriend

but I was treated like an annoyance more than a partner. One day I finally had enough and walked out. I don't think she even noticed. I'd already moved on with my life and hooked up with a few girls before I heard from her. She was not happy. I was accused of all sorts of terrible things, none of them true of course, and it sounded like she just needed to get her frustration out on me and she'd moved on. I hung up and put the call behind me. It looked as if though this was going to happen. She remained silent for a long time.

Life was going well until I got a text from my mom with a link. I clicked the link and it led to a page address. OP is a serial abuser. Of course OP was replaced with my full name. The page was one long testimonial written by Connie herself, outlining all of the horrible and unspeakable things I supposedly did to her and other girls. I was so furious, I called her immediately. The minute I heard the tone in her voice, I knew I'd screwed up. She said that she would pull the page down if I came back to her. And this made me even madder and hung up.

And it turns out, she had been recording the whole call. And she edited it to make herself look good and posted it on the page. I had to get a lawyer involved. He contacted her and notified her to take down the page or she would be sued. We heard nothing for some time and it was looking like we were going to have to go forward with the suit, but she yanked the page down at the last second. I still have no idea how many people saw that crap, but she did have a link to it on her Facebook page for almost 6 months. It should have stopped there, but Connie was only getting started. Like I said, she never does anything halfway.

Her next attack was on my parents' business. She proceeded to give them bad reviews on every rating page she could find, and we were helpless to do anything. A few of the sites were sympathetic, but they refused to remove them. Business eventually bounced back, but a lot of damage was done in the meantime. The bad reviews thing was just something to keep her busy while she waited for her real targets to pop up. Despite asking the girls I dated not to post any pictures of me on their social media pages, a few didn't listen. They became collateral damage in Connie's war against me. She must have had some major program thing going on because the second a friend or a new love interest posted a picture of me, Connie pounced. The attack was always the

same. She would start by calling the girl all types of slurs. If this didn't work, she'd tell the victim lies about how bad of a person I was. In the end, the girl would always cut ties with me and delete any pictures she'd posted. Connie wasn't showing any signs of letting up. It had been over two years and she was still coming up with new ideas every week. My family decided that we had to take extreme action. If I was no longer around, perhaps she'd stop her vendetta. The plan was set in motion and everyone we knew was brought into it. It would only work if everyone did their part. Finally the day came. My mother posted an announcement

on her Facebook that I had died in a car crash the day prior. I stayed out of sight and spoke only to those involved in the scheme. It wasn't long before Connie made her appearance. She expressed her sadness to my mom and then went silent. It looked as if though she had bought it. All the bad reviews began to disappear and all her awful posts she'd made about me around social media did too. It all seemed to be going well. Months passed and I began to think that I may be able to live a new, but normal life soon. Everyone continued living as

if though I was dead. Nine months passed and the plan had worked to perfection. Connie was nowhere to be seen. My aunt Sue had returned to Thailand more than ten years ago. No one in the family had spoken to her since and she had never been computer literate. Out of nowhere she pops up on Facebook. When she saw the announcement, she went crazy. She had no sense computer literate. Out of nowhere, she pops up on Facebook. When she saw the announcement, she went crazy. She had no sense of duplicity. Combine that with her total lack of computer knowledge and all we had built was soon destroyed. My mother tried to bring her in on the plan, but rather than answer through the messenger, she posted everything out in the open for everyone to see. The whole story wasn't there, but someone as cunning as Connie could figure it out in no time. She began asking questions which led to more lies.

Ultimately, without an actual death certificate, we were forced to admit defeat. Even then, I don't think Aunt Sue understood what she'd done. I don't hold any grudges against her. It was a crazy idea to begin with. Now that the scam was out in the open, Connie renewed her libelous assault on the family. She probably had a hundred or more fake accounts dedicated to bullying us, and every time that I'd get one taken down, two more would pop up. It became a full-time job just doing that. I was beginning to crack, but something strange had happened.

One day there were no more fake accounts and I assumed this was a new tactic and brace for impact. For some reason she began losing interest in me. Don't get me wrong, I was happy to see it, but after dealing with years of this, I was very suspicious. It took a few months to figure out what was going on. Pictures of a new man began showing up on her social media. When the post announcing her engagement was put up, I reserved my joy. I was so distrustful of her I paid a mutual friend of ours to attend the wedding just to be sure. I still keep the text on my phone four years later. It's real alright. I can confirm that they were married

at 2.32pm today. God is truly great. Along with the text, a photo of the happy couple kissing at the altar was included. I can promise you that day is a far more joyous one in our home than theirs. I showed it to my parents right after reading it. It's the only time in my life I've seen my dad cry. The nightmare was finally over. Even then, I hesitated to let my guard down completely. I continued to monitor Connie's posts and search for fake accounts on a regular basis. After six months, I finally relaxed. Last time I checked, the couple was expecting their first child.

I can honestly say I wish them all the luck in the world. May their marriage be a long and fruitful one. And I'm not joking either. I carry one great fear with me to this day. Their marriage fails and I become the focus of her anger once again. Now that I have my own family, the pressure may be too great and I may do something I regret. For the sake of all those we love, I encourage her to focus on the present and enjoy the second chance God has given everyone. To be continued... Erin when I was a sophomore in college. She was very well known around town for her beauty and I think that went to her head and caused her to take advantage of those around her later in life. When I met her though, she was still just a pretty 19 year old girl who liked to have a good

time. I wasn't aware of her popularity then. Had I been, I probably would have been too scared to approach her. We seemed to connect right off the bat, and I quickly convinced myself that we were meant to spend the rest of our lives together. I didn't say anything then. I didn't want to ruin a good thing by smothering her. We'd been dating over a year when the subject of marriage finally came up. Erin was the one who brought it up, exactly a week after I purchased a ring and proposed to her. She said yes. There was no hesitation or reluctance. In no way did she indicate that she wasn't ready, and planning began immediately. The date was set for the week after I graduated.

I left most of the arrangements in the hands of Erin and her folks. They weren't wealthy, so I didn't expect anything lavish which was fine with me. The next year flew by and before I knew it the wedding was less than a month away. Even after that long there was still no signs of the impending disaster. I checked in to ensure everything was going okay and got everything's going great in reply. I refocused on my upcoming graduation and expected the following week to be the happiest of my life. Then I found the note. I had been at school dealing with some last minute paperwork. I'd left Erin in bed sleeping but expected her to be up when I got back. I called out to her but got no answer. I checked her bed but she wasn't there.

I searched all through the house. She was nowhere to be found, and I thought that maybe something had come up. In that case, we would usually leave notes for one another on the dinner table, and sure enough, when I checked, I found a piece of paper folded up with my name on it, and what I read almost killed me. It said and I quote, I'm sorry. I still love you but I can't go on with the wedding. I realized I have no idea who I am until I find out I can't commit to anyone. I'm going away for a while and not sure when I'll be back, if ever. Please don't come looking for me. I need time to find myself alone. Tell my parents I'm sorry about all the money they spent on the ceremony and I hope someday to be in a position

to pay them back. Please know this has nothing to do with you. You were a great guy. Go find a new girl and start that family you've talked about. Forget about me. It's for the best. Love always, Aaron. I called her phone, but there was no answer. It had to be a joke. Nothing else made sense. Aaron wasn't known for being impulsive. Her parents were as surprised as I was. And they came over later that day, and I showed them the note. We called all of her friends, but no one had heard from her. Although she was an adult, we contacted law enforcement. At the least, it would be a relief to know that she hadn't been forced to leave against her will. The next morning, an officer from the local police called. Erin had been found and she was okay. Unfortunately, that was all he

could tell me. It looked as if though she really had run away. And this was a major shock to everyone, but we were helpless to do anything. If it is what she wanted, we would have to wait and hope she came to her senses. A few people accused me of pressuring her into marriage, but that got put to bed quickly. For now, we had no choice but to move on without her. I held on to the hope that she may return within a month or two. I stayed in town and worked two jobs. Telling myself that she'd be back made things a bit less dramatic. Work became the sole focus of my life. Before I knew it, another year had passed. Erin was still nowhere to be seen.

She had contacted her parents soon after leaving, but they couldn't convince her to return. I'd had a few girls ask me out in that time, but I was still in shock. Any hope that I had of seeing her again was almost gone. Then she suddenly reappeared, but she wasn't alone. After working weeks of double shifts, I arrived back home exhausted. As I turned onto my street, I caught sight of Erin's car parked in the driveway. I wasn't sure it was real. I rubbed my eyes repeatedly, but each time the car remained. A renewed energy coursed through my body. I don't remember anything but running full speed into the house, screaming Erin's name as I went. She sat up from her chair as I entered. Her beautiful smile lit up the dark room. The joy I felt in that moment is indescribable, but the joy was just beginning.

Next to her on the couch was a beautiful little blonde girl, a spitting image of Erin. I took Erin in my arms and embraced her, scared to let her go. And I looked down onto this little child. Erin was clearly her mother, yet for a brief moment I was confused. Who was the child's father? And I didn't dare hope. There was no way I could be this fortunate, and I sheepishly looked up at her and began to ask. I couldn't finish my thought, and I choked on my words and the tears filled my eyes, and I could just point. Yes, she's yours. No words had ever been so beautiful in my ears. I squeezed Erin tighter than ever, and I feared that if I let her go it would all disappear in a flash and I'd be left alone in that room.

Any anger I may have held evaporated the second I saw her. Her apologies mattered not at all, and having my love back erased any pain that I had felt during her absence. While I held my amazing and wonderful daughter, Erin talked about what she had been doing all that time. To be honest, I didn't hear most of it. I was so happy and little mattered but the three of us in that moment. Even though I didn't bring it up at the time, I was wondering if her return meant that she wanted to get married after all. I decided to keep this to myself for the time being. We'd have plenty of time to discuss it later.

For the moment, I made sure my home was comfortable for my ladies. Erin's parents went nuts, buying anything baby-related they could think of. All I had to do was keep bringing in the money. Every second I was away seemed like torture, but I had a family now. I was willing to do anything to provide for them. A few weeks went by and life appeared perfect. Erin turned out to be a great homemaker. She'd make breakfast for me every morning and have dinner ready in the evening when I came home. It was just as we had envisioned, and I should have known that it couldn't last. A month later I arrived home from

work as usual. When I entered the living room I saw a man sitting on my chair. I didn't know him, yet something was familiar about his face. Erin introduced him as Mike. She couldn't look me in the eyes, nor kiss me on the cheek as she usually did when I came home and something was clearly amiss. I shook Mike's hand and asked why he was there and neither of them could answer. This made me nervous and I raised my voice. I asked a second time. Mike's jaw clenched. Erin stood up and began to tell me how she had actually spent the past 16 months. When she first fled town she had plans to stay with a friend in Florida. This arrangement only lasted a short time because that friend was now living with a meth dealer and they were both addicts. The boyfriend was

very paranoid and didn't trust her, going as far as accusing her of being an informant. She left that situation after a few weeks and lived in a motel. She began looking for work but couldn't find anything. A month had gone by at this point and she claimed a mixture of regret and inability to support herself drove her to return home. She began the drive back and made it as far as Louisiana. Somehow, I'm not sure how, she befriended a girl at a gas station who got her a job working with her. Things now having improved, she decided to settle down there.

I'm not going to include the name of the city for personal reasons. And while working nights at the gas station, she met Mike and they fell in love. And she would eventually move in with him. Soon after, she discovered that she was pregnant. They discussed matters and decided to get married. His family began making plans for the wedding. This time, though, she went through with it. Not long after, their daughter was born.

According to her, Mike never questioned his paternity of the girl. It was just a given. Their life was born. According to her, Mike never questioned his paternity of the girl. It was just a given. Their life was average. Both parents worked while Mike's mother happily babysat the girl during the day. The only problem was that Erin missed her family and wanted to return. In her warped mind, she figured that she'd just do what she'd done to me and take off with no explanation other than a short note. She waited for Mike to leave one morning, loaded herself and their child into her car and disappeared. You know the rest. You probably can guess my reaction upon hearing this. I wanted to scream, but our daughter was sleeping in the next room. Anytime I'd raise my voice just a small amount, Mike would ball up his fists like he wanted to fight.

You'd think he'd be just as mad as I was. I finally asked him what his problem was. I had no intention of fighting over her. He proceeded to tell me how he was aware of how I used to abuse Aaron physically and how he wasn't going to allow it. Even after everything, I was shocked. I couldn't speak. I looked over at Aaron. She was hanging her head like a child after being caught by a parent doing something wrong. I was finally able to form a thought and asked if she was going to tell him the truth. She was silent, so I told him myself. He could ask anyone who ever knew either of us,

not one of them would accuse me of raising my hand to her, not even once. I think he could tell by her behavior that she'd lied to him, and then it all became clear. I now knew why he looked so familiar. I'd been staring into his face every day for a month. I've been so happy Aaron was home that I tricked myself into believing that poor little girl was mine. Mike had been conned just like me. I didn't hold him responsible and rather than allow things to get out of hand I asked him what he wanted to do. I wanted nothing to do with Aaron now and I made that clear. Mike must have still been a little enamored with her because he was eager to bring Aaron and their child back to Louisiana with him. I didn't give her any choice in the matter. Truthfully, in that moment, I didn't care if she died in a ditch. I just wanted her gone.

She knew her options were limited, so she agreed to go back with Mike. They quickly got all they could together and left. I took one last look at that beautiful child and wished Mike good luck. That was 2002. A lot has changed in my life for sure. I moved to Portland and fell in love with my now wife. We built a great family together, raising two wonderful boys and fostering abandoned animals. I wouldn't change a thing about the life I've made. I do worry about Erin and Mike's daughter even now though. And for that little child's sake, I hope Mike raised her free from her mother's influence. It would be the worst of crimes if Erin were able to ruin a third life. The life of her own child. I was aware of Joe as far back as high school. He was a friend of my older brother then, but he and I never had an occasion to speak to one another.

I was already 25 when he and I became friends. And that's all it was at first. We were just two people among a group of friends hanging out. I thought he was cute, but I had no idea what he thought about me. The longer he and I spent together, the more intimate our relationship became. Finally, we found ourselves alone in this place and nature took its course. We were like an old couple. He drove my car and pumped the gas. After a year together, he was using my car to drive back and forth to work.

Looking back, it was a very traditional relationship, kind of akin to a marriage, but there was a big catch. Joe had made it clear that he saw no point in marriage. I told him I wanted to be married by 35. I hoped that he changed his mind before then. We had time so I didn't dwell on it. When you're young you think you have all the time in the world. We now moved forward 5 years. Joe and I had lived together in two different cities. He was making good money and I was playing the role of the dutiful housewife without the ring. I was spending a lot of time in the evenings talking to people in our area. I began to make friends and go out without Joe. He didn't like it, but I didn't care. The

relationship was barely hanging on by this point. We were essentially living two separate lives. The time finally came to end things and Joe was actually very cool about it. The choice was made for me to keep the apartment and our cat, Ivory. Joe got a smaller place closer to his job. His last day at the apartment, he left the keys, gave me a hug and wished me good luck. It was far more civilized than any of my other breakups. I was eager to start a new phase of my life,

but without Joe's income, I had to work, and a lot. I usually didn't return home until way after dark. There were a few occasions when I'd find things in a different place than I remembered leaving them. I figured that I was just exhausted and let it go. When I wasn't working, I'd go out with friends or on the odd date from time to time. A strange thing began to happen during this time. On more than a few weekend nights, Joe would just so happen to be at the same place as me. This was weird because Joe had always been a big homebody.

He'd go out on special occasions like when his favorite band was playing, but that was rare. I brought it up to him on one meeting and he said that he got bored sitting at home alone. It made sense and I accepted it, despite knowing that he wasn't the kind who got bored very easily. I guess I became used to this after a while. We'd wave at one another across the room and go back to what we were doing. We'd been apart about six months before I began dating anyone seriously. Like Joe and I, the next guy I chose was part

of my friend group. Eric was an IT professional and the exact opposite of Joe. He liked going out and having a good time. We were a lot more suited to each other and it wasn't long before marriage came up. Eric proposed. I said yes and we set a date. I had the bigger apartment so Eric moved in with me. All this time Joe was still popping up here and there. More than once Eric and I were on a date when it happened. Eric thought it was strange but I assured him that it was just a coincidence. He remained skeptical. Some of his things were becoming misplaced just like mine had.

A framed picture of us that sat on the nightstand mysteriously fell and broke. I was beginning to think something may be wrong. Still, I couldn't think of an explanation. Eric would be the one to expose the truth though. Everything blew up when we ran into Joe at the movies. Eric got mad and accused Joe of stalking us. Joe laughed and I thought Eric had lost his mind from jealousy and we left right away. Eric was silent the whole way home. I kept my mouth shut. When he did finally talk, every word made sense. The next

morning he got up early and went down to my car. The previous evening he sat me down and asked me a bunch of questions. He wrote down my answers and looked over them for a few minutes. When he was done, he unveiled his theory. When Joe moved out, I hadn't bothered to get the locks changed. I didn't see a reason why. Over time, I'd forgotten about it. And this told Eric that Joe had a copy of the key and was entering the apartment when no one was home. I didn't want to admit it, but it all made sense. This explained why things were being moved. But how did he always know where I was?

This would be answered in the morning. I awoke soon after Eric and made coffee. I brought a cup down to him while he was digging through the car. I sat nearby and watched as he meticulously picked through every nook and cr coffee. I brought a cup down to him while he was digging through the car. I sat nearby and watched as he meticulously picked through every nook and cranny. I'd been doing this for about half an hour when I heard, bingo. He crawled from the back seat and ran up to me with a closed hand. He opened it and showed me this little white disc about the size of a nickel. I asked what it was. He explained that it was a cheap version of an Apple AirTag. I had no clue what that was. We returned upstairs and he brought

up a page about them. As I read, things began to make more sense, and this was how Joe always knew where I'd be. More than likely, soon after the breakup, Joe gained access to my car. If he had a copy of our apartment key, he probably kept one for my car. And this is when he planted the air tag. With that, he could always know where I was. He didn't even have to follow me around. I assume that he was keeping an eye on me, maybe to make sure that I didn't meet anyone new. Maybe he was hoping that I'd ask him back home for old time's sake. I can't begin to decipher what crazy things were going through his crazy mind. As you can probably guess, I was terrified and angry, both in equal measures.

Eric insisted that I call the cops, but I was reluctant. I didn't want to get Joe in trouble. I guess I wasn't as, but I was reluctant. I didn't want to get Joe in trouble. I guess I wasn't as angry as I had first thought. Maybe it was some remaining feelings stirring around. And I thought about it for another hour or two and decided to let Joe know that I was aware of what he'd been doing. The Joe I knew was terrified of going to jail. I bet if I threatened him, he'd back off.

Later that day, I sent him a text including a picture of the tag. Basically, I swore that I would turn it over to the authorities if I ever saw him again. The next morning, a simple text message saying, I'm sorry, you'll never hear from me again, popped up on my phone. More than a year has passed and Joe has disappeared from my life. He even deleted his Facebook page that same day he sent the apology. I don't imagine he'll ever try anything like that again. With another person, this would be a scary situation, but Joe's not a violent guy. I'm guessing he got lonely and was trying to create an opportunity where we'd run into one another. Maybe things would be like the way they used to be or some other convoluted BS. My instincts tell me that I did the right thing.

Eric remains anything but pleased by my decision and that's his right and I don't blame him. I'd be suspicious if he wasn't protective of me and so far things appear to be on a new path. Despite our disagreement, Eric and I are now married and to be on a new path. Despite our disagreement, Eric and I are now married and hoping for good news any day. I'm eager to start that family I've always wanted, and it's nice to finally be with a man that wants the same thing. I'm posting this first-hand account here from my younger sister who is currently serving a sentence for manslaughter in our state prison. She mailed this to me with the purpose of sharing it on social media. Her hopes are that it may discourage other women who are in her position to make the same mistakes she did, and I'll let her speak from here. Most of my life has been spent in a pursuit of

self-destruction. From the time that I was 13 until just a few years ago, I drank daily and slept with any man who took my fancy. I lost my self-esteem and respect at a young age. After something awful occurred to me at 13, I no longer cared if I lived or died. I began drinking and smoking soon after. It did little to suppress the pain, but it did something. My experience with boys started around this time too. I quickly gained a reputation around town and used it to get things I wanted. Naturally, my behavior wasn't helping in school, and at 17 I dropped out completely.

Although I did manage to get my GED a few years later, and that was only because I was unable to find a job without it. This lifestyle carried on throughout the remainder of my teens and twenties. It was an empty existence. I lived alone sometimes while shacking up with a long string of nobodies other times. Somewhere around my 30th birthday I found myself married. I can't recall who tricked who into doing it and I don't suppose it matters now. We were both regulars at the same bar and after one very long night of drinking we decided to get hitched. Nothing really changed at first.

When we weren't working, we were drinking. The first sign of problems came around a year into the marriage. I discovered that I was pregnant and knew that I would have to stop drinking. It was a hard time for me and my new husband was less than pleased to lose his drinking buddy. When our daughter arrived early and underweight, I was distraught and drowned myself in booze as always. I realize now my body was so damaged from the years of drinking it couldn't supply her with what she needed to grow. I wish that I could say that I was a great mother but all of it overwhelmed me.

Had I not come from a loving family that was willing to watch her when I asked them, things may not have gone in her favor. I remained in that state for almost another year until gradually pulling myself out of it. This lifestyle had played a large part in my girl's health problems and I didn't want it to happen again. This change came just in time. Soon, I became pregnant again. This time around, I ate far better and did everything the doctor suggested. As before, Mike, my husband, was not happy. His mean comments about his kids got even worse. I was beginning to consider leaving him. When our second daughter arrived, Mike expected that I would return to the bottle, but I didn't.

Our new daughter was healthy and strong and this made Mike hate them even more. Things came to a head when he came home drunk late one night and woke up the baby. I asked him to be quiet but this made things worse. I thought that he was going to hit me at one point. I knew then that it was time for me to leave. I waited until I was safely lodged with my parents before I called and told him we were finished. He was very angry and blamed the girls for the collapse of the marriage. I tried my best to start a new life. Mike didn't make it easier either. He was constantly calling and begging for me to come back, and more than once, he showed up at my parents' house. One night, I made the mistake

of going outside to talk to him, and he took this opportunity to attempt to abduct me. He had me in the car, but I was able to escape before he could drive away. I called the police, and he was arrested. A restraining order was placed on him, and he was released on bail. By now I was terrified not just for my own safety, but for that of my parents and my daughters. Mike had threatened them all.

This is when I went out and purchased a handgun. I'd never fired a pistol before, but my father was a marine vet. He taught me every nook and cranny of gun ownership. I became a good shot. I maintain to this day that buying the gun was not a mistake. It would be what I chose to do with that buying the gun was not a mistake, it would be what I chose to do with it that was wrong. A few weeks went by before I noticed Mike driving past the house.

It tended to be late at night, usually after the bars closed. I became convinced that he was going to break in and kidnap or kill me and my family, and I wasn't going to let that happen. It wasn't long before I caught sight of him again. This night he was parked across the street. I went to the gun safe and retrieved my 9mm. I swiftly walked across to his car and raised the pistol. His last words were,

you wouldn't dare. I fired three times into his chest and head. He was dead. One big problem was solved, but a new, even larger problem waited just around the corner. I was arrested that night and spent a few weeks in jail until I got out on bail. Not many people could call what I did a clear case of self-defense. I had not planned it, but I knew I was not under an immediate threat. I'll refrain from dragging things out from here. Due to the efforts of my

lawyers and Mike's extensive record in and out of the marriage, I was convicted of manslaughter instead of murder and sentenced to seven years. As it stands now, I've served almost four of it and will probably be released on parole early in 2024. I'm sorry for what I did that night, but it's a bit more complicated than you may think. I'm happy Mike is dead, but I realize what I did was selfish and short-sighted. Not only do my girls have to grow up knowing their father died at their mother's hand, but they must go at least five years without a parent. Fortunately my parents were granted custody while I'm incarcerated, but I don't believe anything can replace a real parent, or better, both parents in a child's life.

This brings us to my true purpose of writing this. I'm well aware that there are a lot of other women trapped in the same or similar situations to what I was. You've all without a doubt thought about doing what I did. While I would never tell you not to defend yourself, please don't do what I did. Cold-blooded murder is just that. If you don't care about what happens to you, please think about everyone else who will suffer. Just because it seems like the only option at the time, I assure you there are other choices. Mike may have been an evil person, but the day I took the law into my own hands, it ceased to be just about the two of us. My rash action altered the course of many people's lives

for years to come. Don't make the same mistake. There is always another way. The girl I would come to lose myself over is named Angel. It's a fitting name for her. When I met Angel, I was an unemployed and aimless 22-year-old. My days were spent online playing games and chatting with strangers. On one of these lazy days, I stepped out to 7-Eleven for a drink and some snacks. Working the checkout was a new girl. She struck up a conversation before long she'd invited me over to her house.

I was confused. I'm not a good looking guy and this affects my self-esteem. I would eventually come to the conclusion that she was making fun of me. I never expected her to call and was shocked when she did. It was getting late. This made me think that I may be robbed or assaulted when I arrived but I went anyway. The house was in a nice middle class neighborhood not far from mine. It was your average ranch style and in great shape. Even then I braced for the strike that I expected when the door opened. Instead, Angel greeted me, invited me in and introduced me to her family one by one. Everybody was very nice and welcoming. I thought that I'd stepped into

an alternate reality. The family was about to sit down to dinner and I was asked nice and welcoming. I thought that I'd stepped into an alternate reality. The family was about to sit down to dinner and I was asked to join them. I hadn't had a real family dinner since I was very young and I happily agreed. It really blew my mind when they joined hands to pray. This was something that I thought only happened in movies. I wasn't sure what to do and just followed their lead. Things were more normal from there. Angel's dad asked me some basic questions about myself. I tried to answer them as nicely as I could, and the rest of the dinner went in very much the same manner. One of the family would talk about their day while the others listened intently.

It was all very, I guess, 1950s Leave it to Beaver style and I kind of liked it. After dinner, Angel and I sat in the living room and got to know one another better. Nothing physical occurred and I found myself interested in what she had to say. Her kind of girl was really rare these days, I found. I wanted to know what made her click. And just before 10pm, Angel's parents hinted that it was time to leave. There was still so much to learn, but I figured I had time. I was determined not to screw this up.

So I thanked them for the nice dinner and drove home with a song in my heart and butterflies in my stomach, as cringy as that might sound. But for the first time in my life, I felt like I was falling in love. Our next six months together was paradise. I became a part of the family in all but name. Everything was going well except for one small thing. Intimacy was a no-go. We would mess around, but when it came to actually committing to the act, she would shut me down. Neither of us had much experience, but it was clear that she had almost zero. It was an extremely frustrating situation. I did my best to be understanding. And after trying anything and everything I could to convince her, I was at a boiling point.

The next time I was shut down, I kind of blew. And I don't mean them the way you think. This was serious. My frustration boiled over into a full-blown screaming episode. Even as it was happening, I wanted it to stop, but I just couldn't hold back any longer. Angel was, of course, a crying mess, and I couldn't think of anything else but to run out of the house and just get away. I tried to call and apologize as soon as I got home, but she wouldn't come to the

phone. I'm not sure if she had told anyone what had happened, but her brother who answered my call was anything but nice to me. There wasn't much I could do. I assumed that I could give her a few days and then she'd listen to what I have to say. This wasn't what happened though. When I called back, her father refused to let me talk to her. He must have known something because he was obviously livid. He referred to me as a letdown and a lowlife more than once. I hated the idea of disappointing him, so I apologized. He thanked me, but I could tell by his tone that he wasn't any happier.

Time is supposed to heal all wounds. All I could do now was wait and hope Angel called me. A few weeks went by without any peep from her and I was going crazy. All I wanted to do was hear her voice, tell her how sorry I truly was. Every day without her seemed like a lifetime and finally I couldn't wait any longer. I drove to her house and knocked on the door and her brother came out to meet me. Angel still didn't want to talk. I couldn't be sure if this was her choice or her family's and my emotions were going off the rails by this point. I begged him to let me see her and this just made him mad. Before I knew it, we were in a fist fight.

I managed to get the best of him and was kicking him on the ground when his dad came out. He yelled out to me to stop and I snapped out of my spell and realized what I was doing. As usual, I just panicked and fled in my car. Since then, I've been hiding from the police. It's been nine days of pure hell. Everything good about my life has been ruined and there's no chance of ever getting it back. I've come to a decision. Running away from my problems is no longer an option. The quicker I deal with this, the sooner I'll be able to get back to a normal life.

I'm almost positive Angel nor her family have any interest in hearing what I have to say. I'm writing this in the hope that someone she knows will share it with her. I also want others to hear my side of the story. The media can tend to twist things, and with that achieved I'll be turning myself over to the police in the morning. I just pray the courts have mercy on me. I have no problem doing whatever it takes to show everyone I've hurt just how sorry I am I didn't intend to harm anybody I simply lost control of my temper Regardless of what happens now I just wish Angel all the happiness in the world

Whether I'm a part of it or not. A little over a year ago, I had a terrible breakup with a girl I hoped to be marrying. Turns out she found a more interesting guy and dumped me like a smelly diaper. The breakup took me by surprise and I had a very hard time accepting it. I can't count the number of texts I sent her begging to take me back. I went through the usual routine of listening to sad music and crying like a teenage girl. When I got tired of that, I moved on to anger and so forth. Eight months went by and one day, I realized that I couldn't recall the last time I'd thought about her. I assumed that I was done grieving and that meant only one thing.

It was time to return to the dating market. To my shock, it didn't take long. I'd only been looking for only a few days when I noticed this cute girl at Starbucks. She was sitting alone and I asked to join her. Things went from there. When I left, I had an upcoming dinner date and I asked to join her. Things went from there and when I left, I had an upcoming dinner date and a massive boost of confidence. Unfortunately, that girl would cancel on me at the last second. I realized that I may be pushing things too hard and decided to let it happen naturally and I focused on my work instead.

Maybe a month later, a girl I worked with asked me out and I agreed. She was cute, around my age, and highly intelligent. All things which made her too good for me, but I accepted anyway. This date would bloom into an actual relationship. Once we started spending the weekends at one another's apartments, I started to believe that we may have a future together. I could finally change my status to in a relationship on Facebook. But little did I know, this seemingly minor little detail would open a gigantic box of trouble that lasts to this very day. Not long after I updated my page, I got a message I never expected to see. It was my ex. I had to read it several times just to make sure I wasn't seeing

things. This made no sense. The two of us had dated over two years when she had told me that she'd fallen in love with another guy. I thought our relationship was solid, but I came to find out that she'd had one foot out the door for a while. I just heard she was planning on marrying the guy she dumped me for but now, here she is, asking me to take her back. The situation left me in a bit of a moral quandary. The answer should have been simple, but her message had unearthed some feelings that I thought were dead and buried forever. A part of me wanted to do it, but after an honest evaluation of my situation as it pertained to love and the like, I knew I couldn't. Another person's feelings were at stake and she'd done nothing to deserve this type

of treatment. I gave the ex a firm no and left it at that. I assumed that she'd moved on to another man and I'd be free to live as I would. That may have been the stupidest assumption I'd ever made. Less than a week later a second message arrived. This was not kind and loving like the first. She was mad. The very idea that I wouldn't take her back must have never entered her mind. This is when I made the connection between the relationship update and her offer to get back

together. This made no so much easier to say. I have no idea what occurred between her and her fiancé and I don't care. I was convinced that had I not posted that I had a new girlfriend, she would have never have contacted me. That type of vindictiveness disgusts me and leaves me relieved I got away from her when I did. I acted as if though I never received her message. Attention was obviously what she was after and I wasn't going to give it to her. I probably shouldn't have answered the first one in retrospect. I was still hoping that she'd eventually move on but when I noticed the key scratches down both sides of my car,

I was done playing games. I immediately called the cops and filed a report. There was nothing they could do without proof, which I knew. I simply wanted to establish a pattern if the harassment continued. I didn't have long to wait. My girlfriend, who I'll call Bobby, had a rock thrown through her windshield. Another report was made. I was afraid that this would be the point at which Bobby would nope out, but she stuck by me to this day. What had happened so far would prove to be nothing compared to her most recent tantrum. Friday of last week, Bobby and I were playing a game online when a loud pounding came from the front door. I ran to answer it.

What met me there was a group of around 10 or 15 heavily armed police officers. It appeared that I had been swatted. To their credit, they were calm and asked for permission to search the apartment. I said yes and the officer in charge informed me that they had received a call stating that I had Bobby at gunpoint and intended to kill her and myself. That would be hard since I don't even own a gun. The officers finished their search quickly and I told them who I believed had made the call. They took down all the information and went on their way. To date, I haven't heard anything about the investigation. If they can prove that she was behind the call, she's getting a legal beat down.

A lot of young people think it's no big deal. I assure you getting 10 assault rifles pointed in your face is not funny. People have died because of swatting and knowing how close I was to dying makes me violently ill. For real. And until we get any news from the cops, I can't tell you all anything else. I hope she gets punished and never bothers me again, and I'll post any important changes to the case if or when there are any. Until that time, pray for me, wish me luck or whatever you do.

Something tells me I might need it. It was like something out of a movie. When they told me what was planned for me, I was beyond shocked. It's not like you get told your ex-husband wants you dead every day. When I say wanted me dead, I don't mean he made some idle threat during an argument. According to the police, he sought out an old friend and offered to pay him to kill me. I must have had a guardian angel looking out for me. The friend he had approached just so happened to be a confidential informant for a narcotics officer. He used the information as a way to lessen his upcoming sentencing. I don't care why he did it,

I'm just glad he did. A lot of people in his line of work could have simply said no and went on their way. I'm sure a lot of you have some questions. I'm going to lay out a sort of bit of background and then from there I'll go on to the actual contacting and subsequent operation to arrest my ex, including his sentencing and aftermath. It's a lot to cover, but I'll try to keep it brief. For the most part, our marriage wasn't anything abnormal. I met him after he'd left the army. At that time, he worked at an engineering firm. I was attracted to his confidence and overall good looks. There were small red flags from the start. There always are, but like all young girls, I ignored them. We got married almost a year to the day we met and our son

arrived the next year. Adam, my ex-husband, wasn't abusive, but he had a terrible temper. Our arguments were anything but civil. I didn't mind at first, but I quickly realized it wasn't the proper environment to raise a child. I attempted to get him into couples counseling but he refused. He said it was normal for couples to fight and I agree but the way he acted was way beyond healthy. I hung in there as long as I could but after three and a half years I filed for divorce. Then the next phase began. Adam wanted total custody of our son, not because he thought it was best for our child, but because he knew I wouldn't allow it. This led to a long and

drug-out court battle, a process that could have been handled with a handshake, languished in court for years. I never intended to keep him from seeing his son. However, Adam worked long hours. There was no way I wanted our son spending all his time on childcare. With no strikes against me, it was obvious that I would be awarded primary custody in the end. This was most likely what drove Adam to do what he did. I came into the story after the process had been set in motion. According to authorities, Adam had contacted an old buddy from the Rangers. The process had been set in motion. According to authorities, Adam had contacted an old buddy from the Rangers. The guy had been kicked out of the army for drug trafficking. In Adam's mind, this made the guy a cold-blooded murderer. The man went straight to his police

handler with the information. The detective went to his superiors and they put together a plan to get Adam on tape. It took a week or so but the day came and Adam and his buddy met to discuss specifics. Judging from the recording, Adam had no clue that had been set up. An agreement was reached and the men went their separate ways. Adam was arrested less than a mile from the meeting spot. Because of the seriousness of the charges, Adam was denied bail. The police weren't sure if I was out of danger. Adam wasn't talking. An around-the-clock detail stayed on our house for a few weeks but no threat appeared and it was pulled. Our son was now at the age where he was beginning

to understand what was going on around him. I didn't want him to have to suffer through a trial. I even visited Adam at the jail to beg him to take a plea and save his child the heartbreak. He wasn't very receptive. Neither did he deny the allegations. I went away frustrated and dreading the future. To my surprise, he would accept a plea of 15 years a few months later. I'm not sure my request was the cause. Knowing Adam, he probably knew that he was screwed if he went to trial.

The process wrapped up in July of 2021 and he is presently serving time somewhere in state prison. Where he is, I have no idea. Considering what he did, I have no intent on letting him see his son. All he had to do was swallow his pride and he would possibly be with him right this moment. This seems to be a big problem in divorces these days. Couples get too wrapped up in sticking it to their former partner. I know emotions run high in such cases, but your kids should come first. The end of a marriage is already very traumatic for a child. Don't allow your feelings

towards your ex to cloud your judgment. Your children should always be your one and only consideration. Today, at 34, I'd wager if you asked anyone who knows me, they'd describe me as a responsible and hard-working family man. These days, they would be right, but they didn't know me before. Back in Chicago where I grew up, I was a very different person. Between the ages of 16 and 27, I lived life at full speed. Childhood was a nightmare. I ran away multiple times until at 16 my mom stopped looking for me. From then on, I was on my own. Hopping from squat to squat and shelter to shelter. Danger lurked around every corner and you couldn't trust anyone. I stayed high most of the time. You had to, just to deal with things from your past and things you'd just done to survive. It's not a life I'd wish on anyone.

At 18, I began renting this dumpy apartment with five other kids. It was little more than a squat, but the price was right. Making money was always a concern and most straight people wouldn't hire folks like us. A lot of the girls ended up stripping. It was safer than hooking at least. Most would also escort off the clock. I didn't get jealous like some of the guys. I was just with them for the money to begin with. Love was something I thought had been beaten out of me forever. And thankfully, I turned out to be wrong on that count. After nearly 10 years of dealing with crazy drug-addled chicks with serious daddy issues, I finally learned my lesson. I had been seeing this dancer on and off again for around 6 months.

Both of us had major drug problems and fought constantly. I'd had enough and broke it off the week before. She had a key to my apartment and I wanted it back. The only place I knew where to find her was at work. She was on the main stage when I arrived. I sat at the bar and had a drink while I waited. A couple of the bouncers gave me dirty looks. Although weird, I ignored it. She came over to me when she'd finished and asked to talk in private. I figured that she was going to try and talk her way back into my life, but I agreed.

We went off around the side of the stage where the girls did lap dances and sat down. She started coming on to me but I pushed her away. I wasn't rough or anything close. When she realized her plan wasn't working she began throwing a fit. I mean she was so loud it drowned out the music. At one point she slapped herself and left a big handprint on her face. I wish I could say I was surprised, but I was used to crazy by now. I leaned back in my chair and watched until two bouncers from earlier ran around the corner

and snatched me up to my feet. She pointed at the mark on her face and said, See? I told you he hits me. I burst out laughing. I'd never struck a woman except for once when a meth had attacked me with a knife, and certainly never hit any of my girlfriends. I guess the bouncers didn't get the joke. She had obviously filled their heads with a load of BS about me beating her, and the look in her eyes told me everything I needed to know. I was going to pay. And for about 15 minutes, I did.

Even when compared with the beatings I got from my mom's boyfriends when I was younger, I've never been pummeled that bad. I was thrown out the back door when they'd finished, and I can still remember the stink of the dumpster and how bad it hurt to breathe. It's a miracle I made it home. I laid curled up in a ball in bed for over a week, only occasionally getting up to go to the can or answer the door for my dealer. I'd already decided that I was going to clean up and start off new somewhere else. I only stayed on the pills because of the pain but once I'd healed up enough, I even quit with those. I'd initially tried to go cold turkey but that wasn't happening. I had the

number of a friend who worked at an inpatient treatment facility and he got me in. 30 days later I walked out a new man and it was the first day I'd seen the streets as a sober man since I was 13. My options were endless now. I could go anywhere and do anything, and it was up to me to make the best of the second chance. Truth is, I was 27 and hadn't worked a legit job for more than a month at a time. Chicago was full of all the wrong people and too many bad memories. I hopped on a bus to Florida and never looked back. When I arrived in Miami, I walked from construction site to construction site. I begged for any job, no matter how small. I did eventually find someone who gave me a chance.

For almost nine months, I'd show up and clean and do anything I was asked to do. My hard work paid off and I was hired on full time in the office. The boss must have seen something in me that I'd never seen in myself. My boss, Sam, turned out to have a daughter. She'd come up to the site on occasion to see her dad. I'd never seen a more beautiful girl in my life, but the chance of her and I ever being anything was unfathomable. There was no way I was going to risk the position I'd carved out for myself, regardless of how

insignificant it may have been. I kept my head down and did my job. It turned out she and her dad had a different plan. Sam began dropping hints that Linda, not her real name, was divorced. She started coming up to the office a lot more and even introduced me to her son. I wanted this all to be real but I was terrified. I guess she got tired of waiting and asked me over for dinner. After a year in living in what amounted to be a closet alone, I accepted. That night was an entirely new experience. I was amazed at her and her son's relationship. I'm ashamed to admit this but I cried when I got back to my place.

Seeing what I'd missed as a child was heartbreaking. Things took a nice gradual course after that first date. I assumed Linda would bail as soon as she had heard about my past but she stuck beside me. We dated a further year before getting married and naturally Sam was my best man. We've since had a daughter and hope to have one more child. It's been a steep learning curve when it comes to family but like most other things, Sam has been a great help. I owe him everything and more. He's given me all the things I didn't have growing up. He's the nearest thing to a father I could have ever had. If I could go back in time and erase all the bad things that's happened to me, including that horrible beating, I wouldn't do it.

That night brought me to where I am today and no money or fortune in the world could convince me to ever give this up. When I met Wyatt, I was a shy 22-year-old bookworm. He was an outgoing, handsome, and fit jock that popped from girl to girl. And why he was attracted to a bookish nerd like me, I'll never know. I was nearing the end of my time at the university and needed a large injection of cash. I've had jobs prior to bartending, but they'd never been so fast-paced and stressful. I wasn't sure if I was up to it but my friend put in a good word for me with her boss. This gave me that extra little bit of motivation I needed since I hated letting down anyone

who put their neck out for me. Wyatt could tell how nervous I was and used his charming wit and looks to put me at ease. Maybe he just wanted to get me in bed, I don't know. It made no difference. I took the job easier than I suspected and I had him to thank for it. When he asked me out, I agreed without a second thought. Our time together may have been short, but I loved every second of it. I tell you all this personal stuff not to brag, but to give you some sense of how serious his death was to me when it came.

If he remains the love of my life 22 years later, he had to have been the one. On the night I lost him, I had been called in to cover for another girl who never showed. Wyatt was working the door, a line was already curving around the block when I arrived. The club was popular with locals and tourists alike. I can't remember a shift where the place wasn't packed to the rafters. He was doing his job as usual, checking IDs as patrons entered when he heard an argument going on down the block. Another guy took his place while he went to check it out. About halfway through the line he caught sight of a couple.

The male was yelling at the female accusing her of flirting. The girl yelled back and the man slapped her. This had to have pissed off Wyatt. Despite being a big and imposing football player, he'd been raised in a family with three sisters who he was very protective of. He hated men who mistreated women and wouldn't hesitate to step in whenever he witnessed it. It's selfish to say, but I wish he wouldn't have in this case. Witnesses said that after the man hit his girlfriend, Wyatt charged the guy and

yanked him back so hard that he fell backwards onto the sidewalk. This is where Wyatt made his biggest mistake. He turned to the girl and asked her if she was okay. He also suggested that they call the police. During this discussion, his back was turned to the man. Said man got up from the sidewalk and drew a knife from his pocket. Several of those in line tried to warn Wyatt, but he reacted too late and was already stabbed twice before he had turned completely around. He managed to fight the man off, but he'd sustained an additional two wounds in the process. He ran for the door to get help. Bystanders said that he was already bleeding heavily when he reached the door. One employee tried to put pressure on the wounds

while another called 911. While this was all happening, the assailant grabbed his girlfriend and dragged her off to their car where he made his getaway. Fortunately, some club goers got the plate number before the man drove off. I was so busy I didn't notice the panic going on at the door. When another employee came up to me and started yelling in my ear I thought he was crazy. A short gap in the music gave me the chance to hear what he was saying. I dropped everything and ran for the door. We'd always kept our relationship quiet during work hours to prevent any complaints from the boss but in this moment none of that mattered. He was already beginning

to fade in and out when the ambulance arrived. I wanted to go with them, but there'd be no one left to tend the bar, so I stayed. Had I known that would be the last time I'd see him alive, I would have gone. Damn the consequences. I cleaned up the best I could and went back to work, but in truth, I was only there in body. I couldn't think of anything but Wyatt. The strange thing is I hadn't once considered the possibility he could die. The paramedics had been so calm and I didn't think something like a little pocket knife could kill someone, especially someone as big and strong as Wyatt. The call came through around closing. I was cleaning up as fast as possible so I could get to the hospital. The look on the waitress' face was chilling.

Her reluctance to tell me made me furious and I began to panic, and this made her even more sheepish. I had to scream at her to get the truth. They said he didn't make it out of surgery. I'm so sorry. Her words just hung in the air. I wanted to slap her. It was as if she'd defamed my mother. I didn't want to believe it.

I stormed out and raced to the hospital. And no matter who I asked, no one could tell me anything. Then I ran into Nick, the club's owner. His face said everything, and I collapsed to the floor and cried until I had no tears left to shed. Rather than mourn as I should have, I focused all my energy into making sure the garbage that killed him was convicted. Thanks to those patrons, he was arrested quickly. The wait for the trial seemed to be an eternity. In that time, I'd graduated and moved to Denver for work. I returned for the trial and sat through each and every day of it. We figured since the guy had a lot of prior convictions, life was a certainty. The guy's lawyer claimed self-defense, saying he was scared

for his life because Wyatt was so much bigger than him. This didn't get him off, but the judge allowed it to be a consideration by the jury toward the verdict. The short of it was that the loser got 25 years instead of the hoped-for life. I was livid, but there was nothing I could do. This was the point at which Wyatt's death hit me head on. I'll just say the road was long and painful. It's not something I'd like to relive. Once I was finally able to get my act straight, I focused on my future. Everything after that has led me here. It's the anniversary of Wyatt's death tomorrow, so I thought that I'd mark it by sharing the story with everyone. Perhaps it will serve as a wake-up call. I hope if you have someone special, you are allowed a long and happy time together.

Life is shorter than we realize. A surplus of time is a luxury none of us have. Don't waste the little you've been given by not sharing your love with others. I was young, maybe 20 or 21. I had this stupid idea that I was going to become a party promoter and roll that into a lucrative career as a club owner. I had no idea what I was doing, and I thought I hit the jackpot when I met this guy named Sean. He was a few years older and claimed to have a lot of experience hosting parties around the northeast. He agreed to be an equal partner and show me all that he knew. I didn't find out it was all a lie until the damage had already been done.

Early on, he convinced me to bring in this group of guys to run our security, and I knew nothing about them, but they looked the part, so I agreed. Everything Sean brought into the partnership turned to crap. The security team were the worst of it. They were more of an annoyance at first, and because they were older, they never wanted to take orders from me. I'd usually have to get Sean to talk to them. We agreed that he'd run the night of the party operations. It only made sense if the security guys wouldn't listen to me. I focused on the arrangements and booking end. Sean wasn't really interested in this aspect. After I severed the partnership, I'd find out why.

I was a solo act now. I assumed the security team would leave with Sean, but I was shocked to hear that they wanted to stay on. I was too relieved to wonder why, and the next party came. Any questions I may have had, they were eager to answer. I was beginning to think that I misjudged them. Things looked like they were going to be just fine without Sean. One small thing bothered me though. I kept seeing the bouncers going in and out of the bathrooms. Sometimes it would be five or more times an hour. Had it been one guy, I may have assumed that he was suffering from some sort of condition or issue that night.

It wasn't though. I finally got a free moment and followed one of them into the restroom. In the wide open area near the sinks, he was doing a drug deal with a couple of the party attendees and I was furious. I'm no anti-drug person, if a regular guy wanted to stand outside and sell more power to him, but these were the guys I was paying to keep the dealers out. I ran up to him and asked him what the hell he was doing, and he just stared at me with this clueless, shocked expression.

I asked again and he said that it had been okayed by his boss. I told him he was fired, and I stomped out to find Carlos, the head of the security team. I assumed that's who he meant by boss. I found Carlos at the entrance and asked him to join me in the office. I closed the door behind us and asked for an explanation. He didn't even try to hide it. I was informed that all the money Sean had put into the company came from him. In return for the loan, he would be allowed to deal exclusively at every party we threw until the loan had been repaid. I reminded him that Sean was no longer part of the company. His debts weren't my problem. He

didn't care. As far as he was concerned, he wasn't going anywhere until he made all of his money back. I thought maybe I could solve the problem by paying him off. I asked what was left and he quoted at about $10,000 and my heart dropped. There was no way I could come up with that much money. I was screwed and he knew it. What was I going to do? Call the cops? Beat him up? Until I had the cash, I was stuck just waiting for the cops to arrest me for the crime of being naive. In the time between then and the next party, which was three weeks, I considered a million and one different ways to get out of the problem. The prospect of jail terrified me. If I was rich, I would just have left everything and started over somewhere else.

With just a few days to go, I would do the one thing I didn't want to do. Go to the cops. In a way, I was kind of fortunate. Carlos and his men were wanted, but nobody was willing to say anything on the record. I didn't get the impression that they were like mafia level, but they'd drawn enough attention to themselves to get the cops interested. I'd also find out that Sean was one of them and more than likely a high ranking member. No matter what, I couldn't seem to get away from that loser. I would ultimately make a deal where I testified against everyone involved and avoid any charges. I guess in the end, jail scared me

more than possibly dying. The night of the party, Carlos and his team of thugs, including the guy I'd fired, showed up and did their thing, like usual. About an hour passed until the cops arrived and arrested him and his crew, along with a few others. I felt bad about the other people, but I knew that they'd likely get off with a slap on the wrist, if they were charged at all. When the time came I testified and everybody was convicted. Their sentences ranged from time served all the way up to 15 years in Carlos and Sean's cases. Although my immediate problems seemed to be solved,

I had no way of knowing if I was truly safe. I borrowed $5,000 from my parents and put it with what little I still had and left town. Since then, I've lived in multiple places across the country, getting work where I can and always keeping aware of my surroundings. It's been almost a decade since and the constant moving and looking over my shoulder has come to an end. For all I know, I've done all this for nothing, and the last ten years have been wasted. This and mind, I've decided to finally stop and put down roots. I won't say where, but I will say it's a peaceful and inviting place. Maybe I can finally find a nice girl and start a family, I don't know. If I am really being hunted and my enemies catch up with me, at least I was able to enjoy the little time of normality I had. When you've been running as long as I have,

that's a simple pleasure you don't dare dream of. Wish me luck. I saw my first UFC in high school and fell in love with the sport instantly. I'd been a taekwondo student since I was 10 and loved anything martial arts anyway. MMA was just the next logical step in my mind. I told my parents and they searched until they found a dojo in our area that offered jiu-jitsu and kickboxing classes. I was 14 when I joined that gym. Around 16, I dropped taekwondo altogether to focus on my grappling and boxing. I worked out religiously and waited until I was good enough to go pro. And my first ever pro fight occurred just four days after my 18th birthday. I actually won by KO in less than 45 seconds, and there was no looking back after that.

My future was in the UFC, and I was willing to do all I could to get there. My parents were always supportive, even allowing me to live at home rent-free. Their only rule was that I had to have a job just in case fighting didn't work out. I didn't mind it. Training and equipment didn't pay for itself, after all. During the time my story takes place, I was a bouncer at a small music venue downtown. The club hosted mostly hip-hop and rap artists. The night the following happened, there had been a gang shooting the week before.

Intentions in the community were high and we had explicit orders to make sure things stayed safe. The guys working the door were always good about keeping weapons from getting through. As long as a guy was unarmed, I stood a 99% chance of winning a fight if it came down to it. But we tried our hardest to prevent things from getting that far. It was supposed to be a slow night, but a number of unforeseen things would turn it into a nightmare. The DJ we booked had turned out to be more popular than we thought, and the club was packed early. To add to the problems, the owner had decided to sell two dollar beers to make up for the low attendance. This led to a bunch of drunk kids. A few technical troubles on the DJ's end caused a late start,

and this almost caused a riot. Thankfully the problems were quickly worked out and the annoyed crowd appeared to be calming down. The mood was fairly chilled for about an hour until the DJ took a short break. I was speaking to one of the guys at the door when a loud ruckus erupted from near the bar. I could see two guys swinging on each other. The bigger of the pair was losing until a few of his friends jumped in to help. The smaller guy was already down before I could reach them. He'd been kicked several times and was unconscious. I grabbed the first

guy I saw and pulled him away. Another bouncer had joined me and he was dealing with the second guy. A friend of the guy I was holding hit me from behind on the head with a bottle. Now I was rocked and couldn't focus on what was going on. I let go of the guy and he took the opportunity to start wailing on me. My training kicked in then. I was holding my own until he hit me with one firm jab. I stumbled back into the bar and blacked out. I came to in the office with a miserable headache and very confused. The paramedics arrived soon after. I tried to convince them I was okay but they could tell that I wasn't.

I was taken to the hospital where they found a small bleed in my brain. Surgery was done to relieve the pressure on my brain and after some time I was able to recover. The authorities did manage to find and convict the guy who knocked me out. He ended up with 16 months, all of which he'd served while waiting for trial. So in a sense he kinda got off scot free. I never believed the kid could have put me down without the bottle breaking over my head first. I've been hit harder by little girls. And speaking of the bottle, the cops were never able to decide who actually did it. For the most part, I had never received any real justice, I felt. I spoke to attorneys about civil suits but neither myself

nor my parents had the kind of money that it would take. Not to mention, the chances of ever getting paid were insanely low. The injury has left a few long-term impacts on my life. Probably the worst was the end of my fighting career. Every doctor I've spoken to has made it clear that I would be putting my life on the line by stepping into a cage again. Even if I didn't die, I could end up a vegetable. That's no way to live, I thought. I'd rather be dead in that case. Finding a doctor that would be willing to release me to fight would be difficult too. As a whole, I'd rate the whole experience a strong thumbs down. And nonetheless, I'm proud to say that I retired at 9-0, all of those being KOs.

But after the attack, I was in no hurry to return to work. I figured the job was only going to get more dangerous. In fact, not even a year later a guy working the door got killed during a drive-by shooting. He wasn't even the target, he just happened to catch a stray bullet. With no other options I decided to join the exciting world of auto-repossessions. In truth, this work is relatively safe in my area. Most people don't really care if you take the car and fewer would be willing to kill you for it. My son has taken up the gloves now and shows a lot of natural talent.

And more than I did at that age, I suppose. Maybe he'll decide to go pro and succeed where his old man didn't, but that's his choice. As long as he stays away from clubs and bars, I used to work security at a music venue. I'd been there about three months when the owner hired his nephew to work with me. The guy seemed cool and we turned out to have a lot of the same interests and hobbies. The dude was built like a concrete bunker and covered in tattoos. When I discovered he was an army vet, I invited him to go shoot with me at a nearby outdoor range. This was the first time I

began to question his mental stability. Everything was normal at first, but soon he started mumbling to himself after shooting. I thought maybe I was going deaf and asked him to repeat what he said. He just stared at me for a few seconds and went back to shooting. I ignored it and returned to shooting myself. The session ended and we went our separate ways. I decided not to go to the range with him after that. It was a minor quirk but being around him while he was armed didn't feel right. That was the only time he and I would see each other outside of work. I remained friendly with him and we continued to get along well and as the weeks went by more little incidents occurred and I began to believe that he was high on the clock.

I'd seen it before, the constant trips to the bathroom and short temper with patrons. These incidents made me all but certain. For the time being, it wasn't affecting his work so I kept it to myself. When the time came to say something I approached him but he denied it. It had gotten so bad he'd reek like alcohol every shift. I contacted his uncle and got the mind your own business and you're no angel yourself excuses. It was true, I had my share of vices but I kept them off the clock and far away from my family. It sucked but I'd done my part.

If a guy killed someone it wasn't my responsibility. His drug and alcohol use just got worse though. His uncle must have said something to him. Anytime I tried to strike up a conversation he ignored me. It was a brief ray of hope when he began seeing this girl. His use appeared to be stopping, but within a couple of months, he was back to his old ways. Here's where the crazy stuff happens. He was working the door one rainy night and I was helping out behind the bar on something. I heard something crazy going down at the door

and started that way. I came around the corner and saw a dude fighting these two cops. One had him in a chokehold, trying to cuff him and the other was trying to help. I had no desire to assist either party, especially the pigs. I just stood by and watched the guy get free and beat the crap out of both cops. He ran out of the club after that and disappeared. I knew he'd do something crazy eventually but I had to wait until he was arrested to hear the facts. He was picked up at his parents' house a few days later. This time there was no fighting back.

Like everybody else at work, I was curious as to his supposed crime, but hadn't been actively searching for the answer. The day after he was caught, the sound guy showed me a short news article on his phone. According to the paper, he had gotten into an argument with his girlfriend and began beating her. When she fought back, he handcuffed her to a radiator and continued beating her. The victim claimed that he was arguing with invisible people and constantly under the influence of alcohol and cocaine. The craziest part was that he continued going to work each evening while leaving her cuff to that radiator. That last night she managed to get free and notify the cops. They went straight to

the club and attempted to arrest him, and not very well I may add. This was in late 2018 and I'm not sure how long he was given in prison, but one person said it was something like 7 years, which means he's probably out by now. I hope he got some help while he was locked up. It was clear most of his trouble was related to PTSD and the like. The drugs were probably a way to deal with it, but they just made his problems worse. Like I said, most of the time he was a cool dude. I'm sure he would have made out well had he not been subjected to all that terrible stuff. Don't misconstrue my meaning here either. I greatly respect veterans and their

willingness to sacrifice their minds and bodies to do what they believe to be right. I wish we'd continue to invest in them after their service is over. We owe it to them. I'll stop the rant there and wrap things up. Despite the terrible thing he did, I hope the guy has been able to get clean and put his life back together. The same goes for his victim. There's no way she deserved what she got and that's it for me.

If I happen to hear anything new or interesting, I'll post an update. And I hope all of you are doing well and everyone's families have been reunited. Good luck out there and stay safe. Around 2019, I moved to Phoenix to be with my girl. I got hired as a bartender at a sports bar not long after arriving. Things didn't work out with my girlfriend, so I moved in with one of the bouncers. I'll call him Mercer for the sake of his privacy. Before I met Mercer, he'd been some special forces guy in the Marines. Several deployments later, he decided not to re-enlist.

He'd worked at the bar ever since then. To make extra money, he would provide personal security for important people in the area. Most of the city's sports figures and business owners knew him and liked him. His work ethic was like I'd never seen before. I'd train with him occasionally and he never once joked around or gave any less than 100%. I'd been living with him for about a year when he had a life-altering incident. He accepted a gig guarding a pro football player for his trip back home for New Year's. It was supposed to be a routine trip. Three days in Atlanta and a quick flight back. I spoke to him

the night that they arrived. He was relaxed and confident as usual. There was no indication of the terrible thing that was to come. The second night in Atlanta was New Year's Eve. His client had plans to meet with some friends at a club. Mercer and his guys went along, of course. They arrived at about 10.30 and were immediately led to the VIP section where his friends were waiting. A few other groups were also in VIP, but they were too involved in their own celebrations to notice his client. The client's friends had a few girls with them and as midnight got closer, they became increasingly intoxicated. Mercer was getting more and more annoyed at their behavior.

He brought this up with his client and the athlete agreed that they should be sent away. Mercer was in the process of doing just this when a nearby VIP customer approached the group and became aggressive towards the athlete. The situation quickly grew chaotic. Mercer was attempting to get rid of the loud and annoying women and watch the angry VIP customer at the same time. He turned away for a moment and when he turned back, the man was pointing a gun at his client. I guess his soldier instincts kicked in. He put himself between the gun and his client and took two shots to the chest before his guys could tackle and disarm the shooter. Mercer was rushed to the hospital and spent the next two days in and out of surgery. The bullets had done some major internal damage.

One had nicked his spine, leaving him paralyzed from the waist down. Fortunately, his client was so grateful that he's taken care of all the medical bills. In addition, a couple of other business owners in the community have donated large amounts for his future rehabilitation. I don't think the doctors had ever met someone like Mercer. He was told his odds of ever walking again were next to zero. He must have taken that as a challenge. He was moving his toes within two weeks. It was like something out of Kill Bill if you've ever seen that. I'm sure he had the advantage of already being in phenomenal shape beforehand, but he'd left everyone speechless by his progression. Had he just gotten well enough

to use a walker, I may have never shared the story in the first place. I don't like a sad ending to my stories, but something amazing happened today that changed things. Just six months after receiving the news that he would never walk again, my hero, Mercer, walked unaided today. No walker, no cane. It wasn't more than a few steps, but those few steps showed me nothing was impossible. After sharing such good news, I don't want to spend any more time than necessary talking about the shooter. As it stands, he's being held in jail without bail until the trial. And I know for sure that he's facing at least two charges of attempted murder.

There's probably more that I don't know about. And he'll probably take a plea to avoid life because in the end, people like him are cowards. There's probably some jealousy in there too. Since things with Mercer are going so well, I don't think I'll write any future additions to the story. He's moved on and so should we. And take his example to heart and never let anyone tell you that you can't achieve something. Mercer told me this once and I can't think of anyone it applies to more. The only time you're guaranteed to fail is not to try at all. In my opinion, no truer words have ever been spoken. My college years were spent in the Midwest at a well-known party school. My last year there, I began dating a lacrosse player.

He was the stereotypical rough and tough bruiser while also being a very smart and kind individual. That was until he got drunk. He was never abusive towards me but any man within eyesight was fair game. I told him I didn't like him when he was like that and he did his best not to go overboard when I was around. He had been doing very well until the Christmas break came around. The night before everyone usually went home a bunch of us got together and went bar hopping. Less than an hour at the first place we all headed for our favorite spot of ours. Steve, who we'll call the guy for the remainder of the story, had a run in with one of the bouncers in the past, but everyone, including him, believed that all to

be over. He and his fellow doorman let us in without a cross word or look. Our group splintered off and did their own thing. Steve and another boy from the lacrosse team grabbed a pool table and I joined a few girls at a table across the room. I left him to have fun and did the same with my group. Hours passed and the bar was getting packed. Between the noise of the crowd and the music, I didn't take notice of a fight that had broken out in the back.

At some point, the guy who had been playing pool with Steve plunged through a mass of people and yelled in my ear. Steve had gotten into a fight with an unknown guy. Now, the bouncers were outside beating him up. He and I struggled back through the crowd until we reached a side door. The two of us burst out of the door. To my right, I saw a pair of big guys kicking another guy on the ground. The guy on the ground wasn't moving. I assumed it was Steve and I rushed over. The bouncers, one of which was the guy who didn't like Steve, continued kicking him until I told

them that I had called 911. The bouncer, with the grudge, spit on Steve as he and his partner swaggered reluctantly away. I checked his pulse and he was still breathing, but barely. I rode with him in the ambulance to the hospital. The paramedics were honest enough to say that he had about a 50-50 chance of living. For the remainder of that night, I wildly vacillated between utter fear and rage. I would have killed those guys with my bare hands if I could have. It was just after dawn when the doctors let me know that he was going to recover, but it was far from a complete recovery. He was never the same after that night. He never played any sports again and his amazing mind had been greatly diminished. Seeing him now, you would never guess how bright his future once was.

My discussion with the cops didn't go very well. It was clear to me that they believed the bouncer's version of events. Steve couldn't speak for himself and his teammate wasn't much help despite seeing almost the entire exchange. When I found out the bouncers weren't being charged, I was beyond livid. A large group of students, myself among them, demanded the bar owner fire them, but he chose to side with the bouncers. There wasn't anything more that we could do after that except not go there anymore. Their college business dropped off sharply until they rebranded for a new clientele. And from what I've heard in the years since, the place has become so violent, only bikers and criminals really go there. I don't know if the bouncers responsible for Steve's awful

beating still work there, but if there's any justice in the world, they'll mess with the wrong people and end up getting a life-altering beating of their own. To be continued... If you get a story, be sure to submit them to my subreddit, r slash let's read official, and maybe even hear your story featured on the next video. And if you want to support me even more, grab early access to all future narrations for just $1 a month on Patreon, and maybe even pick up some Let's Read merch on Spreadshirt. And check out the Let's Read podcast, where you can hear all of these stories in big compilations and save huge on data, located anywhere you listen to podcasts. Links in the description below.

Thanks so much, friends. And I'll see you again soon.