The Lets Read Podcast - 205: MY STUDENTS DRAWINGS ARE TERRIFYING | 28 True Scary Stories | EP 193

Episode Date: September 19, 2023

This episode includes narrations of true creepy encounters submitted by normal folks just like yourself. Today you'll experience horrifying stories about Creepy Kids, The FBI, & 4CHAN...   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

When you want to bet on sports, play it on a field or ice or course, BetRivers is the place. Over, under, money, lines, same game, parlays, it's all fine. We'll put a smile on your face. Bet on the sports you love with BetRivers Sportsbook. Take a chance. Must be 19 plus. Available in Ontario only. Please play responsibly.

If you have questions or concerns about your gambling or someone close to you, please contact Connex Ontario at 1-866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. The End Throughout their rich and storied history, the United States' Federal Bureau of Investigation has examined a multitude of

frightening and unsettling crimes. But in the mid-1970s, the FBI was tasked with investigating a series of violent incidents that had captured the attention of the American public. It was a story of alleged brainwashing, militant politics, and innocence lost. It raised questions that have remained unanswered even all these years later. This is the story of Patty Hearst. Patricia Campbell Hearst was born in San Francisco on February 20th of 1954 and was a granddaughter of billionaire media mogul William Randolph Hearst. At the time of his passing in 1951, William Hearst's assets were valued at the modern equivalent of $330 billion. William's vast wealth made his family one of the richest in the world, and with money

came fame. By the mid-70s, the Hearsts were a household name throughout the state of California, synonymous with old money, excess, and the trappings of capitalism. Some found their story to be inspirational, regarding Hearst as the personification of the American dream, but their billions also made them a target for those with sinister intentions. On February 4th of 1974, Patty was a 19-year-old college sophomore, living with her fiancé in an apartment on Berkeley's Bienvenue Street. She tended not to flaunt her family's name or status among her social circle, but regardless, once one or two of her neighbors figured out exactly who she was,

people began to talk. It was hot gossip that a member of the esteemed Hurst family was living in a hippie hole like Berkeley. But for the most part, the neighborhood greeted the news with either curiosity or indifference. There was no perceived threat to Patty's safety, and unlike some other members of the family, Patty did not have a bodyguard or any other kind of personal security. When this came to the attention of certain malevolent and delusional individuals, a plan was hatched. One which led to a group of armed thugs invading Patty's apartment at around 9pm on the evening of February 4th. They began viciously assaulting Patty's fiancé, with one of their number choking her unconscious before she was thrown in the trunk of her kidnapper's car. Then, once their target was secure,

the kidnappers simply took off in their vehicles, with Patty as their prisoner. The next time the trunk was opened, Patty had regained consciousness and she was told that she'd be shot dead if she screamed or attempted to escape. Her captors then gagged her, blindfolded her, and carried her from the trunk into a makeshift cell somewhere far from prying eyes. After a brief period of captivity, Patty's kidnappers explained that she was now a hostage and that their ransom demands would be announced shortly. But unlike any other criminal organization whose members would rather mask their identities, Patty's kidnappers were only too happy to explain that she had been taken prisoner by the Symbionese Liberation Army.

There's a good chance that Patty had already heard of the so-called United Federated Forces of the Symbionese Liberation Army. There's a good chance that Patty had already heard of the so-called United Federated Forces of the Symbionese Liberation Army, and at the very least, she will have been familiar with the cold-blooded murder they meted out. Just a few months before her kidnapping, Patty might have heard the news that Oakland's superintendent of public schools had been gunned down in public, with the assassin using cyanide-tipped bullets to guarantee the death of their target. This had been the work of the SLA, who explained to Patty that the Marcus Foster's murder had been part of a wider campaign to promote feminist, anti-racist, and anti-capitalist ideals.

What's more, Patty's kidnap was intended to leverage her family's political influence in order to free the SLA members who had been arrested for Foster's murder. Shortly after the SLA announced their list of demands, the state of California let it be known that under no circumstances would either of the SLA murder suspects be released. When the state made it clear that they wouldn't budge on the matter, the SLA murder suspects be released. When the state made it clear that they wouldn't budge on the matter, the SLA released a new list of demands, swapping out the prisoner exchange for a call for the Hearst family to use $400 million of their fortune to end food poverty in California. In response, the Hearst family announced the creation of the $2 million relief fund called People in Need.

The organization would set about feeding needy families in the Bay Area for a year, but once it was set up, Patty's kidnappers refused to release her, arguing that a paltry $2 million was just a fraction of their original demand. Yet as the Hearst family continued to negotiate for Patty's release, the Symbionese Liberation Army began a new phase of Patty's detainment, systematic brainwashing. Patty later said that for the first week of her capture, she was kept bound and blindfolded in a small, dark closet. She claims she was assaulted, tortured, and berated almost non-stop, and that at one point, her captors subjected her to a mock execution.

Once her spirit was sufficiently broken, the SLA began to let Patty out of her makeshift prison cell in order to join their political discussions. If she showed an interest in their meetings and participated in discussions, she was given more food than her usual allowance, incentivizing her to educate herself on the subjects of their conversations. Around the same time, she was given several pieces of literature, including the SLA's manifesto and a small reading light, so she could continue her so-called political awakening from the confines of her cell. After months of routine brainwashing techniques,

Patty claimed that the SLA leadership presented her with an ultimatum. She was told that negotiations for her release had completely failed and that she had outlived her use to the organization. According to the SLA founder, Donald DeFries, this left the group with no choice but to execute her. However, there was one thing Patty could do to save her own life, and that was to enlist in the ranks of the SLA and pledge her undying loyalty to them. DeFreeze told me that the War Council was thinking about killing me unless I was with them,

and that I better start thinking about that as a possibility, Patty later said. After that, I simply accommodated my thoughts to coincide with theirs. After Patty swore an oath to fight and die with her new comrades, her blindfold was finally taken off, and she greeted her former jailers for the first time. The mood was decidedly different to say the least, and as those that had once tortured her now embraced her as family, Patty Hearst's brainwashing was complete. From then on, she was treated just like any other member of the group, and although she later claimed to have been acting out of a will to survive, Patty certainly played the part of the enthusiastic young revolutionary. She attended political education sessions, mastered a number of different firearms, and according to some ex-SLA members, partook in a number of the group's free love events. She also consented to record a piece of audio that the SLA planned on releasing to the

public and in it, Patty announced that she had changed her name to Tanya and that she was now a full-time urban guerrilla. When the tape was released, it caused a wave of intense interest from local and national media and it wasn't long before the FBI was called in to investigate. Then, on April 15th of 1974, just over two months after she first disappeared, a San Francisco branch of the Hibernia Bank became the target of an SLA robbery. The nation was stunned when a pale and gaunt Patty Hurst was recorded on the bank's surveillance cameras. According to one witness, she was wielding an assault rifle, and upon entering the bank she shouted, I'm Tanya, up against the wall, now. The robbery ended up going horribly wrong when two bank customers, ignorant of the situation inside, walked into the bank to be greeted by a hail of bullets.

The bloodshed prompted a premature end to the robbery as the SLA members rushed to a nearby getaway car, and that's when something curious happened. According to the bank's surveillance camera footage, Patty Hearst was the last member of the stick-up crew to reach the getaway car, and seems to hesitate in a few frames of the stick-up crew to reach the getaway car, and seems to hesitate in a few frames of the recording. It then becomes apparent that one or two SLA members are pointing their weapons at her, as if threatening to shoot her unless she gets into the van. Some have argued that Patty may have been using this moment to consider an escape, while others state that the guns weren't aimed at

her, but rather at the bank's doors should they be required to cover their retreat. Either way, the incident transformed Patty's public image from a former kidnapped victim into a wanted criminal, and a judge approved a warrant for her arrest. Just over a month later, the manager of Amell's Sporting Goods in Inglewood observed a minor theft occurring in one of his stores. When the manager attempted to apprehend the suspected thief as he walked towards his van, a heavily armed Patty Hurst leapt from the vehicle and began firing a high-caliber rifle right into the air. This caused the manager to run for cover as the shoplifter hurled himself into the van's side door.

Knowing that the police would be actively searching for them, Patty Hearst and her shoplifter comrade hijacked two different cars while holding each of the former drivers as hostages. They hoped to once again use the hostages as leverage for their own release, but it was too late, as just hours later, the LAPD had surrounded the SLA's Los Angeles headquarters with the intention of bringing the group down once and for all. During the ensuing firefight, six SLA members were shot and killed by police officers, while the group's leader took their own life in preference to being taken alive. The murder of her comrade seemed to radicalize Patty even further, and in the aftermath of their funerals, she poured herself into the construction of improvised bombs,

two of which were used in failed attempts to kill police officers in August of 1975. Yet Patty's foray into bomb making would be her undoing, and evidence recovered from the two explosive devices led to her arrest in a San Francisco apartment on September 18th of 1975. As she was booked into jail, Patty supposedly listed her occupation as urban guerrilla and asked her attorney to relay the following message to the general public. Tell everybody that I'm smiling, she said, that I feel free and strong and I send my greetings and love to all the sisters and brothers out there. When Patty was arrested,

she was barely recognizable to the sweet young lady who had been kidnapped a year and a half earlier. She weighed a stick-thin 87 pounds and a psychologist noticed signs of severe mental impairment, later describing her as a low-IQ zombie. Patty couldn't seem to remember large tracts of her life before joining the SLA, and confessed to being plagued by horrifying nightmares which reflected her time in captivity. At her trial for the Hibernia bank robbery, an unsympathetic judge dismissed any claim of brainwashing and ruled that Patty's taped and written statements were made on a completely voluntary basis. According to him, since she wasn't deemed to be suffering from any kind of recognizable mental illness, she was fit to stand trial. The judge also paid particular attention to a jailhouse recording of a visiting

day conversation between Patty and a friend of hers, in which she used to speak of how her radical beliefs remained steadfast in the face of a lengthy prison sentence. Dr. Harry Kozol described Hurst as a rebel in search of a cause, and her participation in the Hibernia robbery had been an act of free will. Another psychologist was asked if Patty was in fear of death or great bodily injury during the robbery, to which she gave the resounding answer of no. Patty's own defense hinged on her claim that she had been suffering from the now famous Stockholm Syndrome. Her attorneys argued that her SLA captors had demanded she appear enthusiastic during the robbery and warned she would pay with her life for any mistake. While in reference to the sporting goods robbery,

Patty claimed that, When it happened, I didn't even think. I just did it. And if I had not done it and if they had been able to get away, they would have killed me. With regards to the public statements she made, Patty claimed that she had been writing the SLA version of events and had been punched in the face by one of her captors when she refused to be more militant in her words and actions. She also claimed to have been repeatedly violated by her captors for even the smallest of infractions When news of these allegations reached the surviving SLA members They were outraged and claimed that Patty had been in a romantic relationship with one of the men she'd accused

It was even alleged that Patty had been given a stone trinket by the man And had been so close to him that she kept the carving with her in her jail cell. This trinket was later paraded before the jury, who saw it as powerful evidence of Patty's deception, despite claims she believed it was a pre-Columbian artifact of archaeological significance. Despite appeals for mercy, Patty was convicted of the bank robbery on March 20th of 1976, and was handed the maximum sentence of 35 years imprisonment. However, this was later reduced to 7 years after another judge declared the original sentence to be overly harsh. Almost immediately after her arrival in prison, Patty had to undergo emergency surgery after suffering a collapsed lung. But curiously, the same condition prevented

her from appearing at the trials of two of her former SLA comrades. Then, after she finally agreed to testify, the prison took no special security measures for her safety until she found a dead rat on her bunk on the day of an SLA member's hearing. Patty's brainwashing defense was revisited years later after Representative Leo Ryan was murdered while visiting the Jonestown settlement in Guyana. By happenstance, he had been collecting signatures on a petition for Patty's release in the weeks before his murder,

and the incident garnered the attention of none other than legendary actor John Wayne. Wayne pointed out the contradiction in the public accepting that Jim Jones had brainwashed 900 individuals into taking their own life en masse, but refusing to believe that the SLA could have brainwashed a young and impressionable teenager. The actor's plea touched the hearts of many who were skeptical of Patty's brainwashing claims, and it prompted President Jimmy Carter to secure her release from prison eight months before she was eligible for her first parole hearing. Patty later recovered full civil rights when President Bill Clinton granted her a pardon on his last day in office. It's almost impossible to determine the exact truth of Patty Hearst's kidnapping, and if she really believed in the Symbionese Liberation Army's core ethics. But if it's true, if she really was brainwashed by her

captives, the implications are terrifying. There's no doubt that Patty came from an especially privileged background, but by all accounts, she was still just a regular teenage girl. But once she was a prisoner of a group of deranged radicals, all it took was a few days of starvation and torture, and that regular teenage girl was gone. On November 1st of 1955, United Airlines Flight 629 took off from Stapleton Airport in Denver, Colorado at 6.52pm. It had been bound for Portland, Oregon, but the doomed flight would never arrive as just 11 minutes after takeoff, all 39 passengers and 5 crew members were instantly killed when their plane crashed on a sugar beet farm near Longmont, Colorado. As news of the tragedy spread like wildfire across the nation, the FBI volunteered itself to undertake any upcoming investigation into the crash.

The following day, while the victims' bodies were still being identified, an FBI scientist was sent to the scene to conduct an examination of the wreckage. He discovered that the tail section of the plane had been cleanly severed from the rest of it, so cleanly it was as if it had been cut with a knife, and that it had fallen with only minor damage approximately one and one half miles from the main crash site. The scientist also ruled out the possibility of an explosion due to malfunction, and noted that the plane seemed to have been in perfect working condition when it took off on its final flight. Less than a week later, the Civil Aeronautics Board Chief of Investigations officially stated that there were indications of sabotage, and invited the FBI to open up a

criminal investigation into the 44 murders which took place that day. The very next day, the FBI ordered at least a dozen of its agents to work on the case full-time, and over the weeks that followed, four teams of interviewers questioned almost two dozen different people in order to gather witness testimonies. Witnesses claimed that the initial explosion had occurred while the plane was operating in a routine manner and that it appeared to have been of tremendous force, causing fiery streamers to fall from the plane. A second explosion, probable of one or more fuel tanks, had occurred when the engines and forward compartment of the plane struck the ground.

The scientists ordered that the investigative team recover as many pieces of the wreckage as they could, and bit by bit, the plane was then reassembled in a kind of giant jigsaw puzzle at a nearby warehouse. And this served two purposes. Firstly, reassembling the wreckage would allow investigators to identify the exact location of the explosion that caused the crash, but the process would also allow investigators to identify and isolate any foreign materials that may have constituted an explosive device. Before the wreckage was even fully assembled, investigators were able to determine that the explosion had occurred in the plane's fourth cargo pit, meaning that the detonation had originated in the piece of luggage loaded onto the plane at Denver Airport. As the analysis of the plane's wreckage continued,

investigators discovered five small fragments of sheet metal were found which could not in any way be identified with parts of the plane or known contents of the cargo. These fragments were coated with a kind of grey soot associated with an explosion, and one of them was determined to have come from a type of 6-volt battery, the kind one might use to power a remote detonator. It became evident that the downing of Flight 629 was no tragic accident. It was a devastating, deliberate act of murder involving the smuggling of a bomb onto the plane. As the investigation progressed, FBI agents began to profile the lives of each innocent victim. They interviewed hundreds of their family members, friends, and employers, hoping to identify any potential motive for homicide. Agents also set about pouring over the remains of the victim's luggage and personal effects.

It was during this process that something intriguing came to light. On board the doomed aircraft that day was a woman by the name of Daisy E. King and after recovering and collating a series of personal letters, newspaper clippings, an address list, and two keys for safety deposit boxes, investigators were able to put together a detailed picture of her life and family. One of the newspaper clippings revealed that her son, Jack Gilbert Graham, was wanted on charges of forgery dating back to 1951. This might not have been all that alarming on its own, but the petty financial

crime became all the more interesting once agents conducted another piece of analysis. A large effort was made to identify victims who'd had large travel life insurance policies taken out in their name prior to the fatal flight. This is how agents discovered that Daisy E. King had no less than three large policies in her name, something they found highly suspicious considering most other passengers had no more than two. When such compelling evidence was presented to a federal judge, a search warrant was quickly drawn up to authorize the search of Jack Gilbert Graham's home. During the search, police officers recovered the paperwork

for a $40,000 travel insurance policy that Jack had taken out on his mother in the months before she died. It was also discovered that Jack had recently hired an attorney to rewrite his mother's life insurance policy, naming himself the recipient of the vast majority of his mother's estate. After interviewing friends and family members, FBI agents learned vast majority of his mother's estate. After interviewing friends and family members, FBI agents learned that Jack and his mother had an extremely fraught relationship, and during his teenage years, Jack often found himself homeless after a particularly violent argument occurred. Agents also learned that Jack and his mother had reunited later in life to operate their own drive-in restaurant, but that the venture had almost failed on account of their volatile relationship.

One former friend of Daisy's mentioned that Jack had apparently caused a small explosion at the restaurant after one altercation, and that he had repeatedly been caught pilfering money from the registers. After the FBI began delving into Jack Gilbert Graham's history, agents discovered a number of pertinent and disturbing details. An associate of Graham's mentioned how he'd once performed demolition work in the U.S. Navy and that Graham had once purchased a brand new truck, took out an insurance policy on it, then wrecked it under suspicious circumstances almost immediately afterward. FBI agents also discovered the details of Graham's forgeries, learning he'd committed the crimes while employed as a payroll clerk for a factory in Denver. Graham had stolen a number of

blank checks, forged the name of the company owner, then cashed the checks for approximately $4,200 in cash. Graham was convicted of the forgeries on November 3rd of 1951, but the sentence was suspended and he had been placed on probation for a period of five years. Graham might have dodged a spell in prison, but the financial restitution broke his proverbial bank, and there's no doubt that this left him a very desperate man. FBI agents first interviewed Graham just over a week after the bombing, with a particular interest paid to the small explosion that had occurred at his mother's restaurant. Graham stated that the explosion was caused by someone disconnecting a gas line and describing how the gas had filled the room until it reached a pilot light on a water heater,

igniting the gas and causing the explosion. He vehemently denied that he might have been involved in the explosion, and due to the interview taking place on a purely voluntary basis, investigators were forced to pursue a different line of questioning so not to rile Graham up too much. Questions then turned to the contents of his mother's luggage, and although Graham denied knowing what she'd packed, he seemed to suggest that she may have been in possession of a large amount of shotgun shells and rifle ammunition,

and that she intended to use them to hunt caribou in Alaska. The fact that Graham seemed to know that an explosion had occurred, and that he also seemed to know how it occurred, was something investigators found deeply suspicious, and after Graham's wife was questioned, the evidence against him became considerably more damning. Gloria Graham shared two children with Jack and confirmed that his mother had been living with them in the time before her death. She also mentioned that on the day she died, Jack had given his mother a present, a box believed to contain a small set of tools for forming seashells into art objects. Gloria recalled that this package was the size of a large shoebox and wrapped up

in decorative paper, and that Jack insisted on packing the gift into her suitcase as a surprise. Gloria also mentioned that after dropping his mother off at the airport, Jack had been pale and nauseous. She asked him if everything was okay, but her husband brushed her concerns off by telling her that he'd eaten some bad food. Then, after receiving news of his mother's death, Jack didn't seem like he was grieving properly. In fact, he seemed vexed by something.

He was barely eating or sleeping and he spent most of his time walking up and down both inside and outside their home. Jack Graham's half-sister also had a lot to say about him, telling FBI agents that he had a warped, morbid sense of humor, and had actually witnessed Jack assaulting his wife. She also confirmed that, although she'd never seen any evidence of it, her half-brother had boasted of his experience in manufacturing explosives. On November 12th of 1955, the FBI invited Jack and Gloria down to their offices under the pretense of their assistance being required. The next day, they voluntarily appeared at the Denver FBI office, where they were shown fragments of Daisy's luggage.

The couple were as helpful as can be, and were treated as nicely as possible by the attending agents, but at the conclusion of the appointment, the agents told Jack that they wished to interview him further concerning several aspects of the case. A particular interest to the agents was Jack's suggestion that a box of ammunition might be to blame for the explosion, and their follow-up questions concerned the gift Jack had given his mother on the day of the plane crash. Jack then contradicted his wife's previous statement, and told the FBI that he had not given her a set of crafting tools on the day of her departure. At first, Jack was indignant in the face of the FBI's insinuations,

but once again grew pale when the agents asked him what he had done with his mother upon driving her to the airport. When the agents produced a copy of a travel insurance policy that Jack's mother had bought prior to her flight, he had no choice but to admit that he'd made himself the sole beneficiary. Shortly after the interview, Graham was informed that he was a suspect in the case. He refused to submit to a polygraph test but gave the FBI his consent to search his home, automobiles, and property. During the search of Graham's home, a small roll of copper wire with yellow insulation was located in the shirt pocket of some work clothes. Experts agreed that the wire appeared to be the type used in detonating primer caps. When confronted with the evidence of his bomb making, Jack broke under the pressure

and admitted planning the explosive device, killing 43 people in order to ensure his mother's death. He went on to describe how he'd used a time bomb composed of 25 sticks of dynamite, two electric primer caps, a timer, and a six-volt battery. Jack Graham had already admitted his guilt, but at his first court hearing on December 9th of 1955, he claimed he was innocent by reason of insanity before, during, and after the alleged commission of the crime. Graham was then examined by doctors at the Colorado Psychopathic Hospital, and during an interview with one of the doctors, he claimed that he'd concocted his entire confession. He claimed that he'd gotten the idea from a photograph he'd seen in an FBI agent's office, one which depicted the apprehension of the Nazi saboteurs who had landed on the Florida coast during World War II. In the background of the picture, a trio of FBI agents are digging up a cache of dynamite that had been buried on a beach, and Jack claimed that

his fractured mind had latched onto the idea of explosives. Despite his assertions of being mentally unwell, Graham was found legally sane by all four psychiatrists, and he was taken back to the Denver County Jail. For almost two months, Graham was a model prisoner, and his jail time was mostly spent quietly reading or chatting with the guards. But just after 5.30 p.m. on February 10th, 1956, the sheriff's deputy, tasked with keeping an eye on Graham's cell block, heard an unusual sound coming from one of the cells. After further examination, the deputy determined the sound was coming from Jack Graham's

cell, and when he opened the door, he found that Graham had tried to strangle himself with a pair of socks. The deputy quickly untied the makeshift garotte, saving Graham's life before he was transported to the prison's hospital. Once Graham regained consciousness, he was placed in a straitjacket, then taken to the psychiatric ward of Colorado General Hospital, where he was strapped to a bed with four guards posted nearby. Then, as the days went by, Graham stunned psychiatrists by talking freely and honestly about his involvement in the bombing. He admitted that the whole scheme had been a plot to kill his mother, and that he didn't feel an ounce of remorse for taking almost 50 other people with her.

I realized that there were about 50 or 60 people carried on that kind of plane, but the number of people to be killed made no difference to me. It could have been a thousand, he said. When their time comes, there's nothing they can do about it. On February 24th of 1956, Graham finally dropped the insanity plea and was returned again to Denver County Jail. His April 16th trial set an all-time record for the state of Colorado in the number of jurors examined. In all, 231 were called, and the final jury represented a cross-section of American life. It included two housewives, one a former beauty queen, two typists, a movie executive, an engineer, a truck driver, a sales lady, a telephone man, a lithographer, a bookkeeper, and a salesman.

On the first day and almost throughout the trial, hundreds of people waited for hours in the halls outside the courtroom, hoping for a chance to get seats. They brought their lunches, afraid to leave the room for fear of losing their places. The guard at the door, however, saved a seat for one woman who arrived promptly at 9am each morning. She was an attractive, young-looking woman who just so happened to be the wife of the United Airlines pilot of the ill-fated flight, who sat only a few feet from Graham throughout the trial. The accused remained calm as the trial progressed, and although Graham had lost weight since his arrest, he still looked relatively healthy. He slouched in his chair, chewed gum, and even joked with his legal team, all while a district attorney described him as a straight-up monster,

someone who had taken the lives of almost 50 people, including his own mother, coldly, carefully, and deliberately. Finally, on May 5th of 1956, the jury took just an hour to find Jack Gilbert Graham guilty of murder in the first degree with a recommendation that he receive the penalty of death. The judge then sentenced him to be put to death in late August of 1956, and after a brief stay at the Colorado State Penitentiary, Graham was executed in the gas chamber at 8pm on Friday, January 11th of 1957. The bombing of Flight 629 is arguably one of the worst single acts of mass murder in American history, but it isn't the death toll that makes it one of the most infamous. It's that a man wanted to get away with the murder of his own mother,

so much that he thought nothing of killing 43 other people in the process. When you want to bet on sports, play it on a field or ice or course, Bear Rivers is the place. Over, under, money, line. Same game, Paul A's, it's all fine. We'll put a smile on your face. Bet on the sports you love with Bet Rivers Sportsbook. Take a chance.

Must be 19 plus. Available in Ontario only. Please play responsibly. If you have questions or concerns about your gambling or someone close to you, please contact Connex Ontario at 1-866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. Back in the early 90s, Delaware-based lawyer Thomas J. Capano had a life that many of us might find enviable. He was a prominent and prosperous former state prosecutor with high ranking political connections, and even ran a profitable home construction business during his spare time. He also had a large and loving family, consisting of a wife and four daughters. But by 1993, his marriage was falling into a downward spiral.

Then Redis' marital dissatisfaction was at its peak. He met a young, single woman by the name of Anne Marie Fahey. Fahey was employed as a Congressional Scheduling Secretary, who had met Thomas Capano after meeting with Congressman Thomas Carper. Capano and Fahey began a romantic relationship shortly afterward, and as much as they tried to keep their affairs under wraps, it became known to an increasing number of friends and co-workers as the years dragged on. Fahey wasn't the only woman that Capano seemed to be having an affair with, but it seems that Fahey was his primary paramour for the following three years.

From what I can gather, Capano treated Fahy gently and romantically at first, but as time went by, he grew more and more controlling, overbearing, and violently jealous. When Fahy attempted to end the relationship, Capano refused to allow her to leave him, and told her if she even dared to try, he'd destroy her political career. So instead of risking another confrontation, Fahey reportedly began secretly dating other men, and went to great lengths to keep it a secret from Capano. The last known sighting of the couple was on June 27th of 1996, when they met for dinner to once again discuss their relationship. But after that, it was like Anne Fahey had simply dropped off the face of the earth. Two days later, after becoming increasingly concerned for their daughter's safety,

the Fahey family reported her missing. Not long after the missing person's report was filed, an agent with the FBI's Baltimore office heard about the case and offered his assistance to local authorities. Then, as the case progressed, various law enforcement agencies agreed to have the FBI take the lead on the investigation, owing to its vast resources and advanced capabilities. When the FBI learned of Fahey and Capano's affair, investigators quickly zeroed in on him as their number one suspect. When questioned by police, Thomas Capano claimed that he had invited Fahy to dinner over in Philadelphia, the goal of which was to resolve the problems in their relationship. He said the evening went well, that they'd come to an amiable agreement after a few hours of conversation,

and that afterwards, he'd driven her back home before they parted on good terms. The FBI agents were almost sure that Kapano was lying to them, but in order to prove it, the team was forced to use a number of creative investigative techniques to determine what had actually happened that night. This included surveillance, toll record analysis, seizure of emails from Capano's law firm and Fahy's office, analysis of gun purchase records, a four-day search of two landfills, psychological profiling, and analysis of financial records. Finally, after a search of Ann Fahey's apartment, the investigation struck gold. Investigators found a number of handwritten letters addressed to Fahey from

Capano, some written with an ominous and threatening tone. They also discovered Fahey's diary, with numerous entries describing how Capano was a controlling, manipulative, insecure, jealous maniac. FBI agents then searched Capano's home and personal vehicle for traces of Fahy's blood and hair, and quickly found bloodstains on a metal radiator cover and some woodwork. The FBI then tracked down a blood bank which turned out to have a bag of Fahy's blood that she generously donated weeks earlier. This way, they were able to confirm a bag of Fahy's blood that she generously donated weeks earlier. This way, they were able to confirm that it was Fahy's blood in Capano's home and car. A blood bank search helped recover a container of blood that Fahy had donated weeks earlier,

and forensic exams linked Fahy's blood to the blood found in Capano's house. As the investigation progressed, there was a kind of surprise twist. Capano's brother, Jerry, was arrested on various drug and weapons charges towards the end of 1997. In exchange for leniency, he admitted that he'd helped Thomas get rid of evidence which proved he'd murdered Fahey. According to Jerry, after Thomas Capano murdered his young lover, he forced her body into a large fishing cooler that he had purchased about two months earlier. Then on June 28th, Tom and Jerry Capano drove Jerry's boat some 70 miles off the New Jersey coast and dumped the cooler into the Atlantic Ocean.

The cooler wouldn't sink, so Jerry shot it full of holes with a shotgun that he kept on board for shark fishing, but the cooler still wouldn't sink. Tom then lifted Fahy's body out of the cooler, wrapped two anchors around it, threw it overboard, and watched it sink. He then threw the cooler back into the water. The same cooler was later discovered by a group of fishermen who pulled it out from the ocean, plugged the bullet holes, and used it to hold the fish that they caught. The following year, after the story about the cooler made the news, one of the fishermen got in touch with the FBI and reported his find. The cooler then became a key piece of evidence which tied together Jerry's story.

Finally, on November 12th of 1997, the FBI swooped in on Thomas Capano after they learned that he was planning to flee the country. During his trial in 1998, one of Tom Capano's ex-lovers told the court that just over a month before Ann Fahey's murder, Capano told her that if she purchased a pistol with her credit card, he'd purchase it from her for double the price she paid for it. With a mountain of damning evidence being turned against him, Capano completely changed the story. He claimed that the pistol-purchasing lover walked in on him and Fahey while they were being intimate, and had been so distraught by the sight that she actually threatened to take her own life with the gun she'd bought. Capano then claimed, as he tried to stop her, the gun went off by accident and killed Fahy. Capano said he then disposed of the body to protect himself and his lover. It made for a compelling story, but it was one the jury simply did not believe, and on January 17th of 1999, they pronounced him guilty for the murder of Anne Marie Fahey. Initially, Thomas Capano was sentenced to death for his crimes, but after a lengthy appeals process, his sentence was downgraded to life in prison without parole. Ironically, Capano later instituted his own death sentence

in 2011 when his body was found hanging in his prison cell by prison officials. Efforts were made to revive him, but it was far too late. Capano was dead by his own hand. Anne-Marie Fahey's body was never officially found, but we can assume that it's somewhere at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, not far from the New Jersey coastline. She might not have received a proper burial, but she certainly got the justice she deserved, as the man who took her life became so wracked with pain, regret, and loneliness that he simply couldn't go on living anymore. Just before 11 a.m. in Kansas City on September 28th of 1953, a nun working at a school for small children was confronted at the school's front entrance

by a woman claiming to be the aunt of a child named Bobby Greenlees. Six-year-old Bobby was the son of Robert Greenlees Sr., a wealthy businessman who lived in the affluent Kansas City suburb of Mission Hills. The woman claiming to be Bobby's aunt was visibly upset when she told the nun that Bobby's mother had been rushed to the hospital after suffering a heart attack. The nun later recalled that, when she'd fetched Bobby, he walked directly to the woman without hesitation, and there was no reason to doubt that the woman was his aunt. The woman then took Bobby by the hand, then led him towards a waiting taxi. About a half hour later, a different nun called the Greenlees family to express the school's condolences to them.

The voice on the other end sounded surprised. Mrs. Greenlees hadn't suffered a heart attack, and there was no way his aunt could have collected him from school. Despair set in once both parties realized that Bobby had been kidnapped, and after the Kansas City Chief of Police begged the governor for as much assistance as possible, the FBI was called in to investigate. One of the first witnesses questioned by federal agents was a Kansas City cab driver named Willard Pearson Creech. Willard told the agents that on the morning of the kidnapping, a woman fitting the description of Bobby's kidnapper climbed into his cab and asked him to drive her to the Katz drugstore at Westport and Main Street in Kansas City. After waiting approximately six minutes, the cab driver watched as the woman re-entered the cab accompanied by a small boy who looked just like little Bobby. A few hours after the kidnapping, the Greenleases received the first ransom letter,

which demanded $600,000 in exchange for the boy's release. The letter also stated that if the money was handed over within 24 hours and there was no funny business, Bobby would be returned safe and sound. A second ransom letter was delivered the following day and contained Bobby's Jerusalem medal to prove the kidnappers were serious. The letter assured them that Bobby was homesick, but otherwise okay, and reiterated the kidnappers' demands for $600,000. The final communication between the Greenleases and the kidnappers

was a telephone call received after the cash had been delivered at around 1am on October 5th. The kidnappers confirmed that they had received the $600,000 in cash and assured the family thates family, the kidnappers had murdered Bobby not long after the abduction and had buried the body in St. Joseph, Missouri before escaping to St. Louis with the ransom money. Just over a week later, the St. Louis Police Department received a call from a man named John Oliver Hager, who was a driver for the Ace Cab Company in St. Louis. John mentioned that a woman fitting the description of Bobby's kidnapper had been spotted on Arsenal Street in St. Louis and relayed the description of her male companion to law enforcement. The information John provided quickly led to the arrest of one

Carl Austin Hall on the evening of October 6th, 1953. Later that night, after a huge amount of pressure from the FBI, Carl Hall led a team of agents to an apartment on Arsenal Street in St. Louis, where his girlfriend, Bonnie Emily Hetty, was taken into custody. Both Hall and Hetty were interrogated by FBI agents, and after admitting that they'd kidnapped Bobby, insisted that practically all of the $600,000 ransom money was still in their possession. Hall admitted to planning the kidnapping, the actual abduction of the victim, and to burying the body in the yard of Bonnie Heddy's home, but he flatly denied having murdered the young boy. At first, Hall and Heddy blamed the murder of young Bobby on a man named Tom Marsh,

claiming that the boy had still been alive when they'd handed him over. Yet when the FBI pointed out there was a number of inconsistencies with Hall's story, he admitted that he had fabricated the character of Tom Marsh, and that he and Bonnie Heddy were solely to blame for Bobby's death. Hall told investigators that he and Heddy had driven Bobby to Overland Park, Kansas, after which they dragged him from the van, threw him to the ground, then shot him in the head. They then drove the boy's dead body back to St. Joseph, Missouri, where he buried it in Bonnie Heddy's yard and planted flowers on the grave.

Bonnie Heddy admitted assisting Hall in the preparation of the ransom letters and notes of instructions to the Greenleaf's family concerning the payoff of the ransom, as well as going to the school and obtaining custody of the victim, using the ruse that his mother was ill. Just before 9am on October 7th, Bobby's decomposing corpse was discovered by FBI agents buried near the porch of the Hetty residence at 1201 South 38th Street in St. Joseph, Missouri. His tiny body had been wrapped in a large plastic sheet and a huge quantity of lime had been poured over his corpse. Agents then located some.38 caliber shell casings and a ballistic analysis determined that they had been fired from a.38 caliber snub-nosed revolver that had been found

in Hall's possession at the time of his arrest. On October 30th, Carl Hall and Bonnie Hetty appeared before a federal judge in Kansas City and both pled guilty to the murder of six-year-old Bobby. After hearing the evidence for a little over an hour, the federal judge recommended the death penalty and sentenced both of them to be executed on December 18th of 1953. I think the verdict fits the evidence. The judge was quoted as saying, It's the most cold-blooded, brutal murder I had ever tried. In the end, Carl Hall and Bonnie Heddy were executed together in the Missouri State Penitentiary's lethal gas chamber on December 18th of 1953. Carl was officially pronounced dead at 12.12 a.m., while Bonnie was declared deceased just 20 seconds later. To some, very few murders actually warrant a death penalty, and those that kill are often better left alive to stew in their guilt. Crimes of passion,

accidental slayings, or even revenge killings prove that murder is not a black and white issue, and that there are many shades of grey in between. But those that kidnap a six year old child, collect a ransom, but kill them anyway. Some might say that the gas chamber is far too humane a method of execution for people that are capable of such unspeakable evil. On the morning of December 16th, 1989, an Alabama federal appeals judge named Robert Vance was greeted by a package when he walked out onto his porch. Given that it was the holidays, it wasn't entirely unusual for a gift or two to arrive, so Robert thought nothing of picking it up and bringing it inside his mountain brook home. Once inside, and having nothing suspicious about it, Judge Vance set about opening the package to see what was inside.

Inside the small cardboard box was a smaller brown parcel, and when Judge Vance tore it open, a loud and devastating explosion ripped through his home, instantly killing him and seriously wounding his wife. The bombing caused a media firestorm, and local police rushed to begin work on what would no doubt be a long and high-profile investigation. Yet just as the investigation was commencing, yet another bombing put an Atlanta-based attorney named Robert Robertson in the hospital. Almost immediately after that, two more bomb scares occurred in Georgia and

Florida. The first was intercepted while being transported to the federal courthouse in Atlanta, while the other was recovered after being mailed to the Jacksonville office of the NAACP. Further bloodshed was averted by the swift and valorous actions of bomb disposal experts in both states, but the defusal of the two bombs was a cold comfort to the general public, who were actually aware that more bombs might have been sent out in the mail. But what sick individual would be spiteful enough to send mail bombs during the holidays? Agents from the Federal Bureau of Investigation gathered the remnants of the bombs and packages and sent them off to various laboratories for analysis. Next, U.S. Postal inspectors worked to learn the path the packages had taken through the postal system, which allowed

the FBI to assemble a long list of potential suspects. As federal agents worked their way through the list of suspects, an ATF explosives expert was examining one of the unexploded bombs, only to notice something oddly familiar about its construction. When he reported it to his superior later that day, the explosives expert told them that he not only recognized the design of the bomb, but he could still remember the name of the man who built them that way. Walter Leroy Moody. With the prime suspect identified, the FBI set about surveillance of Walter Moody at home, and at one point, they were able to watch him even closer due to a brief stay in jail. It was during his time in jail that FBI agents discovered that Walter talked to himself, and the FBI realized that bugging his home might result in catching

him talking about the bombings. Over the next year, extensive surveillance of Walter Moody revealed his motive for the bombings. The FBI found that Walter had a history of experimenting with explosives, with a conviction for bomb-making dating back to the 1970s. According to the trial, Moody had been constructing a bomb in his garage, one that had severely injured his wife when it accidentally exploded. Psychologists determined that Walter's conviction in failed appeals in that case had led him to harbor a long-festering resentment of the court system, so it came as no surprise when one of the judges on his unsuccessful appeals turned out to

be none other than the first victim, Robert Vance. What's more, a surveillance agent had once noted that Moody frequently expressed racially bigoted opinions, which tied in with the NAACP being targeted with a bomb. It took just over a year to assemble enough evidence to secure a conviction, and in the summer of 1991, Walter was put on trial for the bombings. The trial was tough, to say the least, and it was a chilling testament to Moody's intelligence that he'd taken every effort to conceal his connection to the bombings. However, on June 28th of 1991,

based on the extensive investigative work of numerous law enforcement agencies, the jury found Walter Moody guilty of more than 70 charges, including murder and attempted murder. In 2018, after once again failing numerous appeals, Walter was finally executed following a last meal of Philly cheesesteaks, Dr. Pepper, and M&M's. It marked the end of a brutal and vengeful man, who abused the trust Americans have in their postal service to mail violent death to those that have wronged him. We'll be 19 plus. Available in Ontario only.

Please play responsibly. If you have questions or concerns about your gambling or someone close to you, please contact ConnexOntario at 1-866-531-2600 to in a sketchy part of town. I can't remember how he got the money to buy the apartments, but I've low-key hated him since, because now he can practically retire in his early thirties. On top of that, he's not a good landlord. He's a good guy, but he only cares about the money. I mean, he takes care of burst pipes and repairs broken equipment, but he says

that since it's a shady side of town, there's no reason to keep it spotless. That no matter what he does, there will always be someone peeing on the carpets in the lobby or random vandalization on the walls. However, hearing his tales and experiences have kind of reminded me that not every person is trying to live peacefully in their home. Reminds me that no matter what, there's messed up people everywhere. So here's some stories of apartment tenants being absolute nightmare material. I'll be referring to my friend simply as Buddy for anonymity's sake. Story 1. This tenant was going through an ugly divorce and moved into the apartment after

getting kicked out of his old house. He was trying to be optimistic and hopeful, but apparently his upstairs neighbor was a complete scumbag. This guy was banging on the floor with a broomstick almost 24-7, like non-stop. When he'd see him in the hall downstairs, the neighbor would never show his face and just pass by in a hurry without even saying anything. The banging apparently went on for weeks, until finally the guy went up to confront him about it. He knocked and as he did so, he said he could smell this awful stench coming from behind the door. Nobody answered the door though so he went back downstairs and didn't hear any knocking that night. The next day, the knocking continued and somehow was even louder. At this point, he was also fed up with the other neighbors and just the overall living conditions in his apartment so he moved

out. Like I said, the apartment was in a shady side of town. Buddy never heard from the guy again and no one ever moved in underneath the neighbor, but I wondered what kind of depraved lunatic was lurking there upstairs. Story 2. There was a lady, maybe in her 60s, that always loitered around the lobby where everyone grabs their mail. She had some screws missing and because of it, she always walked around with a really morbid look on her face. It was speculated that she had dementia but no one ever confirmed nor denied it. On top of that, she suffered a stroke that permanently left her face in a droopy state. So one night, Buddy gets a call that someone had been shot in one of his complexes.

He said he instantly knew which one and drove down at 1am to discuss details with police. He gets there and after discussing tenant details and watching security footage, he finds out what happened. Earlier that night, around 11pm, the lady was walking around the mail lobby as usual. Except for some reason, she was darting her head left and right to stare at people, like she was feeling threatened by them. For the most part, everyone ignored her and went on their ways, until this one guy walked into frame. When he opened the door, she turned really suddenly and stared at him. Keep in mind that on the footage, she never stared at

people, she simply glanced around, shook her head, and then glanced some more. But this time, she froze in place and stares daggers at this man. The guy must have said something, the cameras didn't have audio, and she suddenly ran at him and tried to tackle him. But he moved away and she fell down to the floor. And just like that, the guy walks over, pulls out a gun, and unloads into her head and runs off. He got caught and was arrested and turns out he wasn't even a tenant. He was just there to hook up with some chick and on his way out, kills an elderly woman. Unfortunately, I never got the details of what he said to the woman to have her freak out on him. Story 3. This one is pretty weird and I don't normally care for

paranormal stuff, but he said that he had to go give an eviction notice one morning, and as he stepped into the elevator, it was only him and this other tenant. Buddy tried to make some small talk but he said the guy just spent the whole time staring at the door. He didn't really notice or care that he was acting slightly odd since it was early in the morning and the guy could have just not been in a social mood. When his floor dings, Buddy begins to walk to the door before the tenant reaches his arm out to stop him. When he turns to look back, the tenant was now glaring at him with this look of pure terror, as according to Buddy, the guy started blabbering incoherently.

He claimed the tenant began speaking in what he can only describe as tongues, but I said that he might have been having a stroke or seizure, but he rebuked that theory. He said that it sounded like the tenant was begging for his life, but in rebuked that theory. He said it sounded like the tenant was begging for his life, but in a different language, and his pupils supposedly were the size of dinner plates. Buddy just walked around his arm and got off the elevator, but the tenant kept his eyes transfixed on him. He says he could still hear him babbling even after those doors shut. Story 4. I'm actually in the story and it sometimes has me up at night. A few years ago when Buddy first became a landlord, me and a few of our

friends threw a party in an empty room to celebrate this moment. Out of the blue, this guy comes up to us with a guitar and introduces himself as a tenant from down the hall. By this point we're pretty intoxicated and we're all vibing and having a good time. So we talk. The guy says he's a front man for some indie band and plays a little bit on guitar. Everything is cool at this point, nothing weird. Fast forward to later that night and the party is dying down. We're all sitting around smoking and talking about life and what not. The guy must have brought something else to smoke by himself because he's now just sitting in a corner staring at the floor. Buddy notices and invites him back to the

group but the guy doesn't budge. Someone comments that he might be having a bad trip to which some people just nope out and leave the party. Now it's just like four people, me and Buddy included, and this guy. We start asking him questions, but he doesn't answer anything or anyone. Buddy gets up and walks over to sit near him. The guy finally looks up and in a booming voice asks if any of us have ever tasted human meat before. We all obviously say no and he chuckles and says, tastes like beef, but with pork in it. Medium rare meat is a finer meal for those who can handle it. And just like that, he gets up and walks out the door. I never heard about him again, even though I pestered Buddy about it at least once a month. Now final story, story 5. Back in 2017, Buddy used to have these really horrible tenants. They were a toxic couple that just caused problems for everyone around them.

If they weren't constantly asking strangers for physical favors, then they were screaming at each other until the police arrived. Eventually it's discovered that they were bringing this 16-year-old back to their apartment, telling everyone it was their nephew or something. Everyone bought the story and for several weeks nothing seemed off. Suddenly one day, the kid jumps from their apartment window and dies on impact. The police and Buddy get involved, thinking that they were dealing with someone taking their own life. After the investigation though, it was discovered that the kid did take his life, but not out of some sort of depressive tendency. Instead, it was because the couple had convinced him to do it. For a ritual.

They drugged him up with every narcotic they had on deck and told him that if he jumps, he'll come back the next day completely alive and immortal. I think their theory was something about how matter doesn't die and if he's high enough, he can control his fate. So if he removes his mortal life on enough narcotics, he'll return tomorrow as himself but blessed with immortality. Needless to say, he never came back. I have a very feminine built body. I'm tall, thin, long hair and lashes with full lips and all that. The kicker? I'm a guy who's also barely capable of sporting peach fuzz.

My body brought me many annoyances in my life, but this story has to be the worst. A decade ago, I was taking the train home from school. I was 14 years old at the time and extremely awkward to be around so making friends was not one of my strong points. There was an older man with thinning shoulder length gray hair standing at the edge of the platforms as I got off the train. Normally my head is down and I'm looking at the ground but of course just this, I accidentally made eye contact. Instantly, I noticed that he had a weird statue-like vibe to him, both in behavior and look, with zero life behind his eyes. His face is gaunt with heavily hooded eyes and a stern

nose like a hawk. His face was covered with deep lines and wrinkles, yet structured with straight-cut features and a grim expression on his mouth. I try to think nothing of it, that this is just some random guy. Sure, his appearance was weird, but I guess I had no right to judge. I take my regular mile route home, as the majority of my walk is down a busy street. Soon, after a couple of blocks, I realize that the guy from the train is behind me, and even 10 paces. Immediately I'm unnerved because of how close he is, and I pick up my pace. As I start walking faster, I briefly tell myself that perhaps he lived around this area, and so to test this theory, I take an unusual turn off the main road.

And there he was, still following me, now matching my pace. I make three lefts, he makes three lefts. I walk into a crowd, he walks into a crowd. Eventually I assume he knows I'm onto him because he suddenly creates a distance but doesn't stop following me. I manage to text my older brother who's just as awkward as me but the man's built like a Scandinavian gorilla. On top of that, he attends these parties where everyone dresses up as knights and they proceed to beat the snot out of each other with fake weapons. Not only is he built but he also knows how to swing objects around for the most devastating blows. And hey, at this point, I'll take what I can get.

He says he'll come out to meet me at a certain intersection and to not slow down or stop walking. After this, I look behind me to find that the old guy is now barely five feet away with this angry, almost hateful look on his face. Tired of playing mind games, I decided to break into a run. I can't hear any footsteps behind me, so I think I'm in the clear. Finally, I find my brother standing outside and he just grabs my wrist and we walk home. I thought the guy had disappeared, but my brother claims he saw the man and described in decent detail what the guy looked like. We get home and the police arrive not even minutes later due to my brother calling them ahead of time. Turns out they have a profile of this guy and are suspecting him of being related to other teenage disappearances around the city. However, there's no name or address related to him, just vague

descriptions of some weird old man. And that's where I come into play, because I was quite the artist back then, and I drew my best interpretation of the man, really emphasizing his wrinkles and nose. The police take a look for a minute, thank me, and then leave. About a year and a half later, it's the middle of winter and I'm 16 years old. It was freezing outside, but I had finally made some decent friends. Most of them were into drugs, but I didn't smoke or partake. At this time, we were in the same neighborhood as before since my mother lives in the neighborhood and my father, who I was currently living with, lives about two miles away. We were in a friend of a friend's basement and the place was a total slum house. This guy has like three tanks for different lizards, random holes in the

wall with swords and guns hanging on racks. It just gave me gross vibes and after 15 minutes I conjure up the white lie that I have to get home and do homework since it was a school night. My friends go outside with me, most agreeing about heading home and we all split up. I start walking home and reach the straight path that I walked last time. The road I take home is mostly dark, old neighborhoods with lamps that either didn't work or never turned on. The only lights were at intersections. The block I'm walking on has tons of massive old pine trees that hang over the street, making visibility harder, and suddenly I get this feeling like I'm being watched.

I'm normally quite the night owl. I go on walks often at night and have a great night vision and I rarely ever feel uncomfortable being by myself at night. But now I have hair standing up on my neck. I walk past a tree and in the dim lighting I see that there is a cloaked man crouched under another tree. I try to brush it off as a homeless guy or something but after about 20 feet I hear what sounds like him sliding out from under the branches with the snow muting most of the sounds.

I cross the street instantly and start speed walking and I see him walking about 15 feet behind me on the other side of the street. His head is locked directly on me. Remember when I said it looked like the guy was cloaked? Turns out, after passing a street light, I can see the guy is wearing a full camouflage suit paired with a backpack and ski mask. I walk as fast as I can and after a block or two I look behind me as I cross another lit intersection. This guy had already crossed the street and was about 20 feet behind me. In a quick second, I unstrap my backpack, tuck it under my arm, and break into a full sprint. I count seven blocks before I eventually slow down to a jog. I'm gasping for breath,

my chest is burning, and I realize that both my nostrils are running with bright red blood. I need to keep going, but I can't help but turn around once again. There he is. The camo guy is now about 50 feet away, jogging steadily. I can't explain how I felt at this time. It's like I was actually being hunted for sport at this point. Adrenaline kicks back in and I'm sprinting again. I don't even remember breathing or running. It all felt like a dream, me speeding home like a bullet with only the wind in my ears. My house is actually four blocks off the road I was traveling down so I turn off quickly, run down the street and slide into my porch and lock the door. I bolt upstairs and barricade myself inside my room as I begin coughing up blood.

Nose is still bleeding and my chest now feels like it's on fire. I call the police and tell them what happened and they send a squad car to my house immediately. The officer tells me they're doing a search of the area with several cars and to remain inside. Several hours later, they actually caught the guy a couple of blocks away, leaving the woods near my house. Lo and behold, it was the same dude that followed me home when I was 14. After some investigating and raiding his home, the cops tell me that I'm lucky to be alive, before thanking me again for my help. It turns out the guy was some Vietnam veteran with a bad reputation for assaulting civilians during the war and was being investigated for several murders over the course of 20 years.

The irony of it all is that the guy eventually admitted to having an obsession with teenage girls. So there you have it. A monster was arrested and put behind bars. All because he didn't know I was a boy. To be continued... This happened to me a few months ago, so after taking some time to think everything through and picking up coping mechanisms, I feel ready to tell it. Well, as ready as I guess I'll ever be. And for context, when this happened, I was freshly single. I broke up with my partner at the time and I felt free. Those of you who've gotten out of bad relationships will understand that I mean this when I say that I just needed time to breathe, to grasp life by its horns again.

And so I did. I planned a good old-fashioned in a woods, or a camping trip for those who don't use this website, and started researching locations. Unfortunately, there's not a lot of full-blown forest land where I live, so I decided to head to the next best place, the Daniel Boone National Forest. Daniel Boone was the pioneer who ended up creating settlements that later on became

what we know as today, Kentucky. And I felt like there was no better way to escape modern life than to explore those very woods. So I spent the rest of my week planning and hoarding basic supplies for the trip. Gun, ammunition, food, water, extra clothes, the usual. The day came and I was on the road in my jeep, excited to get the chance to disconnect from society. I arrived at around 7pm and spent the next hour studying my trail map to get a good route in my mind before traveling into the heart of the forest. I don't mean to drag this out, I just need to paint out the picture that I was far away from my vehicle, with nowhere to go but further into the woods.

So I set up a little tent and woke up bright and early the next morning. I knocked out a good 10 miles, the majority of which was off the path of the trail. Unfortunately, I ended up dropping a Snickers bar down a ravine, so that was obviously devastating. But otherwise, all was going well. I even made camp by a stream so that if I lost control of the flame, I wouldn't have to use my drinking water to contain it. Tried to go hunting, but couldn't find anything in season so I sucked it up and ate canned chili. This nonchalant routine continued on for three days and let me tell you, those were the best three days I've ever experienced. On my fourth day I

ended up snatching a rabbit because I was sick and tired of the canned chili. And yes, for those wondering, it was out of season, but I needed something. So I'm bringing my fresh kill back to the camp, maybe about 100 meters away, when I notice something to my right. There was this particular hill that had rather massive trees, and I noticed that there was something dangling from the branches. I didn't know how to describe it at the time other than it was a thing. It had two incredibly long arms, with two very short legs and his hands seemed to almost wrap around the entire trunks of the trees. I stared, my brain attempting to rationalize what I was seeing, but I guess my staring threw it off guard. In a single swift motion, whatever this thing was, flung itself backwards into the forest. I could hear bark breaking in the distance, meaning it landed back

on some other trees. Now, I wasn't sure whether to run as fast as possible or to make as little noise as possible. Like I said, I didn't know what it was. Honestly, I still don't. Was this thing a predator? Did it think I was a predator? Or did it think I was prey? I decided to keep my pace casual yet quieter and return back to camp. I thought I'd be more secure here, but that's when I saw it. Again. It was probably 50 meters away and as soon as I laid eyes on it, it retreated in similar fashion as earlier. Slight swing forward, one giant leap backwards. This time, I noticed that it was actually grappling onto other branches and swinging away from me. Earlier, I thought it just took a massive leap away and vanished. However, something dawned on me.

I didn't actually get vibes that it was a predator or that it was malevolent. It seemed to be more of a curious observer or perhaps it was even toying with me. Everywhere I went I began to notice it more often, like it was my little follower. Never too close but seemed to be okay with me acknowledging it. I actually kept mental notes of its appearance. It seemed to be okay with me acknowledging it. I actually kept mental notes of its appearance. It seemed to be some kind of monkey but its jaw always hung open and I could see its teeth at times. It looked to have two rows of teeth instead of one but the teeth looked rather normal, not sharp daggers or something like that. On my fifth day, I woke up and began packing up camp as it was time for me to return home.

I felt I had sort of created a nice bond with this thing, although it didn't seem to be anywhere in sight that day. I was going to offer up either a can of chili or some dead rabbit leftovers. No, not directly to it, but just kind of sit it out and let it know that I was leaving it there. Yes, big red flag, but turns out this was pointless because I found it. It was impaled on a branch against a tree, dead, arms hung by its side, almost doubling the length of its body. I felt horrible, but also, I felt in danger. I felt like I shouldn't be here anymore and that I needed to leave immediately.

I booked it out of there, and after a few minutes I turned around to see another thing, just like the one before, but it was built much bigger, like a gorilla, and it was tearing the first thing's corpse apart. I watched it tear and eat for about 30 seconds before it looked up at me. For the first time since I'd been here, I felt it. I felt dread. I felt like I was prey. It suddenly stopped eating, and I sprinted. I ran, hearing bark snapping and branches breaking, and I could tell that it was gaining on me. So instead, I stopped running. I turned around, and I opened fire into the woods. I could make up anything about hearing some sort of pained howl or a wild screech that echoed into the woods, or that I even heard impact. But I didn't. In fact,

after that I heard nothing. It's possible that I did hit it, but truth be told, I probably just scared it off, or it got bored of the chase. I eventually reached my jeep and went home, wanting to put everything behind me. But it wasn't until a few weeks later that I came across an article in the news. Apparently there had been complaints of animals found completely torn apart in the Daniel Boone forest and well, I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd seen. I like to think of myself as rather polite and kind towards others, but sometimes it feels like my kindness gets tested to the thinnest extent. I don't mean that I'm going to snap or something, but these two experiences have made it pretty difficult to be optimistic towards people.

I used to live in this Eastern European small village, and I take a bus to the next city almost every day. One day, I'm waiting at the bus stop with this one woman talking on the phone and two hopped up guys in their mid-twenties. I take a seat and notice both of the guys are trying to catch a ride, holding out their right hands while one of the dudes has a large knife behind his bag. They notice me looking and give me a friendly greeting. The woman ignores it, stops talking on the phone and soon a car stops at the bus stop to pick up the woman. She instantly rushed into the car and slammed the door shut as

both of the guys were trying to run up to the driver's window to ask for a lift. Now I'm alone with both of these guys, with cars passing by but no one's around to really see the situation I'm in. They start asking me questions about where the bus is heading and I mumble out an answer, trying to seem ignorant of the fact that they have a weapon. I take note of what the woman was doing and start walking away from the bus stop, pretending to talk on the phone. I initially decided to wait for the bus to come and to just book it after they entered it. So the bus finally arrives, completely empty and one of the teens goes in to buy a ticket. The other one notices my hesitation,

pauses and kindly gestures to me to go in first. I realize that I'm caught faking a phone call and have no choice but to board the bus. It may be irrational now but they had weapons and I wasn't about to test their running capacity. So now I'm waiting for the first guy to finish buying the ticket when the second guy whispers to me, it's gonna be okay, don't do anything that could get yourself hurt. Before cackling to himself. They sit in the back and are now babbling and laughing to themselves while I'm at the very front, basically praying now. At this time I'm staring at the bus driver in his mirror and I finally, I guess he takes the hint that something was up. He stops before my destination. The driver just stands up,

pulls out a gun and stares at the two guys. No words are spoken, no more laughter, nothing. After a good minute or two of dead silence, he opens the bus door and stares at them. Not wanting to mess around with this security guard-esque bus driver, the two guys stumble off the bus and run off. The bus driver proceeds to turn to me, laughs out loud and says that he doesn't fear these drugged up kids and that I'm in safe hands while I'm on his bus. He asks if I have anything for protection, to which he then scolds me for not having something and I kind of start to laugh at the situation myself. If it weren't for, and I mean this literally, this guardian angel, then I don't think I would be here to tell this story.

Now the second time, I was already living in the states as a citizen, and even had a job working in a hospital on the 19th floor. On this day, I was coming back from getting lunch with a co-worker, and as we waited for the elevator to arrive, I saw an older guy standing behind us wearing a dirty shirt, short trousers and flip flops with a cheap plastic bag. Don't think much about it, even if it was winter, there's lots of weirdos in this part of town. However, my friend looked absolutely terrified about all of this. Elevator comes, we get in and he does too. We stand there in complete silence until the 19th floor. We get out, and of course, he does too. We proceed towards the doctor's office while he just stands by the elevator. As soon as we're inside, my co-worker

tells me how this isn't the first time she'd seen the guy today. Apparently he was on the bus that morning and had followed her all the way to the hospital. Then she follows up by saying that she had seen him hiding behind a column in the lobby when we went out for lunch. Apparently when he saw me with her, he looked frustrated and remained standing there. In the middle of this conversation, someone suddenly starts knocking on the door and wouldn't you know it, it's Flip-Flop Man. He looks directly at her and states that he has a medical emergency, how he has a mechanical parasite in his ear and that she has to cut it out right now.

I'm standing in front of the door and he begins to force himself into the office, saying that she's his only hope I coldly tell him to go to the ER if he has a problem and escort him to the elevator down He gets in and asks if my friend is coming along I say no, that the ER will take good care of him and I hit the button to send him down before walking away Half an hour later I'm walking around the station and of course there he is again. Coming out of the elevator, he sees me, makes an exaggerated sigh and instantly gets back in the same elevator he just exited. I text her this and the police get involved, managing to kick him out for loitering. That night we all went home in a group

and fortunately that was the last we saw a flip-flop guy. I guess it's about time I tell this story because it's the only one I have. This all happened about a year ago, around this time, in the wilderness of Oregon. If you're curious or happen to be around Oregon, then it was to the north of Steens Mountain. Anyway, I don't really care if you believe me or not, I just want to know what you think. I had decided to plan out a weekend-long camping trip with my buddy, Robert. I'm not too crazy about hiking, but a nice time outside, exploring, firing off guns, and chatting was what I needed. The first day out was great,

since it consisted of us mostly drinking. Not much shooting was done because we wanted to get a bit deeper into the woods, that way we wouldn't scare any Pacific Crest trail hikers or hippies. We ended up having too much to drink by the end of the night and decided to sleep cowboy camp style, or in other words, we were too drunk to set up tents. The sky was clear, so it didn't seem like an issue. I remember waking up in the night at one point, not really knowing why. As I was still drunk, I shrugged it off and went back to sleep. Day two comes and I decided to head to a creek to fill up water for my hangover. I holstered my Beretta 92 and noticed Robert was already up and gone, assuming to do the same thing. It wouldn't really surprise me if he was up earlier when you sleep under the sky, the sunrise is quite an alarm clock. So as I got closer to the creek, I heard what

sounded like splashing and instantly wondered if Robert was taking a bath or something. A little peeved that I had to now wait or go upstream, I stepped up to the bank and instead found that a black-tailed deer was stuck in the water. It looked to be just a doe, maybe a year and a half old, caught against a log jam. At the time I couldn't really place my finger on it, but something about this whole situation just seemed wrong. Not like a morally time to save a deer type of situation, rather, it felt like my senses were beginning to go into fight or flight. And that's when I began to notice that there was a significant amount of

blood in the water flowing downstream. The deer was completely frantic and had this look of disturbed craziness in its eyes. The logical side of me says that it accidentally fell in and landed on debris in the stream, but regardless of how it got there, it was now a goner. Unfortunately, I only brought my 92 along and I wasn't going to sit there and put 10 rounds into it. I quickly went back, grabbed my AR and returned to put the thing to rest before deciding to pull its body out of the water. I wasn't going to let a rotting deer carcass completely ruin our water supply either but as I got closer to the body, that feeling of something being wrong intensified drastically. Her legs were completely skinned and her belly

was sliced up with even cuts horizontally across the abdomen. The cuts were about 5 inches apart and a foot long in total. As I'm trying to process what happened to this deer, I suddenly hear what sounds like Robert screaming. I race out of the water and back to the campsite, head still pounding from my hangover. And just then, Robert walks into sight, rubbing his back legs. I was taking a dump and some hornet stung my butt, he said.

We laughed it off and I told him about the deer I just found, but as we got back to the stream, the deer carcass was gone. It couldn't have floated downstream as the log jam was undisturbed and the current wasn't even that strong. We're looking around, looking for any sort of hint on its whereabouts when I notice some mud prints. Mud prints that definitely were not mine. I was wearing hiking sneakers

and these were most definitely boot prints, meaning that someone had probably taken the dead deer corpse out of the creek by themselves. Originally, I was annoyed that someone had poached my kill until I began connecting the dots in my head. No one was around when I was there, it was just me and the stranded deer. The stranded deer was covered in mysterious wounds that looked to be inflicted on purpose. And then, either my gunshots or the sound of Robert screaming alerted the stranger to come out of the woods and take this dead deer. So, Robert and I decided to pack up camp and go somewhere else.

In the end, we actually had a good time together, but I can't stop thinking about how close we were to danger and how thankful I am that we got far away from woodland strangers who skin and torture deer. This is a brief story, but it's the only time I really had to stop and consider if black magic was real. It was 2011, and it involved my brother and me. I'd be 12 years old at the time. My brother was 10. He went on a trip to our family's hometown in Ukraine for the summer with our grandparents as my mom went on some sort of business trip. Fast forward, we're in town going shopping for souvenirs and food. My grandparents decided to stay back at the apartment since the town was full of people they knew and could trust.

Think of it as a rather large neighborhood full of convenience stores and the like. Anyway my brother and I finish up our walk and get onto the city bus to return to our apartment. Around here everyone would hand their money to the passenger in front of them and it'd be passed on to the driver. I understand that it sounds sketchy but that's just how they do it there. I put my money out and hand it to the passenger in front of us and she stops to look back at us when grabbing the money. She is very unusual looking, definitely an

older woman but I couldn't exactly tell her age. And her eyes were massive, not bulging, just large in size. She keeps looking at my brother, then would look away and then would turn back to stare at him. She repeated this staring cycle until we finally got off the bus and got to our grandparents' apartment. I told my grandparents about the old lady despite my brother wanting it to be a secret. For some reason, he believed he'd be in trouble if we talked about it. After my grandparents hear the story, almost instantly, my brother starts to feel sick. He throws up into a trash can and his health steadily declines to the point where it's hard for him to get out of bed. My grandfather sits by his bed, treating him while I hear my grandmother call up her old neighbor,

who she claims was a family friend. I can't hear much about what's being said, but I do hear her mention the lady on the bus and how she kept staring at my brother. They hang up and the neighbor quickly shows up with a bowl of herbs and other stuff that I've never seen before. She makes a little bowl of broth and she has my brother breathe it in, before sipping from the bowl. Within a couple of hours he feels instantly better and the neighbor leaves. My grandmother eventually tells us that she suspected the lady on the bus might have given my brother the evil eye. For those who don't know, the evil eye is a curse that is brought about by giving someone a malevolent glare, usually given to a person when one is unaware. The evil eye curse dates back

about 5,000 years and has been referenced across various religions and cultures, but most significantly in the Jewish, Muslim, and Christian faiths. Another story, although much shorter, was a tale told to me by my grandfather when he was an infant. When he was born, he had medical issues that required having to be put on a breathing machine periodically just to survive. He was born without a father, but at the time, his mother was dating a man who claimed to be proficient with the arts. After a particularly harsh, stressful day for my grandfather, the mom's boyfriend goes out that night and cuts a branch of hickory to the exact length of my grandfather's body. He then buries it and prays over the burial site. The legend goes that as

soon as the body outgrows the stick, even by an inch, that whatever prayer was used would come true. And like a week later, my grandfather suddenly just no longer needed the breathing machine and recovered almost instantly. I don't know if I believe this one as much, but it makes me wonder. Not sure if there's much to it besides pure coincidence, but I always thought it was weird, nonetheless. I have two separate experiences with some homeless people in my town. I will be the first to state that people need to stop being so paranoid about homeless people. However, these two experiences don't really help paint that picture. My friend who I'll refer to as T and I were at Barton Springs by Zilker Park. The weather had started warming up so we decided to bring our

bikes to the trail. I had brought my BMX and a bike lock with me. Now this isn't one of those rubber locks. This lock is a two and three fourths foot chain with a massive steel padlock on it. The chain is one of those quarter-inch tow chains used for trucks and heavy machinery. In other words, the chain is massive, it's heavy, and it has a weight to it. So as we're pedaling around, talking about who knows what, this one guy walks down the trail behind us, steadily on our tails. We didn't think much of it because, I mean, it's a busy trail full of joggers and hikers, but it wasn't until we noticed that he left the trail

at the same time as us and is now loitering in the parking lot. We're hanging around T's cars and, literally, the guy is standing like 10 feet away, walking back and forth in a circle, whistling to himself. This goes on for about 15 minutes and finally, I just wave at him to show that we're on to him and well, turns out, that's exactly what he wanted. He waves back, walks a bit closer and before I get too close to him, he abruptly opens his jacket and flashes us both as junk. Without second guessing, I reactively threw my lock at him. Look, I just wanted to scare him off, that's all. But he kept standing there, jacket still

open, still exposing himself. In the last second, he must have flinched his head away though and the lock made contact with the side of his head at full force. The sound of that lock impacting his skull still sends chills up my spine. I mean, I don't regret throwing it, but I don't think a human skull is meant to withstand that much force. Suddenly, the pervert is on the ground, convulsing, while T calls the cops. Long story short, T and I get off the hook, and they tell us the guy actually has a profile. He's apparently been doing this for years, arrested a few times, but it's the first call they'd had about him in a few months. I was, and still am, freaked out, to say the least. The pervert was actually a pretty known homeless guy around the town, but

there was another homeless guy who we'll call Boots, literally because he wore bright red cowboy boots. He was a pretty casual guy and fairly harmless but when he got drunk, it was like Boots was in another world. He would talk to himself for hours, making us think that he might have been schizophrenic. Afterwards, he would seem lifeless in his stature and some would say his eyes looked hollow as they put it. As I said though, Boots was normally pretty casual to chat with. However, the final interaction I had with him really creeped me out and low-key has me looking over my shoulders every once in a while. One night, we're all chilling in a group of about ten people under an overpass. I excuse myself to go relieve a full bladder by some trees and out of nowhere,

Boots comes up behind me on my way back and just whispers, I'll shoot you in the effing head. And then, he walked off into the dark. It was the last time I saw Boots, and it's been at least a few months. The homeless are some of my favorite people to chill and drink with and like I said, they definitely don't deserve all the fear mongering around them. But it's also dumb to assume that everyone is cool and collected. It just boils down to needing to be careful. In high school, I was friends with that kid.

If you know what I mean, then I'm sorry. If not, then you're very lucky, or you were that kid. They never spoke to anyone, never partook in class, and rarely were in sport events. You could tell that they had a bad upbringing or their current living situation wasn't good for them. These kids are what the media refer to as the lone wolf. However, I always tried to see the positives in people and by senior year I was sort of close with that kid and I'll refer to him as Scott. Looking back, Scott was obviously a psychopath. It became clear that he had no empathy or sympathy and after you got him to open up he would maliciously talk bad

about everyone behind their backs, especially the less fortunate like the disabled and the poor. I didn't really realize it back then but once we got Scott to open up, he would try to cunningly harm people in sneaky ways by either making them trip down steps or put sharp objects in their seats. He also had this sort of delusion that he was living in an 80s movie and would actively emulate characters that he thought were cool. Sometimes he'd walk stiff like the Terminator, but by senior year, he would act like John Bender in The Breakfast Club. I actually preferred his Terminator impression, but watching him act like a rebellious punk towards everyone was cringy, to say the least. To me, and a few other people that knew Scott,

eventually cut all contact with him because it was clear that he had all the signs of a pure lunatic. He would joke about wanting to cut girls' feet off and other similarly disturbing ideas like that. One time, a classmate of ours actually ended up passing away from a car crash, and so in the middle of the grieving auditorium, Scott purposely scoffed loudly and told everyone to grow up. Obviously, he was suspended for that. And years later, I found out that at age 21, Scott became a drug addict and would prey upon and manipulate early year high school girls into doing God knows what. Scott's story ultimately ended with him going to prison for kidnapping a 14 year old girl, breaking her phone, and leaving her in a faraway town,

all because she wouldn't perform for him. One of my friends that was also close to Scott asked if we were partially to blame for his behavior during the last year in high school, that if we hadn't talked to him, then maybe he would have just stayed in his shell, became a desk jockey, and maybe taken his life at 34. I don't like to think of that question because sometimes it keeps me up at night. Anyone I ever knew who met Scott would say that he gave them a creepy vibe, and I truly believe that he's going to be in and out of prison for the rest of his life. To be continued... I work as an art teacher at an elementary school and every Friday I let my classes basically have a freestyle drawing session. They can use whatever supplies they want and draw whatever they want,

no questions asked, and nothing is off limits. I started this as a fun little way to end the week, and now I realize it's a way of basically psychoanalyzing some of the kids. Generally, if you let a kid draw whatever they want, they'll provide you with little insights into their quirky personalities. Sometimes that can be really funny, and I sometimes find myself taking pictures of their work on my phone to show friends and my fellow teachers. But then some of the time, I find myself taking pictures to show the principal and sometimes even the cops. Like this one kid, who once drew a picture of two kids crying in what looked like a box, and then this big scary looking monster outside that looked like it was roaring. Then in the thing's hand was what was clearly looking like a bottle.

I asked the kid what the monster was and he just says, It's mommy when she comes home. That was the first time I took a drawing to the principal and it was later discovered that the kid's mom was basically a raging alcoholic. Social workers went over to the kid's home to find it completely unsafe for children, and they were taken into care before being put into the car of their grandparents while mom went to rehab. I'm not sure she ever got them back. The second time I got a drawing like that was a similar sort of layout.

The kid drew himself crying and a larger male, his father, was clearly standing over the body of a larger female, his mother, while the kid had scribbled patches of red all over the mom's face and chest. A social worker went over and caught the mom home alone, with makeup covering the welts on her face caused by her husband's violent abuse. Definitely very disturbing, but I think the creepiest of them all was the one I'm about to describe. It was a two-part drawing, so picture it like a newspaper cartoon with two panels. The kid was holding something out to some kind of animal in the first drawing,

and in the second, the kid was eating what looked like a mess of red and brown. I asked the kid what the drawing was and he said it was him feeding his family's cat. I asked what he was feeding the cat and the kid gets all cagey. We contacted the family to ask if they let their kid feed the cat from time to time and they said no. Our principal then emailed them a picture of the drawings and didn't hear back from them. The following Monday, the kid isn't in his class and we find out that he's been withdrawn from school. We then hear it through the grapevine from a friend of our staff that the kid was being sent to a behavioral modification school on the other side of the city because he'd fed the family's hamster to their cat. The hamster had gone missing and they figured it

had just gotten out of its little biome somehow before scurrying off under the floorboards or something. It was only when the kid was confronted with the picture that he admitted to having fed the hamster to the family's cat. We all agree that it was an example of some very, very frightening behavior, especially from someone so young. I hope it was just a dumb mistake the kid made and that they seriously regretted doing such a horrid thing. But at the same time, part of me thinks the worst of the behavior is yet to come. So when I was in college I used to pool all nighters and fuel myself with takeout and coffee during exam week like any other student. It was early January so the area around my apartment, which mostly had outstation uni students, was pretty deserted as most of the people hadn't yet returned from their winter break,

but I unfortunately still had an exam left. It was around 2 am that night that my friend and flatmate and I decided to order some food but our usual restaurant wasn't accepting orders online so we decided to head out and grab some cup noodles and soda from a nearby 24-7 store. Anyway, as we walked by most of the usual night stores were shut and even the 24-7 stores closed for some maintenance issue. I was disheartened but still very hungry so I opened my phone trying to see if anything else was open nearby. I was busy browsing my phone for any place that might be open and my friend started messing around saying that she saw something move inside one of the stores and maybe it was following us and I brushed her off as usual as I knew she had a habit of trying to

spook me. However, as we started to head back home, my friend suddenly huddled close to me and told me to call someone. Me being the hungry and dense idiot that I am thought that she meant to call up a restaurant, so I told her in an annoyed tone that I was trying to. We reached a T-point intersection on the main road when my friend suggested that we take the inner lane, which is a shortcut to our apartment, as the streetlights on the main road are out and it's pretty dark there. I agreed quickly as the inner lane is pretty well lit and we know our way around. As we walked into the lane, my friend, who had been acting strangely until now,

started to tug me by my elbow and before I could question her, she looked me in the eye with a somewhat scared smile and told me that we needed to run. She then started to run, like actual full on sprinting. Now usually I ignore her antics when she tries these practical jokes on me but for some reason that night, I too began to run because something in my gut told me to listen to her. However after a bit I was cold and out of breath and yelled at her, Can you just stop? There's no one around, stop messing!

She slowed her pace and turned around and by now I was more than annoyed at her for trying to spook me. Mind you, by this point there were a few feet of gap between us and as I caught my breath and turned to look up at her, I could see her expression had paled all of a sudden. She wasn't looking at me, she was looking behind me. It was at this point my sleep deprived cranky brain realized that something was seriously wrong and heard a noise behind me. What I didn't know was that our stalker who had been steadily following us was only a couple of feet behind me and when I had yelled at her, he had heard me and started to run towards me.

I still can't completely describe that moment. The sound of someone's weird laughter and footfall behind you. The sound of your own beating heart. The way your ears go hot and tingly. It was my body being aware of just a lot, all at once. So when I set my turn back and saw a random, full-grown man sprinting his way towards me, I didn't know how to react. I'd like to think that I could have unfrozen myself, but it wasn't until my friend forcibly gripped me by my arm and started pulling me that I began to run. I heard him yell and roar behind us, but I couldn't understand what he was trying to say and at this point, I was busy running and too scared to turn around. I think it was the adrenaline in my

veins and my friend's grip of my arm that helped me not lose my mind and run the fastest I ever have in my life. We zigzagged our way through the lanes to lose him and we finally managed to get to our block. The last my friend turned to check, he'd begun to slow down in his pursuit when we crossed the barricade to our area. When we entered our apartment building, I crumpled down by the elevator, still trying to process the entire chase and to figure out why had this man decided to even chase us to begin with. My friend then told me she'd seen him looking strangely at us when we were around the convenience store and he was near a truck unloading some boxes. She dismissed him assuming that he was part of the store maintenance crew but something about him had made her feel uneasy. Later on when we were at the T-point

from where we entered the inner lanes, she said that she saw him again with his truck following behind and felt that it could be a coincidence but that she felt that it was still better to take the inner lane where the truck couldn't go in. When she finally saw him for the third time by the corner of the lane silently walking his way towards us, she knew that he was following us for real and that we had to shake him. She always used to jokingly quote me, saying, once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, but thrice is enemy action. I still think it couldn't be more true in this case. Even though a lot of my friends later told me we could have taken him on as he was only one person while we were two. At that time, we didn't want to take chances in case

he had his friends waiting around. To this day, I thank the fact that I trusted my gut to run, even though I was unaware of the exact nature of the danger behind me initially, and also my friend that ran back to drag my dumb self, even when she could have easily outrun him. It's been three years since then and even now my brain automatically tries to scan who is around me and tries to mark out possible exits out of any room. This happened a few years ago when I was in my early teens. I recall these events recently when a friend reminded me of them, so I apologize for the fuzzy memory. Now for context, I'm a female living in a relatively safe country with low drug use. This led me to not worrying too much about my safety when I was out alone, and until I met him.

After school, I would take the bus home. Depending on the bus I took I had to cross at a traffic light. I was waiting to cross the road when I felt like it was being watched. At first I was confused as this was in the afternoon with a decent amount of traffic but then I locked eyes with him and I immediately felt unsafe. He was significantly older and bigger than me. From across the street I could see his eyes were bloodshot and he looked at me with such rage that I froze. Then he started walking towards me through the rush of cars, almost getting hit in the process. This didn't stop him. It only made him angrier and he moved towards me faster.

This snapped me out of my shock and I walked as fast as I could away from him without running. I was convinced if I ran that he would start running after me. I never imagined myself in this situation and panicked. I knew I couldn't lead him near my house so I tried to lose him in between a random stretch of houses. This worked as he could not keep up and eventually lost me. However, without the sound of traffic, I could hear him speaking. He repeated things along the lines of, just wait until I get my hands on you, and girls like you are only good for one thing. I was in a uniformed school and in uniform so I don't know how he arrived at that conclusion.

When I got home I broke down and called my parents. I was convinced that he would find me alone. We tried to file a police report that day but couldn't on account of him and I quote not being an actual threat and him having a record of mental illness. I found out that he lived near my neighborhood which made me even more uneasy. I didn't see him for a few days as my classes would end at different times. I thought this was a single incident and hoped not to see him again. However, the next week as I arrived at a different bus stop, he saw me

I think this helped him find the general area where I lived and I started seeing him around more I would see him around after school, when I went out on the weekends and eventually in the morning before school And this went on for about four months Usually he would come toward me in the same manner, with the same rage and intensity as the first time, but I realized that he never closed the distance between us. I think he simply liked seeing people scared. My parents again tried to gather evidence of the stalking to take legal action, but it was brushed aside. They then tried to find the man themselves to confront him, but strangely he never showed up when they were around.

I believe he watched me and learned my schedule as he would appear at places where I should be but only show up when I was alone. What still scares me is that this makes him seem more intelligent than the authorities believed him to be. I thought this nightmare would never end, but then one day, he just disappeared. No one saw him for a couple of years and in that time I pushed the stalking out of my mind. However, I crossed paths with him near my house two years ago and I don't even know how to describe the exchange. My mind literally went blank and I don't remember most of it. It was his voice that I first recognized. What happened next was a blur. I can only describe it as a fight or flight response. The years worth of anger and fear took over and my mind literally blanked out.

He locked eyes with me and started coming towards me the way he used to. Except this time instead of trying to get away, I went towards him. This I assume caught him off guard as he froze. I have no recollection of doing so and the only thing I remember is physically shaking and feeling cold from the anger. I heard myself yell something at him but I didn't process what it was. He then refused to make eye contact and I watched him walk past me. I saw him once again after that and he simply ignored me. Thinking about it rationally I know what I did could have ended badly but

I really don't know what came over me? This event took place today at around 2pm French time while I was at the university. It's the first time something like this has happened to me. Between two exams, while I had one hour free, I decided to study. In the building where I was, on the second floor, there were benches with high tables, allowing me to work with my computer. There was already a man, about 50 years old, wearing a suit, sitting in one of the benches. I settled down, far enough from this person, after all, there was quite a bit of space. I start to take out my computer when the guy calls me. Miss, did you come out of a freezer? When he said that to me, I was like, what's he talking about? Seeing that I absolutely

didn't understand why he was telling me this, he finally explained that he was telling me this in relation to the fact that despite the current heat wave and sunshine, I was white as a butt. Then he starts laughing, like it was the funniest thing in the world. Quite uncomfortable, I just ignored him, going back to my revisions, hoping to send the message that I didn't want to talk. About five minutes pass in silence, then suddenly, the man gets up, walks through the small corridor between the benches and plants himself in front of me, leaning against the bench that was facing me. In there, he does the most frightening thing I'd ever experienced in 21 years of life. In silence, he has a big smile on his lips for 10 whole minutes.

Very, very uncomfortable, I pretend I didn't notice him, pretending to answer a message on my phone. Spoiler alert, I was actually texting a friend for help and being immersed in my revisions. After those ten long minutes, he finally goes back to his seat and calls me out again, laughing. Did you notice me watching you? Yeah, I noticed. How could I not?

I ended up telling him no, that I'm studying and I'm not paying attention to what's going on around me. Yeah, I was still trying to get him to stop talking to me. And he laughs, like what I said was funny. Then he gets up again and comes back to face me, to stare at me again with this big creepy smile. I ignore him again, starting to think that yeah, I should go. Before I can make a move, he speaks to me again. What's your dream? At this point, I was really questioning this guy's sanity. What was he telling me? At this point in this discussion, it wasn't fear or stress that I was really questioning this guy's sanity. What was he telling me? At this point in this discussion, it wasn't fear or stress that I was feeling. No, it was irritation. I finally told him that right now all I want to be able to do is study in peace. And he laughed again, as if though he was amused by my irritation.

And then he stared at me again for five long minutes. Finally he goes back to his seat and puts his affairs away. God, I've never been so relieved to see someone put their stuff away. I was just praying that he wouldn't put them away and come sit next to me and luckily he doesn't. No, he comes right back in front of me, still with his big creepy smile. I have to go, but I'm not finished. You seem to have an open mind. Then he walks away as if what he said was the most normal thing. Before he leaves, he looks back at me one last time.

Next time, you will answer all my questions. No? That's just out of question. I... Man, what do you mean you want me to answer all your questions? There will never be a next time. I'll never be so uncomfortable with anyone again in my life. I mean, I swear to God, he had a smile on his face for 15 minutes, just staring at me.

Yeah, I never want to experience that again. Ever. I'm a 27 year old woman and I work as a security officer. I've been working for my security company for about five years now. This story was from when I was new to security. At the time, my uniform was black cargo pants, blue button-up short-sleeved shirt, and a nice metal badge that had my company's logo on it. Needless to say, at first glance, I looked like a cop. Without all the extra gear, of course. I usually work nights and get off all the extra gear of course. I usually

work nights and get off at about 7am. On this day I needed to go to an auto parts store to pick up some new light bulbs for my car. Anyway, I get to the shop and walk in. I was still pretty early and there weren't many people in the store. Good news for me because I don't really like interacting with people. I went to the aisle that I needed and grabbed some bulbs. In that moment I noticed an older man looking at me from the end of the aisle. I nodded and smiled at him. Not wanting to be rude, I grabbed my bulbs and walked to the front counter. The older man starts to follow me.

I stand there waiting in line with the man behind me. And when it was my turn, I walk up and the cashier and I start to talk. Are you a cop? No, no, no, just security. I tend to get to ask that a lot though. Oh, okay, sorry about that. I wave my hand at him in a friendly manner. No worries, it doesn't bother me. At that point, the old man behind me decides to chime in. Even though you aren't a cop, you can handcuff me anytime, little lady. I laugh uncomfortably and try to shrug it off. Mind you, at the time, I was about 23 or so years old and this man had to have been older than 40 or 45. I'm serious, little lady.

Cuff me anytime. He holds his hands out to be cuffed and I laugh uncomfortably again. Even if I wanted to cuff you, I couldn't. My company's not hands-on and I don't even have cuffs. Well, that's too bad. I can buy some cuffs if you'd like. I shake my head at this comment and go to pay for my bulbs. Would you like help installing your new bulbs?

Oh, no, that's fine. My mom's going to do it for me. I notice that the old man is still staring at me. I grab my bulbs quickly and walk out of the store. The old man quickly pays for his items and follows me out. Are you sure you don't need help? No, really, it's fine. Have a good day. I wave to him, not wanting to upset him. I get in my car and start to drive away. I quickly realize that he's following me. Not wanting to let him know where I lived, I drove into the parking lot of a Taco Bell and got into the drive-thru line. I wasn't super

hungry at the time, but it was the only thing I could think of. I go through the line and order my food. I then park in the lot and slowly begin to eat, hoping the guy would get bored and drive away. Sadly, this wasn't the case. He was still sitting a few spots down staring at me. I turned on my car and drove to the gas station. I filled up my car, not that it needed any gas. I then started to drive around randomly, trying to think of something I could do to lose this guy. I thought, screw it. I drove into a nice neighborhood and started to take as many twists and turns as I could. The second I couldn't see this man in my rearview mirror, I stepped on the gas and hurried out of that neighborhood and into mine. I quickly parked

and ran inside. I told my mother about it and ran to my room to hide. Thankfully, that man never found me and I never saw him again. From that day on I hated my uniform and swore to never wear it outside of work ever again. I started wearing tank tops under my work shirt and when I clocked out for the day I would remove my work shirt and just put it in my bag to avoid ever having to have an interaction like that again. It was a 2am type of late on a Friday night after a party. Me and her, both 18, are at the local state park admiring the moonlight and each other's you-know-what's at the lakeside.

I hear slow, calculated footsteps behind us, the kind of slow that makes you think someone is trying to hide their approach. I don't remember if it was crunchy leaves or what that gave them away but I'm just glad I turned around. I look back and see two shadow figures were there coming towards us from the road and maybe 50 yards away. My car was behind them and we were definitely the only people in the entire park at this time late at night. I stand up and I say out loud something like, guys, what's up? They don't respond but keep moving towards us until I say to them with a little more tension, stop moving.

They stop maybe 30 feet from us and all a little more visible now. One's got a tank top and camo pants. The other has full camo pants and jacket and what I'm pretty sure was a black paintball mask. Tank top guy starts with, hey guys, sorry we didn't mean to scare you and says that they were just noticing my car parked there illegally and that cops ticket all the time here at night so i said thank you for letting us know but then they didn't move and there was an awkward silence so i said all right great thank you Again and still nothing except tank top tried to talk about parking tickets again. I noticed paintball mask guy had his hands stuffed in his jacket pocket so I thought it was time to ask him to remove them. It was an awkward silence.

Of course he didn't so I asked him again. Another silence. He finally removed them and that was it. The guy walked away and kind of just disappeared into the woods. We ran to our car spooked and couldn't stop checking in the rearview mirror the whole way out of the park. We checked the computer when we get home and find out all kinds of complaints were being made there about assaults on couples at night. In the 80s, there was a serial murderer on couples there too who'd never been caught. All around spooky and until now I have unnecessary laser focus peering behind me at night. When I, a 23 year old female was 12ish years old, I was potentially almost kidnapped. I was sitting in my living room which has a large window facing the main road when I heard someone knock on the door in the mudroom that's attached to the living room. My dad was downstairs playing on his drum set and it was well into the evening. I thought it was strange but figured maybe it was someone

who wanted to ask him to play quieter. We got many noise complaints over the years. When I opened the main door there was a man, probably in his 40s or 50s, wearing what looked like casual business clothes. Jeans, black shoes, and a button up. Standing there that I definitely didn't recognize. I didn't really think much of it but kept the screen door closed as a precaution. And here's how I vaguely remember our encounter playing out. Hi, I was wondering if I could use your phone. I need to call someone. Uh, sorry, we don't have a landline and I don't have a cell phone.

I lied because I had a bad gut feeling. Oh, that's okay. Do you think I could at least have a glass of water? I can wait here while you grab it. Sorry, we just moved in and haven't unpacked our glasses yet. Again, a huge lie, but I was panicked. And through the window you could clearly see we had lived here for some time. The creepy dude, trying way too hard to be friendly.

Well, that's alright. Do you have a hose I could drink from? Me, definitely freaked out. Uh, yeah. It's actually right there on the ground. And I pointed the outdoor hose a couple of feet from the door. And the creepy dude with an even wider smile. Oh, thank you. Do you think you could turn it on for me?

At this point, I'm terrified. Uh, sorry, no, I don't know how it works. The creepy dude, visibly a bit angry but trying to hide it. Oh, come on. You don't know how to use a hose? At this point, my fight or flight was in full force, so I just slammed the door, locked it, and ran downstairs to my dad. I told him what happened, and he stormed outside with a baseball bat,

but the guy was gone by the time my dad got outside, and I never saw him again after that. It still freaks me out to think of what he might have done if he had got a hold of me. So this happened last year in 2021. I had just turned 18, so I had no problem coming home late at night, even on school nights. We were on second shift at school. Our classes started around 2pm and ended around 7.30. For me and my friend, that didn't really matter, and we started walking home as usual. We live really far away from each other, but as soon as we accompany each other to either of our homes, we wait for the closest bus station for the other one.

That's because he lives on the edge of town and I live in the center. So this night we were feeling more active than usual and our conversation was flowing perfectly so we decided to stay out a bit longer than usual. We were walking around until we decided it was too late, around 2330. We were near his home, so he waited at the bus stop with me. So we're waiting for the bus, and it's just us and some random dude in his mid-thirties. Just some guy near a bin at the stop, and talking on what I thought was his hand-free headphones. Because we're still talking, I didn't pay too much attention to the guy. Just to clarify, me and my friend have long hair, we're both metalheads and I'm around

5'6 and work out regularly and my friend is not the most athletic guy I know despite being over 6 foot. So the bus comes, we say goodbye and I get on the bus and sit on the seat next to the window on the back side of the bus. As soon as I sit on the seat, this guy rushes in the bus, sit on the seat next to the window on the back side of the bus. As soon as I sit on the seat, this guy rushes in the bus, while getting his face really close to mine, staring at me the whole time and sits on the same row as me but on the opposite side. I was paralyzed with fear because nothing like this has ever happened to me and I didn't know how to react. I can still remember

those crazy eyes being right up in my face. I stayed calm and didn't really look at him, as that would suggest that I wanted to talk with him. So I stared in front of me, just so I could see him with the side of my eye. On the four seats in front of me was an old lady that was just watching all of this. So it's just the three of us, and I'm thinking, what can I do if he comes close to me? I had an umbrella and was thinking of hitting him if he wanted to try and do something. At this point, the bus starts moving, but I can still see and feel this guy staring at me from the opposite side of the row. And then he starts saying some really messed up stuff like,

I saw you two little gays. I have in my backpack robots that will kill you. Do you want to see them? You little pieces of trash. At that point I was completely sure that I would die and me and the old lady were just staring at each other and knew what the other one was thinking because I saw the same fear I was having in her eyes. The next few minutes felt like forever because he wouldn't shut up saying stuff like how he hates gay people and other things I don't remember and how these robots with knives would butcher us up and so on. So the next stop comes and me and the old lady just bolt out of there and just looking at each other with relief and hope that he didn't and doesn't get

out with us. Luckily he stayed in the bus but my heart was pumping so hard I couldn't bring myself to wait for the next one to get home. So I just speed walked the rest of the hour and a half home constantly looking over my shoulder out of paranoia and even my voice was shaking because I woke up my girlfriend just so I can have someone to talk to for the rest of the way home. After I got home I was sitting still on one of the chairs in the living room processing what had just happened. I don't know if he would have done anything because he could have been crazy after all but I'm glad I didn't man up and stand there to find out. This is my grandmother's story that she told me before she passed a couple of years ago. Staying there throughout my childhood, her and my grandpa would go around every night

and lock every door and window in the house and then triple check that they locked them. I just assumed that's how they were, as they lived out in the country and not in a city where you would expect break-ins. Well, my grandma was reminiscing one day and asked my grandpa if he remembered the guy who was watching them sleep. Apparently, my grandma had woken up in the middle of the night to see a figure standing at the foot of her and my grandpa's bed. At first, she thought it was my dad or one of my aunts, but then realized that they were all out of the house that night. Like I said before, she lived in the country so someone breaking into the home never would have crossed her mind.

So she thought it was one of the ghosts that inhabited their house. This is a story for another time, but they were and still are very real and prominent in the home and almost everyone in the family has had encounters with them at some point. So she fell back asleep. A couple of days later my grandma woke up and found that she couldn't go back to sleep so she went out into the living room. She said it was like 4am. When she walked in she immediately noticed a man she didn't know lying on their couch.

Of course, she freaked out and started yelling at him and asking him what he was doing in their house. He simply replied something along the lines of, You let me stay here the last few nights. I'll stay on the couch this time. Mind you, my grandma had five kids living with her and my grandpa in only three bedrooms, so he had been going into and or sleeping in her and her children's rooms for days. Her yelling woke my grandpa up who came out with a gun and scared the guy off. He tried coming back the next night too, but my grandpa stayed up with a gun and shot at him a couple of times to scare

him off the property. It shook both my grandparents up so much that for over 40 years, they locked up their entire house and triple checked the locks before going to bed. So yeah, I guess the moral of the story is always lock your doors, even if you think it's safe because people are insane. I live in a rather old apartment complex that was built back when the suburb I live in was more rural. Because of this, the complex property is rather large with a lot of green space between each building, and all the buildings in the complex are arranged to be facing a large open courtyard type area. There are quite a few lights on the front of each building but not many on the sides of the buildings, so the green spaces between each building are fairly dark at night. I took my dog out rather late one evening to give him one last opportunity to go to the bathroom before he went to sleep.

Because it was so late, I decided to just hang around the green space next to my building instead of taking the dog for a proper walk around the courtyard area like I usually do. As I'm standing there while my dog heavily sniffs a patch of grass, I notice a guy dressed in all black walking on the opposite side of the courtyard. He sees me looking in his direction and he turns into one of the green spaces next to a building on the opposite side. I can faintly see the outline of him and I'm getting a little creeped out because he looks to be standing just there in the darkness. After a few moments I notice him light up a cigarette and I try and chill out, telling myself he likely just needed to smoke and is hiding out there to keep from being seen since my complex has a no smoking policy.

I go back to walking my dog around the green space next to my building, trying to coax him into doing his own business. Eventually he finds a suitable spot and assumes position. I look away from him and notice the smoker has put his cigarette out and he's now walking in a straight line across the courtyard directly toward me, staring directly at me. I'm kind of panicking now, kicking myself for not bringing anything to protect myself with me and for stupidly thinking, who's going to mess with a woman walking an 80 pound dog? The 80 pound dog who is currently crouching to poo, who I am not confident would stop pooing to protect me. Suddenly, smoker guy takes a hard right and walks into the green

space on the other side of the building to the right of my building. My dog finishes what he's doing and I initially go to get a bag out to pick it up, but as I'm freaked out and I don't know where Smoker Guy is, I just say to myself, screw it, and run back to my apartment and lock the door. I go over to a window that faces the area I was just in and I peek out in time to see the Smoker Guy come out of the darkness right behind where I was standing. He had gone through the green space and behind the neighboring buildings so that he could come up behind where I was standing. I stood motionless next to the window,

watching him as he stood there for a second and then began looking around by the front of the buildings, I assume trying to see if I was still outside. Eventually he started walking back toward the courtyard and I grabbed my phone and called the police. I haven't seen him since then, but I am worried he lives in one of the buildings in my complex. I don't take my dog out that late anymore and have started carrying pepper spray with me on our walks. Hopefully I never need to use it. When I was 13 or 14, my mother's friend asked if I would like to babysit her kids for a few hours one night. I live in a rural town and to get to their house you have to drive to the outskirts of town, about 15 minutes

up a steep and narrow hill surrounded by forest. Their house was just off the road. Now if you pass their house, the road continues up into the mountains and forest and eventually starts heading down the other side and onto a main road, where you can turn right and head back to the town. This is a substantially longer route if you want to head back to town, also pitch black as you're driving through woods. I was so excited and felt grown up to babysit. Mom's friend was lovely and her husband was a police officer. My dad dropped me off and mom's friend would be going to give me a lift home and I was there for a few hours, 11pm or so, and all went well. When they returned, the mother said her husband, the police officer, was going to drive me home. As we started off,

he didn't turn right, back down the road, the way that we had come. He turned left, heading up the mountain and into the forest, and I asked him, why are you going this way? He replied, it's just another way. Those were the only words he spoke to me, and we sat in silence. We drove slowly, deeper into the forest. When I said it was a longer route, I mean 45 minutes drive instead of 15. I thought it was weird, but I was a naive and innocent kid. At one point I asked him if we were nearly there yet and there was no answer. I remember thinking that maybe they had an argument as they were pretty cold with each other when they got home. He did drop me off home safe and sound and I thought nothing of it. Until I was an adult and the memory popped into my head

one day. I don't understand why a grown man and a police officer would take that route with a young teen at 11.30 at night and I often wonder if he had truly sinister reasons. I didn't babysit for them again. Maybe I knew deep down that it was weird. This happened pre-pandemic in June to July of 2019. I, a 22-year-old female, had just come through the front entrance of my local Aldi with my three-month-old son in the pram. I was making my way down the first aisle when I came across a cluster of people blocking my way. I politely made myself known and proceeded to squeeze around the side of them. Everyone shuffled out of the way, but the middle-aged woman nearest to me spat out an F-U, just loud enough for me to hear. Startled and confused, I looked back at her and she was glaring at me.

She produced a handheld camera, not her phone, an actual camera, from her handbag and held it in my direction with her finger on the shutter release button. She rounded into the next aisle, continuing to stare and hold her camera in my direction before disappearing. If anyone hasn't been to an Aldi before, they typically have one of two full-sized shelves on the outside then several long bins on the inside, depending on the size of the building. I was a bit unnerved, but didn't say anything and continued my shopping.

I saw her a couple of times after this, still glaring at me and doing whatever she was doing with her camera. I couldn't for the life of me figure out what I had done to offend her so much, but it was starting to make me feel unsafe. The last time I saw her she was at the checkout, still filming me. I'd finished my shopping as well at this point, but decided to keep browsing as only one checkout was open and didn't want to go near her. It's been over three years since that incident and I still kick myself that I didn't loudly bring attention to her behavior and report her. I'm glad I haven't come across her again. To be continued... Hey friends, thanks for listening. Click that notification bell to be alerted of all future narrations.

I release new videos every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 7pm EST. 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.