The Lets Read Podcast - 208: WHY I CRIED ON MY BIRTHDAY | 24 True Scary Stories | EP 196

Episode Date: October 10, 2023

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

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mind. Roy was a really nice guy, super personable and a really amazing friend. Everyone who met him loved him. His literal only flaw was the fact that he smoked heavily. Like very heavily. At least a pack and a half a day. He was overweight and everyone was worried about him. That he would die early from lung cancer and being overweight wasn't helping his chances, but he never listened to us. He was one of those guys that actually enjoyed smoking and how it made him feel. He'd always say, come on guys, just let me live my life. I don't want to quit. It made me and the rest of his friends sad that he didn't value his life like we did. None of us wanted to lose him, sure, but we also wanted to see him succeed and have a family of his own one day.

The event that occurred that has me writing this happened on a cold winter night in December. One of our mutual friends Mo was getting married and of course he invited Roy. He was always the life of the party wherever he went since everyone knew and loved him so much. The only thing about this party was there was a very strict no smoking rule as children would be in attendance and the other guests expressed not wanting to be in a cloud of smoke during this amazing day. Roy told me that he really wanted to go to the wedding and reception but he was nervous that he wouldn't be able to last that long without a smoke and would feel embarrassed to leave because everyone would know what he was leaving to go do.

Part of me was relieved to hear him say that because being embarrassed by smoking meant that maybe Roy had begun to dislike his smoking habit. It gave me hope that maybe one day soon he would quit. I tried to reassure him that everything would be okay and worse comes to worse he could sneak away for a quick smoke and be back before anyone noticed. I was trying to be supportive and not enabling but I also know someone with a pack and a half a day habit isn't going to be able to last hours without getting nicotine withdrawals that would make his life just absolute torture. Roy snuck out a few times during the ceremony for a quick smoke and it didn't seem to bother anyone.

I felt for him. I was addicted to smoking for so long and I knew how hard it was to quit or to try and go without them for a while. Things would change at the reception though. It was being held at Moe's house and it was in a very cramped part of town. Moe lived in a townhouse and there was nowhere Roy could really go to sneakily have his cigarettes. He came to me, sweaty and worried, and told me that he was just going to have to leave if he didn't find somewhere to have a smoke. I didn't really know how to help him or what to say, but I did tell him this day was important and to find a way to

stay and support his friend. He nodded and then I watched as he walked out the front door. I have no idea that that would be the last time I or anyone else would see him alive. What I tell you next is what the police hypothesized happened to Roy. Roy exited Moe's house and turned right down the street. He walked about a hundred feet where he found a small alleyway between two townhouses blocked by a gate. He must have thought that it would be a perfect place to have a smoke where no one at the reception would see him, so he pried open the gate and very carefully squeezed himself between the two buildings and closed the gate behind him to ensure that no one could see him. He stood with his back against one of

the buildings as he wasn't quite small enough to fit facing the gate, the space was just that small. He then took out his pack of cigarettes, slid one out and lit it, placing it between his lips. Sometime during the process Roy managed to drop his pack of cigarettes without thinking and bent over to retrieve them. As he bent down, he became wedged between the walls of the two buildings. He was stuck with the top portion of his body almost upside down since he was bending down to reach for his pack of cigarettes. In his position, his chest was pressing against his legs as he slid further down the wall toward the ground,

only becoming more and more stuck with each passing minute. It's said that even if he wanted to call out for help, there's no way that he could have with his chest being restricted while in the position he then found himself in. Eventually, his cigarette escaped from between his lips, fell onto one of his legs and burnt a hole in his pants. It didn't take long for Roy to suffocate to death. With his weight crushing his own lungs, it became impossible for him to take a breath. He told no one where he was going and everyone at the reception, including myself, just assumed that he had left without saying goodbye. It was out of character, but

sometimes people just act out of character. Roy was capable of taking care of himself and he wasn't the person people usually worried about. He was just one of those guys that seemed to have the best luck. After a few days of no one hearing anything from Roy, I called the police. A search was conducted near Moe's house as that was the last place he was seen and his body was eventually found in that same position in that small alleyway. He had almost completely frozen from being out in the cold for almost three days and nights and it was a big ordeal trying to get him out.

His mom was called to identify the body even though we all knew it had to be him. We were horrified of course and mourning Roy was one of the hardest things any of us had ever had to do. We expected smoking to maybe kill him one day, sure, but not in the way that it had. The guilt I carry is extreme. I should have told him that it was okay for him to go home if he was having a hard time, and it would have saved his life. His funeral was packed with all the people who loved him. We shared stories about his life and how great of a person he was. I just still can't help but think maybe he'd still be here if we never shamed him so much for smoking. I hate weddings. Everything about them.

I hate the sappiness. I hate the same overused color palette. I hate buffet style food. The list could literally go on forever. But worst of all, I hate all my friends trying to set me up at their weddings. For some reason no one understands that I have no desire to be in a relationship or even get married myself one day. Contrary to popular opinion, I actually enjoy being by myself. It's nice. The thought of waking up to a man laying next to me literally sounds horrible.

I don't need someone to share my life with. I don't need romance. I just need my dog and a hot cup of coffee in the morning before I go to work. That's it. But since I choose to surround myself with the friends I made in college, and since I choose to put up with their mundane, loser boyfriends, I'm stuck going to at least three weddings a year for the past four years. Now, you may think I'm being harsh by insulting my friends' husbands, but I'm not. It's not

necessarily harsh if you're really just telling it like it is. I love all my friends a lot, so I wouldn't actually tell them any of this to their faces, but I just want to make it clear for the sake of writing about what happened, all the feelings I was feeling throughout this period of my life. So to get to the point, I'll begin by telling you this all starts with my friend Yolanda getting married and, of course, inviting me to the big day. I wasn't thrilled when I got the invitation, just like I'm never thrilled when I get any invitation to any social situation. But Yolanda was one of my very close friends and I knew I had to go. Not just because she wanted me to go, but for once I actually wanted to be at a stupid wedding. Yolanda wasn't just a friend I'd met in college.

She and I had been friends since birth. Literally. Our moms were best friends so we of course also were best friends. And besides, I didn't find her fiance as insufferable as the others that I'd met of my friends. And the day came and it was sweet seeing her so happy. For once I wasn't so miserable at a wedding I was attending and I kept thinking to myself this isn't so bad but Q this ended up being so bad. Yeah, this day ended up being the beginning of the worst five months of my life. During the reception, all my friends were introducing me to

different men that, of course, I was never into. But there was something different about Alec. This man straight up would not leave me alone. Once one of my friends had introduced me to him, he just followed me everywhere I went. Even when my friends had introduced me to him, he just followed me everywhere I went. Even when I tried to escape him by going to the bathroom, after 20 minutes of hiding inside, he would be there waiting for me to come out. This guy was so annoying and started to be really creepy. He just kept repeating that he was an empath and would not stop begging me to let him tell me what kind of person he knew I was. Literally just kept saying, oh please, please let me tell you about yourself,

I can teach you how to grow as a person. To which I kept responding, I know myself very well, thanks. I even tried just ignoring the guy, but that didn't even work. Eventually he just took it upon himself to, as he called it, empathically telling me all about myself. Which weirdly enough, just ended up being a bunch of insults about my personality. One that stood out was that he told me that I was a coward and just didn't know it, and I could prove that wasn't true by giving him a chance. After standing there for what felt like hours listening to this man try to destroy my self-esteem, I just walked away. He followed until finally I turned to him and screamed in his face

to stop following me, stop talking to me, leave me alone, and that he was creeping me out. He said nothing. Instead he got this serious look, almost angry look on his face and slowly turned around and left the reception altogether. From then on out I'd receive emails from Alec telling me how he forgave me and I didn't need to worry about apologizing. He would set up dates and tell me when and where to meet him and when I never showed he would write to me saying how worried he was about me. I don't know what friend gave him my email but I swear to god if I ever find out I'll be punching them in the face. And that's when the visit started. I began

getting knocks on my door. He would call out to me saying that he knew I was in there and that I needed to just let him in so we could talk. He tried the knob a couple of times which I found exceptionally scary but for some reason I thought that he was innocent enough so I didn't report him to the police. Instead, I began blocking his email addresses and whenever he messaged me on social media, I blocked him there as well. Then I started getting gifts left on my doorstep to my apartment. Just stuff like chocolates and teddy bears and the occasional balloon. I always just threw the stuff away because I found all of what was happening incredibly creepy, obviously. When I told my friends what was happening, they told me that I had a stalker and needed to get a restraining order immediately.

The friend who had originally introduced him to me ended up telling me that she barely even knew him and that he was a friend of a friend of her husband's and had been someone's plus one and he had actually asked her to introduce him to me. I told them that I'd think about reporting the stalkerish behavior but I wasn't too concerned. He never tried to get to me actually in person besides the few times he showed up at my door. Until one night. I had gotten off of work late and was walking to my car in the parking garage around 2am when I saw him. He was walking toward me from the other end of the parking garage and all he said was, There you are, sweetie. Ready to come home with papa? Daddy missed his little baby. And I swear to God, the scream that came out of my mouth was one of pure terror as I bolted to my car. The distance I had to cover was slightly less than that of what was between him and my car, and it felt like a race to save my life.

Thank goodness he was overweight, otherwise maybe I wouldn't have been able to outrun him. With only about 20 feet between myself and him, I reached my car, opened my door, shoved myself inside, slammed it behind me, and locked the doors as fast as I could. He reached the car only seconds later, and with wide eyes and sweat dripping down his face, soaking his clothes, he said to me, Baby, baby, baby, come out. Daddy just wants to play. Come home with papa. He slammed his fists into the window as my engine roared to life. He began shouting at me to just get out of the car, as I sobbed while putting my car in reverse. I saw him run toward what I assumed was his car and as fast as I could,

I peeled out of the parking garage and made my way toward the police station. In my rearview mirror, I saw him following behind me, weaving between cars to get as close as possible. On my right, I saw the police station come into view. I pulled in and with no thought put my car in park right in front and hopped out. I ran inside the building with tears streaming down my face and a panicked voice I screamed, help me, someone help me, I think he's going to kill me. And that's when Alec came bursting in, grabbing me by my hair and trying to drag me out. Thankfully, officers surrounded him faster than the blink of an eye. They even drew their guns and I could hear as all their voices demanded that he let me go. He released his grip on my hair and slowly put his hands up.

They then tackled him to the ground and immediately arrested him. There's really not much else to say from that. He's still awaiting trial at the time I'm writing this. I know a lot of people say, you know, I don't know what they were going to do to me even though they had duct tape and a shovel in their car. It's cliche and stupid, but for me, I know. I know what he was going to do to me. He was going to kill me. I'm a 34 year old female who is really into Halloween. Like incredibly into Halloween. I was never allowed to celebrate when I was younger because my parents always told me that it was a gateway into devil worship. It really sucked not being able to go out with friends that night. I was jealous when I saw everyone else decorating for the spooky holiday,

but I was just sitting at home reading the books my parents approved of and doing the activities they allowed like homework and cleaning. I mention all this so you understand why my obsession became a little overboard into adulthood. I guess I was making up for lost time. My parents and I had a falling out when I was in my early 20s when I finally had the courage to mention to them how much I hated my childhood. They never understood what they did wrong and thought my upbringing was as perfect as it could have been. I resented them and by the time I was 27 I decided I no longer wanted them in my life. All I ever got was criticism from them and all I ever wanted was to get away. So I did. I packed my bags and moved to eastern Pennsylvania.

I'd already graduated nursing school and been working for about a year at that point and had chosen an apartment close to the hospital I'd be working at. I never really thought that I'd be a nurse, but my friends decided that that's what they were going to do and being the follow-the-leader type person I am, I went along with them. I ended up actually loving it though. I'm very much a people person so that aspect of the job really appealed to me and blood and other typically gross things people think of that come from the human body never really freaked me out. The feeling of getting to help people and make them feel comfortable in an

otherwise uncomfortable situation was always such a big reward at the end of the day. While working at the hospital for about four years, I'd eventually gotten to know the man who would eventually be my husband very well. His name is Andrew, but everyone called him Andy. He was working as one of the attendings at the hospital at the time. When he finally asked me to marry him, I was so happy. It had taken him four long years to finally pop the question, and I was honestly even a little shocked when he finally did it. When the time came around to begin planning the wedding, I was adamant that we have our wedding on Halloween. Originally, I wanted it on Halloween and with a theme to match the day, but Andy said the theme was too much and I had to settle for a normal traditional wedding on the actual day of Halloween.

I thought that was a pretty fair compromise given that it was our big day and not just mine. I was able to sneak a few pumpkins into the decorations but I figured he wouldn't mind. The day came and I was so excited. I didn't invite my parents and if I did I'm sure that they wouldn't have come anyways since they never left the house on Halloween. It makes me laugh even writing that because it's so ridiculous and they'll never see it. When we pulled up to the venue I was completely shocked. They had gone totally all out with the Halloween decorations. It looked incredible, like everything I had originally wanted. My first thought though was how scared I was that Andy would think that I had done it. It turns out he surprised me with the wedding I originally

suggested, and it was amazing. When I walked down the aisle, I noticed everyone was even in costume. During the reception, people made toasts while staying in character with what their costumes were. It was hilarious. After about an hour went by during the reception, a loud crashing sound was heard coming from the catering tent. Everyone looked over to try to see what had happened and that's when we all saw one of the waiters come out, clutching his stomach as his shirt began to stain with blood. People began laughing and cheering, even I did. We were at a Halloween themed wedding, we figured it was part of the show. I thought it was something my

husband had arranged. One of the other waiters came running to the man's side and screamed at us to call 911, but it just made everyone cheer and whistle more. It became so loud that I couldn't even hear what the guy was saying. I got out of my seat and made my way closer to the crowd of people now surrounding the two very convincing actors. They had started throwing money on the two, and the poor guy taking care of his friend had begun to cry and just kept saying please as everyone applauded them for their dedication to their role. After around five minutes went by with no change in what was happening right in front of us and a large pool of blood now spreading around them, the wedding goers seemed to get bored and I watched

as they started to walk away. I made my way to the front of the crowd and knelt down to let them know that they could stop now. The guy holding on to his friend looked me in the eyes as his own were wet with tears and said, You don't understand. I've been trying to tell everyone this whole time. This isn't a joke. We aren't acting. This is real and my friend's bleeding out on the floor and nobody does anything to help him. And I was shocked. At first I didn't believe him and started to crack a smile, but he insisted. He told me he would have called the police, but he had to stay with his friend.

He didn't know what would happen to him if he left him with a bunch of people who thought that he was faking it. And it kind of seemed like he was just panicking. And that's why I screamed at the top of my lungs for everyone to be quiet and for the music to stop. I called my husband over and relayed to him the situation as he immediately went into doctor mode. He cut the man's shirt off which exposed a very large and deep laceration into his abdomen. Thankfully 911 was finally called and all we could do was put pressure

on the wound and hope that our stupidity and lack of common sense wouldn't cost this poor man his life. My husband rode with him in the ambulance as police sectioned off the scene to try to figure out what exactly happened and how that guy had gotten so badly injured during the reception. As far as we could tell, it was an accident. No one else was in the catering tent with him. They were however very concerned with the fact that it took 8 whole minutes for the police to be called. 8 minutes while the man was bleeding out on the floor and everyone watched and even cheered. That night was spent waiting for news on the man's condition and he ended up needing surgery and spent multiple nights at the hospital.

He was expected to make a full recovery though and was actually really understanding about what happened that night. It turns out he managed to cut himself on one of the knives in the catering tent. He wasn't sure exactly how and said when it happened he was more just focused on getting help as fast as possible. He said it was really unfortunate timing on a really unlucky night, but he didn't blame any of us for thinking it was an act. He actually laughed about it saying how, of course, that was his luck. We have stayed in touch with him and after talking to him, he told me that he was okay with me telling the story as long as I didn't share his name or any way to identify him.

And he's doing a lot better now and even owns his own catering company. Although now he does refuse to work on Halloween night. Before I get started telling you about the worst night of my life that was actually supposed to be the best night of my life, I have to give you a little bit of backstory to make it make sense. You see, the man I ended up marrying is the exact opposite of the man I dated in my younger years. I'm not ashamed to say that I'm a recovered drug addict, but that should also tell you something about the people I used to hang around and, at some points, date. I wasn't raised in the nicest of neighborhoods and I didn't have the kind of parents that cared what I did or where I went. I was lucky if I came home and there was actually

food in the fridge. I ended up dropping out of high school at 15 and moving in with my boyfriend at the time. He was 24. And yeah, I know what you're all thinking. A 24 year old with a 15 year old girl is gross and in no way okay, but I was 15. I thought it was cool that an older guy wanted to be with me. My parents didn't even question where I was going when they saw me moving things out of the house so I just figured everything was fine. My friends from school kept telling me not to move in with him but I thought that they were just jealous so I did it anyway and cut all of them out of my life. Now we'll call this guy that I moved in with Jonas. Jonas was a meth addict. I say was but honestly I'm 99% sure that he still

is. The house I moved into was completely disgusting. Like rotting floors, mold everywhere, and random people would come in and out all day and during all hours of the night. Part of me regretted moving in with him, but I was stubborn and I didn't want to prove my friends right. Besides, life with Jonas was fun, or so my 15 year old self thought. We would smoke all the time, he got me whatever I wanted, by shoplifting of course, and he was nice to me. Well, not actually nice to me, he would compliment me and tell me how amazing I was and that he loved me, but at the same time, he would hit me whenever he got high. He always apologized after, and I always forgave him. After all, I had nowhere to go, and he always reminded me no one would ever love me as much

as he did. Well, I bet you can guess what happened next. I eventually got hooked on meth. I was 16 when he first asked me if I wanted to try it. I said no a few times but he kept pressuring me and begging me just to try it. And I finally gave in. I couldn't describe the exact feeling to you even if I wanted to. All I knew was that I needed to feel that feeling again. And I think I finally realized I had a problem about a year in when I couldn't stop. I had to have it. I couldn't even go half a day without getting high and it was all I thought about and it completely consumed me. One day I ran into one of my childhood friends who was a few years older than me at the store when

I was about 18 years old and she just gasped when she saw me. Her mouth was wide open as she stared at me and I knew why. I looked horrible. My teeth were rotting. My hair was disgusting. The clothes I wore were ratty. I was gross. And I have no problem admitting that. It is what it is. When she finally managed to speak, all she said was, what happened to you? At that moment, all I felt was shame. I wanted to shrivel up in a little ball and disappear. We actually ended up talking for a few hours that day and for some reason I told her everything that had happened in the few years since we last talked. She listened to me and hugged me and told me that she wanted to help me. Her husband worked at a rehabilitation center and she was sure that she could get me in if I was willing.

I honestly didn't think that I was ready for that, but I also knew that I probably would never be ready. I had this opportunity right in front of me to get help and I knew so many people didn't have that so I took it. I agreed to go to rehab. I left Jonas that night. And when he found out where I was going, anger didn't even begin to cover how he felt. He beat me, threw all my stuff on the grass outside the house and lit it on fire and told me dying was the only way I would ever be rid of him. I said nothing. I called my friend and her and her husband were at the house in just under 10 minutes. Jonas screamed

and yelled as I got in the car. As we were driving away he told me my life would be nothing without him. I left and I never looked back. I got through rehab and have been clean for the past nine years. I won't lie to you and tell you that it's been easy. It hasn't. I was instructed by one of my therapists in rehab to move out of state so I wouldn't be surrounded by the same people and places that influenced me in the first place. So I did as she said and moved to Montana. I went back to school and got my GED and eventually went to college and graduated with a teaching degree. I got a job at the local elementary school teaching history and met the man I now call my husband. I never knew that I could be so happy or that a man could

treat me so well. But there I was, the happiest I'd ever been in my life with a stable job and in a serious, incredible relationship. When he asked me to marry him, I was overjoyed. I was so excited. I began planning immediately, and of course the guest list would be on the small side, but that wasn't important. I was just happy to be getting married to the man of my dreams. The day of the wedding rolled around and I was nervous. Not cold feet nervous, just nervous and excited for the day and hoping that it would be as amazing as I thought it

would be. I was wrong, and I'll tell you why. The ceremony went perfectly. We said our vows, everyone cried, including me, and it was amazing. It was everything I had dreamed of and more. Then came the reception. We had booked a fairly small outdoor venue and paid to have those big party tents set up in case it started to rain and we would still be covered. People began making their toasts and when the time came, my husband and I began our first dance together as husband and wife. As I held onto my husband's arm while we swayed to the music, I swore I was going crazy when I saw him.

I knew it had to be a dumb joke my mind was playing on me, but it was no joke. He was really there, and I froze, terrified as I watched him make his way toward me, carrying something that was covered by a blood-soaked towel. I couldn't speak. I don't know why I couldn't, but no words would come out no matter how much I tried.

Maybe it was a panic attack. But either way, I was desperately looking around at other people, hoping they noticed what was scaring me so bad. My husband was whispering something in my ear but I couldn't even hear him. Everything was being tuned out and the only thing I could focus on was Jonas getting closer and closer to me with every step he took. Finally someone noticed and I was relieved when I saw my husband's brother get out of his seat and physically stop Jonas from getting any closer to me. And that's when he did it. He uncovered what he was carrying and threw it right in my face.

It hit me hard. Whatever it was, was heavy and wet and hit me with so much force I was on the ground in seconds. I couldn't believe what was happening. I looked down and noticed that I was covered in blood. The room started spinning and I started hyperventil happening. I looked down and noticed that I was covered in blood. The room started spinning and I started hyperventilating. I could hear Jonas screaming, but at that point I couldn't focus enough on anything to tell what he was saying. And finally I just passed out. When I woke up, I was in the back of an ambulance getting my dress cut off so they could look for wounds. They weren't exactly sure if the blood was mine or if it all came from the pig's head. Yes, you read that right. Jonas had actually thrown a separate pig's head directly at my face.

I had a few cuts on my face from where the head hit me and had unfortunately swallowed some of the blood that had forced its way into my mouth on impact. My husband apparently insisted I be taken to the hospital to test for any diseases I may have gotten from it. After I passed out, a bunch of men in my husband's family tackled Jonas to the ground and beat him severely until he was bloody and unconscious. When the police got there they also just ended up taking him to the hospital as well where he was treated for internal injuries from the beating. I was fine apart from the mental trauma and a couple scrapes and bruises from where I was hit. My husband and I had a second ceremony a few months later, much smaller, at his parents' house to try to make up for the day that had been ruined for the both of us and it was perfect. It's just how I wanted my wedding day to be remembered.

Now Jonas, Jonas was sentenced to four years in prison with five years probation after his eventual release. I was relieved when I heard how long his sentence was. The mental trauma that I have has been awful but my husband always makes me feel safe. He assured me that he would never let anything happen to me like that again and I believed him. It wasn't his fault. We've been married now for four years and I figured I'd tell this story now as Jonas is said to be released in the coming months. Lately all I do is pray to God that he isn't mad enough to pull something like that again, or do something even worse. I'm what you would call a serial bridesmaid. Like the saying, always the bridesmaid, never the bride. That's basically my life.

I guess I'm the woman that attends a lot of other people's weddings, but never has one of her own. Anyways, when my friend had originally asked me to be one of her bridesmaids, I happily agreed. Her wedding would be about 8 months from when she asked and I wasn't too happy about the way I looked. I made it my mission to lose weight before the wedding so I could feel good in my dress. I don't think my friend actually took me seriously though because even though I told her to wait, she ordered my dress in a larger size. About a month before the wedding all the bridesmaids were asked to go in to try on our dresses.

Given that I had lost around 80 pounds by that point, my dress was no longer in the size I needed. My measurements were taken and I was assured the dress would be tailored perfectly to fit me at my new size and be ready for the wedding and I was ecstatic. I was so excited for everyone to see how good I looked in this dress. The day before the wedding, I picked up the dress and hung it up in the closet overnight. I was smiling as I fell asleep. I was so happy for once in my life to be wearing a dress that I knew that I looked good in,

and I worked so hard to get there. The next morning, I grabbed my dress from the closet and made my way to the wedding venue. We had all made plans to get ready together. At the venue, we all put on our dresses and when I looked in the mirror, I was in awe of the person standing in front of me. I looked incredible. I finally felt confident in my own skin and that was something I hadn't felt in years. The only problem was the dress was super tight and the lace on the legs was actually really uncomfortable. It felt like I was being poked at my legs but I was so

happy for my friend and so happy with the way that I looked that I tried my absolute best to ignore it. Throughout the ceremony, the itching and even pain just kept getting worse and worse. It was most annoying when I would walk, but even standing still or just sitting didn't even give me relief. After the ceremony, one of my friends noticed little spots of blood seeping from the bottom of my dress. I was concerned and was done with the pain, so I decided to change clothes before the reception. When I slid the dress off over my legs, I noticed my calves were covered in small dots of blood, almost like little puncture wounds that hurt to touch. I just assumed that it was because they were fresh cuts that just needed to heal. And I

searched the dress for any possible pins left behind but found none so I just assumed that it really was the lace that had cut up my legs like I originally thought. I changed into some shorts and hoped that I wouldn't have any more problems for the rest of the night. That wasn't the case though. Every step was painful. Every small movement I made in my legs hurt. By the end of the night, I was on the verge of tears and could barely even walk. One of my close guy friends had to carry me to his car and drive me home. The next day, I made an appointment to see my doctor. Unfortunately, they had no available

slots open until the next week and it would be five days until they could get me in. This was a problem. By this point, I could no longer stand. I knew that I'd be bedridden or, at best, able to walk only five feet to the bathroom or five feet to the front door. I considered going to the hospital, but I figured that I'd suck it up and deal with the pain until I could see my family doctor. I lived in the studio apartment at the time, so everything was within about 15 feet. For the next five days, I limped around studio apartment at the time so everything was within about 15 feet. For the next five days, I limped around my apartment in severe pain. It was horrible.

It felt like someone was shoving knives into my calves with each step that I took. Finally, when it was time to see my doctor, he didn't tell me to get x-rays like I was hoping. Instead, he told me that it was most likely arthritis and prescribed me multiple medications and one being for pain. The pain meds helped a little bit. I was able to walk 20 feet before feeling the pain and needed to rest but to me that was better than nothing. For the next year, I worked from home. I completely lost my social life and my friends visited me less and less because all I did was complain about the pain I was in. No matter how many doctors I went to and told about the pain, none would schedule me for an x-ray. I became increasingly concerned about the arthritis medication I was taking when I realized nothing had actually been done to

confirm that diagnosis. I continued the pain meds but stopped the others. I had actually been done to confirm that diagnosis. I continued the pain meds, but stopped the others. I had actually gotten to a point where I didn't even want to live anymore. I almost wished that they would just amputate my legs so I would never have to feel this way again. I missed the life I used to live, the friends I used to have. For a year I hadn't felt like myself, and I was done letting doctors tell me what was happening to me wasn't serious. I made an appointment to see another doctor, probably the 20th that year, and I made a deal with myself that I would demand that he send me for some type of

diagnostics or x-rays. I didn't really know, but he did just that. I was scheduled to get an x-ray of my legs the next day, and that was the first day I smiled in a very long time. The day of the x-rays I limped my way out of the house with my cane and took a cab to the office. I laid there as they took images of my legs. Of course the technicians can tell you nothing, so I had to wait for the next day to find out what was actually wrong with me, if the x-ray even said anything at all. The look on my doctor's face when he pulled up those images was priceless. He was shocked and horrified all in one. And the look on my face probably matched his, though, as I finally saw what was wrong with me. In my legs were multiple 2-3 inch sewing needles shoved into my calf muscle. I had 4 in my left calf and 7 in my right. And it turns out,

the seamstress who worked on my bridesmaid's dress a year before had used sewing needles to keep the fabric together when sewing instead of regular pins, and had subsequently forgotten to take them out. On the day of the wedding, I had walked, sat, and stood in the dress and in doing so, the needles would push further and further into my legs until I could no longer see them once the dress was finally taken off. I had been walking around with needles in my legs, doing damage to the nerves and muscle for a whole year, and nobody believed me. Finally, I was validated.

Surgery was scheduled for a few days later as they now considered it emergent. I stayed in the hospital for a couple of days after to make sure that I wouldn't get an infection and now three years later I am almost completely recovered. I still get minimal nerve pain but it's nowhere near as bad as the pain I felt that year. If there's one thing it taught me, it's that you need to be your own biggest advocate. Weddings are stressful. Too stressful. I just wanted to elope, but my wife refused. She wanted a huge, all-out, super expensive wedding, and even though I could afford it,

that was literally my nightmare. I guess she and I were the opposite of each other, but the term opposites attract really did apply in this situation. I had never loved anyone the way I loved her. Anyways, I agreed to the extravagant big wedding on one condition. I got to pick the food. She didn't like that at all, but I stood my ground and told her that it was the only way that she would get what she wanted. Eventually she agreed and that started the journey of trying to find the perfect food for the big day. I knew that it had to be something to cheer me up, given the whole day was going to be the opposite of how I'd hoped.

I went to multiple restaurants that served all different types of food but choosing was proving to be a lot harder than I had planned. About a week before the wedding, my soon-to-be wife Lucy asked me what I had ended up choosing for the wedding. My heart sunk literally through my butt and I could feel my face getting red when I realized that I had completely forgotten to make a decision at all. I couldn't even look at her when she asked me a second time after I failed to respond to her. I knew she knew though. After her fourth time asking and my fourth time not saying anything, she lightly slapped my shoulder and with a voice that could stop traffic, you didn't make a decision and reserve a caterer, did you? I was so embarrassed, but I also wasn't about to prove her right.

I was stubborn, still am, and her need to be right all the time was almost as important as my need to prove her wrong whenever I could when it came to little stuff like this. I looked her in the eyes and as calmly as I could informed her that I had decided that we'd be eating Thai food on the night of our wedding. She seemed unsure about my answer, but that seemed good enough to get her off my back for the time being. She made it clear that she wasn't too pleased about my choice in food, but she didn't think that I would come through at all so she was just happy that I chose something. That night I told her that I'd be joining her in bed a little late because I had some stuff to attend to when in reality that whole night was spent searching for a last minute Thai caterer that hopefully I could call in the morning and book for the wedding. When morning came I called five different Thai restaurants

and asked if they could do it. They all said no, but the last one gave me the phone number to his aunt and said that she made great Thai food and he was 90% certain that she could prepare enough food for the wedding with her family's help. I was skeptical at first, but I had no other options. There was no way I was going to tell Lucy what was actually going on. So I called her. She told me she could do it but it would cost around $10,000 for the short notice and the amount of food that she'd be making. It was a large wedding and she told me that she'd have to get her brothers, sisters, and children on board with cooking to be able to finish it in time. After we hung up I was

actually pretty optimistic. The big day came and I can't lie and say that I wasn't dreading it. I knew Lucy would love it but I also knew that I would hate it. But I was willing to do anything for her, even put up with a wedding and reception that were the opposite of what I would have wanted. The Thai food was dropped off at the reception venue early in the morning and the wait staff was instructed on how to go about serving and reheating it. When I went to check on how everything worked out, it looked amazing. My wife even commented on how proud of me she was for coming through with what I had promised. It was time to eat and everyone really enjoyed the food. It was worth a huge expense and I felt

pretty good about myself at that moment, but that feeling wouldn't last. After around six hours since the food had been served and toward the end of the reception, my wife came to me complaining of an upset stomach and told me that if I needed her, she'd be in the restroom. I figured it was a coincidence that my sister had come to me complaining of the same thing too, but I brushed it off. I could only brush it off for so long though, until my own stomach began to hurt. I started to sweat and became nauseous. I was desperate to find the bathroom, but when I found it, I realized other people were having the same problem too.

The line for the bathroom was at least 40 people long and it just kept getting longer by the second. Even the porta-potties outside had lines. And that's when it began. I watched in horror as almost everyone who was attending the reception began to projectile vomit in every direction. These people were so sick they weren't even trying to aim away from each other. There were literally hundreds of us filling this venue, throwing up in every direction. It was covering the floors, the walls, the tables, the large room filled with the stench of the insides of people's stomachs. It was so bad I remember my eyes began to water and my nose was even burning. I felt myself needing to throw up as well and before I knew it,

I was adding to the pool of sludge under my feet. It was like a scene from a terrible horror movie and for a second, I thought maybe I was having a nightmare. At some point, someone ended up calling an ambulance and most people that had become sick elected to be taken to the hospital. I knew what had happened though, I immediately knew. It was food poisoning and I didn't need a doctor to tell me that buying food from a random Thai lady who cooks in her own home maybe wasn't a good idea. I had unintentionally poisoned all these people. I couldn't help but feel bad as all these sick people were carted off to the hospital. Most ended up actually testing positive for E. coli, some spent a good amount of time in the hospital and some went home that same day. But the outbreak was so big that I had to fess up.

I told the police exactly what had happened and unfortunately some of the wedding guests most affected by the food poisoning did opt to sue. Myself, my wife and the women who cooked the food were held responsible for what had happened that night and were ordered to pay a large amount of money that I won't disclose here to the large list of guests that joined the lawsuit against us. The woman who cooked for us and her whole family were found to be illegal immigrants and were subsequently deported after their immigration status became known. My wife wouldn't even look at me for almost a week and wouldn't sleep in the same bed as me for almost a year. For a while there I thought that she was going to divorce me for what I did. It's been around six years now and I learned my lesson. I feel extreme guilt every day for what had happened. I really should have just let my wife make the decisions. I just never was the marriage type. I never thought that I'd get married.

I just never was the marriage type. I never really was the relationship type either. In high school, my mom always begged me to get a girlfriend because she didn't want me to end up alone, but I honestly didn't care if I did. It's not like I was a loner either, I just didn't like the thought of tying myself to one person for the rest of my life. But that was until I met Hope. She was everything I didn't even know I wanted. The minute I met her I knew that she was different. We were only 18 when we moved in together and 20 when we got engaged. She made me feel whole, which just made losing her even harder.

Hope decided that she was going to plan our wedding herself and she was absolutely positive that she was going to get married on the little lake cruise boat that serviced our area. It was common to rent the cruise for weddings and actually ended up being cheaper than a traditional venue so I was totally on board. This just meant that we'd have to get married in the summer and I was mostly worried about people in speedboats and jet skis ruining our day with the roar of their engines. But Hope insisted this is what she wanted and that some noise here and there would not ruin the day for her. So it was settled. We would have the actual wedding ceremony on the boat and the reception would be held at her parents' house after.

Hope was so excited. It was all she talked about for months. It was the first thing she mentioned when she woke up and the last thing she talked about before going to sleep. When the day came where she picked out her dress, she went on and on about how perfect it was and how pretty it would be when the sunlight hits the rhinestones and beads. I had no idea what the dress actually looked like, but hearing her talk about how much she loved it had to mean that it was beautiful. Although she could have been wearing a white trash bag, and she still would have been the most beautiful woman in the world to me.

It was July. The sun was blazing and the air was dry as we made our way onto the docks. Her father was carrying her dress because apparently it was too heavy for Hope or her mother to hold. When we got on board, the captain waited until we were dressed and ready to leave. Once we were given the go ahead, we were out in the water. The boat was big enough to have seating for about 20 people and even though it was hot, nothing could have beat the view of actually being out in the water. I stood at the front of the boat as the music began to play. I saw Hope begin her walk toward me and wow, she looked amazing, just incredible.

At that moment I was truly the happiest man in the world. Nothing could have prepared me for what would happen only seconds later. To my left, I heard the roaring of a boat engine and very quickly thought to myself how annoying that was in this perfect moment. But I was so busy focusing on my soon-to-be wife that I didn't even think to look over at what the sound was coming from. I started to notice the sound got louder and louder until finally I looked over, but there was nothing I could have done when I saw what was about to happen. A large speedboat was very quickly making its way right for the boat we were on. People started screaming and trying to jump out of the way and the last thing I saw

was a look of terror on Hope's face as the boat plowed into ours and almost into her. I was immediately shoved out of the boat and into the water before I could even blink. When I managed to come to and swim to the surface all I heard were people screaming and the first thought I had was this desperation to find Hope. But the boat we were on was sinking fast. I was at least 20 feet away and I swam so hard that I thought I was going to pass out. Smoke had gathered where the crash had occurred and there were people hanging on to whatever they could to stay afloat. I found Hope's father and

asked where she was but he didn't know. They said that she was right next to him, and then she wasn't. I asked everyone, but it was hard to get answers out of people who were severely injured. They were more focused on keeping themselves alive than looking for Hope, and it was absolute chaos. I was mad at the moment, but looking back, I thought it would be easy to locate her since her dress was so shiny but Out of the 25 people who got on that boat almost 10 people were already missing And I began to fear the worst That dress was so heavy that it could have easily drug her down

The lake was deep and when I swam under the water I couldn't see anything Other boats started to arrive at the scene and the people on them began helping us out of the water. After a count of how many people were rescued, three people were still unaccounted for. Hope, her mother, and the photographer. The police had already been called and they almost immediately called in a dive team to look for the remaining passengers that were still missing. Only I knew what this meant. They were looking for bodies. And it didn't take them long to find hope.

They told me her dress got caught in the wreckage and she was pulled down with it and eventually drowned. Her mother was surprisingly found later that day floating a little ways away from the crash site, almost totally unharmed but completely exhausted. The photographer's body was also found in the wreckage as she had been caught between the boats upon impact. They said that she was killed immediately. We held a funeral for her and even going and seeing pictures of her was almost too much to handle. All I kept wishing was that it was all some sick nightmare and that I'd wake up and she'd be right there next to me. But it wasn't a nightmare, it was the new reality I had to live with.

I was sad, horrified, completely crushed. And these are all words that don't even begin to come close to how I felt, or even how I continue to feel. My life ended that day along with hope. She was my everything, and within seconds, she was taken away from me. It's been five years now and everyone keeps telling me to put myself back out there, to maybe date again, but I know that there would be no point. She was the love of my life, my soulmate, and it would be unfair to any other woman I was with because I know in my heart that they would be nothing compared to hope. I miss her every single day and it still hasn't gotten easier.

In the beginning, people told me that with time I would learn to move on, but it still hasn't happened. I'm just hoping someday I can learn to feel even somewhat normal again. But I suppose my mom was right. I will die alone. Only now, it'll be my choice. I went to the movies with a friend of mine back in 2016.

He had turned 14 earlier in the week, and we planned to see a movie and I would spend the night after. His parents dropped us off at the mall at around 5pm. It was just the two of us. Chris was a quiet, shy guy and didn't have many friends. We ate a big meal at Chick-fil-A and wandered around until the movie was about to start. He bought a used game at GameStop with some of his birthday money. There were a few other things, but nothing I can recall after this long. When 7 got close, we headed to the movies. Captain America Civil War had just come out, so we picked that. After the movie was over, we hung around outside the theater.

The mall had already closed. It was quiet and not many people were around. He was supposed to call his parents when the movie ended but he wanted to wait a while. He didn't get out on his own very often and was reluctant for the night to end. About 10.30 we were sitting on a big concrete planter box talking when we heard some voices behind us. We turned around to see two older kids from school. They were bullies that we both had problems with in the past. It seems the older of the pair who was 16 worked in the mall somewhere.

I suggested that we avoided looking at them so they wouldn't recognize us but this didn't work. Even in the dark they knew who we were. The older kid asked what we were doing and I said that we were waiting for our ride. Chris didn't say anything and this is when the name calling started. I told them that we didn't want any trouble and this just seemed to make things worse. I leaned over and whispered to Chris to call his mom. Meanwhile, the boys got more and more aggressive. The younger kids started poking me in the chest with his finger and called me the P word over and over, and I couldn't take it anymore. If they wanted to fight, I'd give them one. I jumped up and rushed at the younger guy. We began fighting on the ground. The older boy slapped the phone out of Chris' hand and

sucker punched him. I eventually got the better of the boy and he begged me to stop hitting him. I noticed Chris was now on the ground getting kicked. I was still too scared to go after the older boy. His size was that intimidating and I knew I had to get some help. The only place still open was the movies so that's where I ran to. I had to go all the way around the back of the mall to reach the theater. I pulled on the doors but they were locked. The people in the concession stand pointed to a side door. I ran around to the one and asked the girl in the box office to help and she called the security guard and I told him what was happening. We both ran back to the front of the mall where the fight was taking place. When I came around the corner, the first thing I saw was the 16-year-old

stomping on Chris' head while the younger boy kicked him in the stomach. The security guard yelled out to them to stop. When they saw him, they ran off to a nearby car and sped away. I thought Chris was dead at first. Blood was coming out of his nose and ears, but I could see him breathing. The guard called 911 and an ambulance arrived a few minutes later. I stayed behind to speak to the police. I also called Chris' parents to let them know what had happened. They were freaked, as you would expect. I talked to the police and then rode with them to the

hospital. Chris' parents were already there when we arrived, and what I encountered made an already scary situation into a terrifying nightmare. Chris' head was now swollen up like a watermelon and black and blue with bruising. No one had expected him to live out the night, and he was rushed off to surgery. His condition remained urgent for over a week, and during this time, the boys involved were arrested and given bail. Chris survived despite all expectations and his condition would gradually improve. More than two months later he finally was deemed well enough to go home. He wasn't totally healed yet, but

his age made the process a little quicker. All this time while Chris fought to regain a small shred of normality to his life, the two a-holes who did that to him were still going to school and playing football like nothing happened. Most of the kids at school played along. The teachers only seemed to care about winning football games, and I got so fed up I moved to a homeschool program until I turned 16, and at 16 I got my GED. To this day, I wouldn't spit on a single person from that school if they were on fire. I wish them all a long and painful death,

and I'm sorry, but that's just how I feel. Chris was completing his rehab when the trial came around. The district attorney decided to prosecute the older boy as an adult, and he was initially charged with attempted murder, but that was quickly dropped down to a Class A misdemeanor assault. And that's ridiculous considering the extent of damage he'd inflicted on Chris. The younger of the two agreed to testify against the older boy and got off scot-free. Nonetheless, I was assured the 16-year-old would be given at least a year in prison, but when it came down to it, the judge let him off with a fine and five years of probation. His lawyer tried to assert that Chris used a racial slur towards his client, an idea completely impossible if you knew my friend Chris. The DA thinks this may have played a part in the sentencing, and the result was a disgusting

miscarriage of justice in my opinion. Everyone was furious, especially me and Chris' dad. There was a very real fear that he may go after the young man, and he talked about killing him more than once, but he was eventually convinced that it would do more damage to his family. And that said, he's still very angry about how things went. As I write this, I'm attending a local community college and hope to transfer to university in the next year or so. Chris, on the other hand, is unemployed and still

living with his parents. I'd like to blame the attack, but Chris was never an outgoing guy. He struggles with some small memory issues, but nothing too bad. Although his life will never be the same, I've never heard him complain. I don't care how long he lives, as long as he's happy. And if he chooses to spend the rest of his life living with his folks, I'll support his decision. He's earned the right to decide. He doesn't talk about what happened, and I don't bring it up. It seems that he's been the right to decide. It doesn't talk about what happened and I don't bring it up. It seems that he's been able to move on. As for me, I'm not quite as forgiving.

I'll never be able to forget what those monsters did to my friend. I suggest they keep their noses clean. A lot of people are watching and waiting for one or both of them to make a small mistake, and this is when they'll strike, and no amount of money or popularity will be able to save them this time. It should have been a happy night for all of us, but it ended in tragedy. It wasn't just my 21st birthday but Mark's was the next day and I met Mark at a church camp at 10 and we've been friends ever since. There wasn't much to do in our town. We lived in a dry county, a common thing in smaller sections of the bible belt. Fortunately the next county over was wet. We could buy our booze and bring it back home and none of us had our own places so we

reserved a few rooms in a run-down motel out in the middle of nowhere. Kids had been doing this for as long as I was alive and no one seemed to care. The owners were happy to get the business and as long as nothing got damaged, they wouldn't call the sheriff. It was long tradition that I was looking forward to playing my part. Mark and I left his place at around 5pm to make the 35 mile drive to the nearest liquor store. Everyone had written down what they wanted and given us their money. An extra 20 bucks was put in by each person for Mark and me to get whatever we wanted. It was all loaded in the back of Mark's truck and we headed to the motel to drop it off. The celebrations weren't scheduled to start until later that evening, but we couldn't resist opening a bottle and knocking back a couple of shots. An hour later, we returned home. Each of us had

plans to go out to dinner with our families, and we did that, and after, met back at Mark's at about 10. From there, we took Mark's truck to the motel. A few of our friends had already showed up and one guy was well on his way to passing out. Mark and I joined in and over the next few hours, people came and went. We'd rented three rooms next to each other. Each one had its own little vibe going on. Our room was more middle of the road. We had a small bluetooth speaker playing music but not so loud people couldn't talk and joke around. The one next to ours was where the smoker sung out. The mood was more laid back and chill. The one on the end was for the rowdy folk. The motel owners had to tell them more than once to calm down. It took a threat of calling the sheriff before they dialed

it back a little. Overall, it was the ideal 21st birthday. It was the closest to perfect I could ever imagine, but then someone suggested that we make another beer run. I'm sure I don't have to explain why this was a bad idea. A guy had just arrived and wanted some booze of his own. An understandable and admirable idea. We thought he was sober. He looked okay, but okay to a drunk kid is meaningless. What we didn't know was that he had taken a handful of oxys before arriving. One shot of liquor is a bad idea with pills, and he'd taken another right before we left. None of this was a big deal to us at the time. When the subject of a beer run first came up, I asked if I could come along. I was out of cigarettes and wanted some more,

and Mark being Mark had to come along with me. There were five of us along for the ride, four of us in the bed of the truck. It was a nice summer night and the breeze felt good. The journey to the store went smoothly. We were coming back when the driver appears to have passed out or nodded off. We're not sure which. And he lost control of the truck and it slammed into a massive tree almost head on. He was killed on impact. The girl in the passenger seat was saved by her seatbelt but still experienced some internal injuries. As for those in the back, two of us, myself among them, were thrown around and broke a few bones, but otherwise went away

undamaged. It was the other two who suffered the worst. The guy who was closest to the cab was paralyzed from the neck down. And then there's Mark, my best friend. He had been sitting on the wheel well hump at the time of the crash. It's not an uncommon thing. If you grew up in the south, you would probably do it more than once. And this positioned him higher in the bed. The force of the impact flung him from the bed of the truck into another one of the big trees alongside the road. And he probably died instantly. It was almost a month until I was alone and able to process the loss. Since the driver died, most of the older people were satisfied. There were a few do-gooders who wanted some new laws,

but it all blew over pretty fast and they moved on to something else. Anytime I find myself back home, I make sure to visit Mark's grave and catch him up on things. I do as much as I'm able to keep his memory alive. This story is just the latest of my efforts. My first born son bears his name. I carried around a lot of guilt for a while. I took a few talks with friends and a little counseling before I was able to let things go. I now realize that I bear no more responsibility than anyone else except the driver.

Even in his case, he just happened to be the one driving. We were all just stupid kids. What happened on that road was a result of bad decision making. We all paid a price for it. And some, far more than others. Halloween was always like a second Christmas for me. Not only did I get to express my inner fantasies through costume, it just so happens to be my birthday. This would all change on October 29th of 2016. This year was a big one. I was turning 21.

That meant that I could celebrate on 6th Street. If you don't know, 6th Street in Austin is the heart of the city's nightlife. Music venues and bars, 6th Street has it all. Halloween on 6th is an experience everyone should have at least once in their lives. I'd always heard the crazy stories and finally, I get to tell some of my own and I couldn't wait. Since the holiday fell on a Monday, the festivities would be taking place the Saturday before. It was usually the night with the most people. All the amazing costumes may be the best part of Halloween and the costumes on 6th are some of the most inventive and interesting I'd ever seen. All five of us girls packed into a cab and took the three mile

ride downtown. It was almost 11pm. People were just beginning to arrive and I was eager to have my first legal drink. I don't want to name any businesses for legal reasons and suffice to say we spent the next four hours hopping from club to club and bar to bar until last call at two. Much of it was a blur. I woke up on my bathroom floor with a toilet full of barf. It was an amazing night and I'll never forget it, but not for the reasons I'd like. That next afternoon, I was nursing a major hangover when I got a call from one of my friend's mothers. Terry, I changed her name for privacy, had not made it home. Her mother hadn't received any calls or texts from her in over 24 hours. This was very strange.

Terry and her mom were very close and there was no way she wouldn't let her know if she was staying elsewhere. And the two of us spent the rest of the day and late into the night trying to locate Terry, but no one knew anything. The next day, we contacted the police, and they took over from there. Surveillance videos would be screened over and over. A bunch of men, her boyfriend among them, were questioned but nothing ever came of it, and the case soon hit a dead end. Terry's disappearance would completely change how myself and my friends led our lives. To this day, I will not go anywhere alone and I refuse to get drunk in public. I've carried a firearm since 2017. I know I'm not strong enough to fight

off multiple men. In the years since, a lot of things have changed but when it comes to my safety, I remain just as vigilant. Terry's case had stalled by my next birthday but I would receive a belated gift just a couple of months later. It was the middle of a normal work day when I got a phone call from another friend of mine. She said that she had got a phone call from Terry's mom. My heart sank. I assumed Terry's body had been discovered. But to my joy, it turned out that she had been found. Alive. Police in Kansas City had found a young woman hiding in an alley with a handcuff around her wrist. According to her, she had been kidnapped from Austin, Texas and held several places until reaching Kansas City. She'd been kept there since about late spring or early summer.

Her captors had assaulted her countless times. She feared that she would be killed when they grew tired of her, so she did her best to gain their confidence until she could escape. The chance came, and she took it. The cops raided the house she'd been kept in and arrested three men. I was over the moon. In my mind, Terry's nightmare was over. She could come back home and pick up where she'd left off. I'll admit how naive that actually sounds, but I was a young and sheltered girl. How could I have known? When I did see Terry again, everything had changed. Talking about day-to-day things seemed so childish in light of what she'd gone through. Her beautiful smile was gone. Any happiness had been beaten out of her, and we all felt helpless, but not as helpless as her.

She did make an effort to make a new life. She returned to school and began dating again, and none of these efforts came to much. Once the trial of the three men began, she was forced to relive the nightmare. They were convicted, and she tried again only to have the men with a new trial on appeal. It looked as if though she'd be forced to relive her captivity repeatedly until she died.

To her credit, she didn't let her misfortune break her. The three men were convicted again and put away once and for all. After all the hurdles she was forced to jump, she would finally win out. And just as the lockdowns were set to start, her and her boyfriend of two years were married. They recently had twins and the birth was the first time I'd seen Terry smile in a very long time. Hopefully, with a lot of support from her family and friends, she'll be able to build some semblance of a normal life. I was ten when this happened. To be more exact, it was my tenth birthday. All the younger kids in the neighborhood were invited to the party. My dad was going to grill a bunch of hot dogs and burgers.

My mom bought one of those pinata things from Kroger's and going to grill a bunch of hot dogs and burgers. My mom bought one of those pinata things from Kroger's and filled it with a bunch of candy. We only moved into the area the year prior. A lot of our neighbors were still strangers to us, and my parents wanted to change that, and this was their chance. Kids and parents started to show up at about one. My mom made name tags for everyone. It was her way for all of us to get to know each other. It wasn't a bad idea, but at the time, the whole concept embarrassed me. Dad pulled out the grill as soon as the first group arrived.

He was an old school griller. Propane was an affront to our forefathers and it was either charcoal or nothing. He had his own little routine that he went through. It made the whole process take a lot longer than it should have. As he did this, he knocked back cores after cores. In truth, he started drinking before lunch and this was normal for him. He'd go through a case of beer in a weekend. I suppose these days he'd be considered an alcoholic. The weird thing is I never saw him drink during the week

and it never adversely affected our family's quality of life except for this one time. It was an hour before he was satisfied with the coals. By then we were all starving. A few kids were crying, the parents started pressuring my dad to hurry up, and rather than act calmly, he panicked and grabbed the lighter fluid. He got way too close to the grill and squirted a massive amount of fluid onto the coals. It went everywhere, and not only onto the grill, but his shirt and pants were soaked. The second the fuel hit the burning coals, a giant fireball blew everything around it back a foot or two. Everyone jumped back and turned

away from the flames. When I turned back, my dad was laying stunned on the ground. The fluid on his clothes had caught fire, and he was so stunned and probably drunk that he didn't realize it. A couple of the other fathers ran over and smothered the flames with some tablecloths. Even more kids started crying now. Soon, they were begging to go home. Almost everyone left after that. My party had officially ended before it had even started. I'd wager that stupid piñata is still sitting in my parents' attic. I stood by in shock and disbelief, unsure of what to make of the scene. Meanwhile, mom held my dad's hand and kept him calm until the ambulance showed up. I was hustled off to a neighbor's house while mom rode to the hospital with my dad. By then, I had decided that he was an idiot for ruining my party.

I haven't changed my opinion much since, but about 2am, mom showed up and brought me home. I went to bed not knowing what had come of my dad and didn't really care. I remember I was mad at him. The next morning I came down to breakfast and dad was sitting there all covered in bandages. I sat down and he proceeded to give me a speech about fire safety and I fought to hide my grin. The irony was overwhelming, but I was able to hold myself together, nodding on occasion to feign interest. After breakfast, I retreated to my bedroom and had a good, long laugh. From then on, things returned to normal, but dad never grilled again. My birthdays were orthodox affairs after that. A few friends would bring gifts, we'd have pizza, and then have some cake.

The look on my dad's face every time I blew out the candle still makes me laugh. I don't believe their attempt at making more friends ever went anywhere. They befriended a few neighbors nearest to us, but from what I heard, the consensus was that my dad was a giant moron. My mom just happened to be fortunate enough to marry him. From experience, I'd say it's a pretty accurate assessment. To be continued... I was almost 50 and had no idea what younger people were into. As I suspected, I was treated with suspicion and disrespect in the beginning. In most Redditors' eyes, I was nothing more than a clueless boomer. Part of that may have been correct. I'd been busy raising a daughter and didn't have time to keep up with all the newest music and lingo. And now, I'm divorced and my girl is married.

I finally have the time. And despite a rocky first few months, the negative comments began to give way to honest curiosity. My age gave me the advantage. My life experience could help those in search of certain answers. I started frequenting forums where what I knew was welcomed. Since then, I've made a lot of friends on here, and many are even older than me. I've noticed there's a lot of objects out there, and while no longer in common use, most people know what they are. The 8-track cassette comes to mind, and you'd be hard-pressed to find anybody under 40 who ever actually used one. Yet, there is another group of objects that

were once very popular and are now almost completely unknown to the younger generations. One example would be lawn darts or yard darts. They were just what they sound like, big darts that you would toss into the air and try to land in a big ring. As you can imagine, they were super dangerous. After a bunch of kids got skewered by them, they were pulled off the market. Another of these things just so happened to play a very big part in my life. I'll bring you back to 1984, the year that I turned 11 and life was great for a kid. G.I. Joe was on TV, Van Halen was the coolest band around, and I was spending the summer with my grandparents on their farm. My birthday was July 14th. That morning, my parents showed up with a present for me. In the back of my dad's truck sat a brand new Honda

three-wheel ATV. I was peeing my pants with glee, and dad rolled it out and took the first drive around the farm. He came close to flipping it once or twice, but he figured that I'd be able to handle it since I was smaller. When my turn came, I took things slow. In no time, I had everything down and was tearing around the back pasture like a pro. The next day, I explored and discovered everything for miles in every direction. That three-wheeler became a part of my body and there was nothing I couldn't do and nowhere I couldn't go. That weekend, my family had a big post-church lunch. My parents, aunts, uncles, and a few cousins all showed up. After the meal, the adults went off to do adult stuff, and I was left with my two cousins. The older of

the two was 12, and his sister was 9. I didn't know either one of them very well, but I hated the sister the second I met her. She thought she knew everything and was so much more grown up than us. When they found out that I had the three-wheeler, the girl demanded that I let her ride it. I reluctantly agreed. I showed her how to work everything and warned her to be careful. She arrogantly proclaimed that she didn't need anyone's help. She gunned it and took off faster than I would have ever dared. Not even a minute went by before she crashed. All we could see was the three-wheeler flipped over on top of her, and we waited for her to get up, but she didn't move.

And I still remember when my male cousin screamed, you killed my sister. He started wailing and crying for his parents and I was terrified that she had broken my three-wheeler and I started crying myself. The adults ran out to see what was wrong. My male cousin pointed at the three-wheeler and described what had happened and it all hit the fan after that. My aunt and uncle ran over to the wreck and pulled the ATV off. My uncle ran back up to the house and called 911. The ambulance showed up and took her away. I didn't consider

that she could be severely injured. In my mind, she was alive and that was good enough. Dad rolled the three-wheeler into the barn and we went inside for the night. The next morning, we heard that she had broken her neck and was paralyzed, but the doctors expected her to regain full mobility. In my mind, she got what she asked for. I headed out to the barn, but my grandpa stopped me. My dad told him that the Honda was damaged, that I wouldn't be able to ride it until it was fixed, and I was not happy to hear this. My life had become permanently intertwined with that Honda. I felt lost and unsure of what to do,

but I had no choice but to accept this and hope that it would be fixed quickly. A few days went by until a guy showed up in a pickup and took the three-wheeler away. I ran inside to ask grandpa how long it would take to fix, and he sat me down and told me that my parents sold it because they thought it was too dangerous. I flipped out, and threw the kind of fit that only someone my age could. This was on par with shooting my dog, or so I thought. I cried and screamed myself hoarse. You get the idea. This was all the fault of my stupid cousin, and I would never forgive her. I called my parents and tried my hardest to get them to change their mind, but it had already been done. No amount of crying and complaining was going to

change that. Eventually, I did stop thinking about it and focused on other stuff. I wouldn't think about it again until 1988 when I heard that they were banned for being too dangerous, and this just made my parents more confident that they made the right choice. All it did for me was to reopen a sore that I thought had long healed, and I suppose it's still a sore spot if I'm writing about it 38 years later. Just so you won't go away thinking that I'm too petty, I did forgive my cousin. She suffered more than enough for her mistake. Since the accident, she had three surgeries and will probably have at least one more before she dies. God knows how much pain she deals with on a daily basis.

That's about it for me. I hope my tale provided you Gen Y and Z Redditors with a little peek at what life was like for us in the 80s. Although we weren't lucky enough to have all the cool modern things like cell phones and the internet, there were still plenty of awesome inventions around to keep us entertained. If you think we had some crazy stuff when I was young, I suggest you look into the insane things that my parents' generation were allowed to play with. Can you believe the boomers had chemistry sets with several kinds of uranium in them? Maybe that's why they ended up as insane as they are. We'll probably never get the answer on that one. And I hope you all enjoyed my story. If anyone has any questions, you know where to find me. Thank you, good luck, and stay away from those yard darts. This happened on July 29th, 2022.

That was just a few weeks ago now. I had turned 25 the day before. All the restrictions had ruined my previous two birthdays, and I was more than ready to make up for lost time. My boy Murph would be joining me for the celebrations. We met the first day of kindergarten and had been best buds ever since. We'd been trapped inside for too long and this night was our excuse to party like we were 21 again. Our two goals were to drink excess and hook up with some hot chicks, obviously. We very nearly achieved both, but a crazy incident derailed any hopes that we had for reaching the latter of the two.

The festivities kicked off at about 5pm. It was probably too early in retrospect. I was so drunk by 10, I had thrown up and taken a bit of a break. The night was far from over though. After we stopped for a big dinner and a couple of cups of coffee at IHOP, we were back on the prowl. A friend of ours tends bar at this hole in a wall downtown. We got to drink for free for the rest of the evening and drink we did. And we didn't just drink though.

Remember, our second goal was to hook up. And the bar was packed full of potential. A table with two girls caught my eye, and I grabbed Murph for the approach. We got the okay to sit down, and things progressed nicely from there. By last call, we were all sufficiently loaded. I can't remember who made the suggestion, but an Uber was called, and we all piled in. The girl shared a small house a few miles away and this was our destination. Murph and his girl were all over each other. The girl I was with was considerably less affectionate. I'll admit, I was jealous.

My girl seemed kind of nervous and that can sometimes be a bad sign. The ride was only a few minutes. Our driver pulled onto this long gravel driveway. The house sat about 50 yards at the end. We reached the house and the girls got out first. The doors were still open. I was fumbling around for my phone when I heard a male voice yelling and I looked up to see two guys. They must have been hiding and waiting for us to arrive. And from what I could make out, one of the guys, the one with the golf club, was my girl's boyfriend or ex-boyfriend. He was calling her all sorts of terrible names. And the second guy just stood back and watched as all this occurred. Murph and I stayed in the car and waited to see what would happen.

Both girls began yelling at this boyfriend and he wasn't having it. He pushed one into the other and they both fell to the ground. And things were starting to get real. I wanted to leave. And my decision was made final when the boyfriend began yelling to Murph and I to get out of the car. He started calling us all types of names and I guess he thought this would make us mad. But it did the opposite, in fact. I looked over at Murph and said,

Screw this, man. Let's get out of here. He nodded and we slammed our door shut. I leaned forward and told the driver to go. He didn't need me to ask twice. He slammed the car in reverse and we spit gravel everywhere. The boyfriend began chasing us and caught up when the driver stopped to turn. He shifted quickly and we spit gravel everywhere. The boyfriend began chasing us and caught up when the driver stopped to turn. He shifted quickly and we were away, but not before the boyfriend managed to get one hit on the rear fender. The driver didn't appear to care,

and we were all just happy to get out unscathed. It may be hard to believe, but I was stone cold sober after that. It was like a switch had been flipped. When we arrived back at our place, we all got out to examine the damage. It wasn't major, but bad enough to see in the dark. The Uber driver told me not to worry because he had insurance, but I felt bad all the same and just gave him an extra hundred dollars in cash. He'd earned that just for saving our butts. He thanked me and took off. Had I been thinking I would have gotten his name so I could hire him if I needed him in

the future, but I was a little distracted. And since then, Murph and I have laid low. I'd really like to go out again, but the events of that night have got me shook. Some of you may attack me for not standing up for the girls, but I made it a rule not to get involved in fights between a man and a woman, especially between partners. A lot of men have found themselves six feet under because they stuck their nose in where it didn't belong, and I refuse to be one of them. Maybe after another month passes, Murph and I will go see our friend at the bar. If the girl I was with that night happens to see this post, I want you to know,

Murph and I had a good time with you and your friend, and I hope everything worked out with your boyfriend, but for all of our sakes, we should probably never meet again. This happened over six years ago, so I figured it would be okay to talk about now. Just to be safe, I'll use fake names in case anybody reads this. Not everybody likes their business being shared all over the internet, and I don't want nobody calling me a snitch. I hope that I made that clear enough. What I want to talk about happened in 2015.

I was a senior in a small suburb outside of Chicago. On Friday at school, I was invited to a party. A guy was throwing it for his birthday, and I'd been in class with him when I was a freshman, and his cousin was my age. He'd been off at college until only recently. I didn't care why he was back. I was told there would be a keg and

punch, and that's all I needed to hear. I got to the party after 10, and things were already well underway. I paid the guy at the door $5, and he handed me a cup. As long as I kept that cup, I could drink as much as I wanted, and I was eager to get that evening started. Another guy at the keg filled my cup and I began looking around for someone I knew. Soon I ran into a guy from my chem class. We hung with each other for most of the night. There were a lot of girls around but the only hot ones were with their boyfriends obviously. One time I thought that I may be about to hook up with a girl but her friend showed up to block me at the last minute.

The guy from chem had a girlfriend and wasn't interested in finding a girl. Instead, we just focused on drinking. When the keg was floated, I moved to the punch. It had so much liquor in it by then, you couldn't taste any punch, and I was too drunk to care by then. Things began to slow down as the night dragged on. Most everyone was passed out or about to be, and I was on the verge of puking myself. About two, this group of three guys showed up. Nobody seemed to recognize them.

They walked around asking for Sean. I didn't know Sean personally, but I'd seen him around school. When they got to us, Chemguy and I were outside getting fresh air, and neither of us had seen Sean for a long time and said so. They moved on across the yard until they happened to run into him. He was sitting on a lawn chair with some honey in his lap. Chem Guy and I were sitting under a tree fighting back the urge to puke when some yelling started. We looked over and saw the three strangers shouting at Sean about something, and Sean shouted back at them and we heard three loud pops. The strangers ran off just after that. Everyone was asking what was up when the girl on Sean's lap started screaming. She got

up and ran inside. I got up to get a closer look and saw Sean laid out in the chair covered in blood, and he wasn't moving. Pretty soon, the news was spreading around the party. Anyone who could move took off, and I was among them. I said goodnight to Chem Guy and left just in time as two police passed me less than a mile from the house. And I just passed out as soon as I got home, and it was a miracle that I didn't hurt myself or somebody else. The phone was full of messages when I woke up. Sean was dead. I can't say I was surprised.

Several of our friends had also been arrested for drinking underage. Among them was Chem Guy, and all this made me happy that I had gotten away when I did. That Monday, a bunch of people asked me if I had seen what had happened. I didn't know who to trust, so I said no. I did talk briefly with Chem Guy, but he didn't want to discuss it, and that was probably for the best. And I never heard why it happened, and I didn't care. It wasn't any of my business. School was let out for the funeral but I chose not to go.

The cops did come to the school a few times looking for witnesses but everyone was too afraid to say anything. The shooters would be caught later anyway and are all serving life sentences somewhere. I haven't kept up with the case and have no interest in what has happened since. I left my hometown to get away from stuff like this. All of it is very clearly related to gangs and it's best it stays in the past where it belongs. I do hope that Sean's family are doing okay though. He seemed like a nice guy and I think he had a little boy at the time, believe it or not. Life can be rough around there, and I'd imagine Sean would have wanted the best for his kid. I hope that he's able to get out when the time comes and achieve something.

So many guys end up dead before they even get a chance around there. It is possible, though. If I did it, so can anyone else. Hitchhiking has to be my favorite thing to do. I'm a bit of an absurdist, so I guess this shouldn't come as a surprise when I say that I enjoy hitchhiking. I'd do it all my life if I didn't have friends or family. Just catching rides with strangers, learning their stories, trying new foods in new cities, and, of course, the thrill and the danger of it all. Anything can happen, and that's what I love the most about it. Somehow, every time I talk about this, people think I'm unaware of the circumstances I could face.

No, I'm not ignorant to the cliches or stereotypes of hitchhiking. In fact, I myself would warn anyone else if they mentioned the interest. A long time ago, I hitchhiked all across Canada and back. On the way back in Northern Ontario, between Moose Jaw and Wawa, I misjudged the terrain and decided to fall asleep burrito style, in other words a sleeping bag with a tarp rolled around me. The spot I picked was a slight depression and that night I woke up in the midst of a huge thunderstorm, but my burrito was waterproof so I tell myself to go back to sleep. Later that night I wake up and find that I'm drenched and

cold and my burrito is now a puddle. I unroll it, get out of the sleeping bag and find a spot beneath a tree that is semi-dry. I set up a tarp to make shelter, then I change clothes and begin trying to get my sleeping bag to dry. The next morning it was still raining and I found myself in a very bad spot for hitchhiking. No traffic, no shops or restaurants, and no town to walk to for what I later researched was 100 kilometers. I suck it up and continue to walk anyway just to keep myself warm. This walk slash sleep combination goes on for three days before I finally get a lift to a gas station. At that point I was tired, cold, and starving. Feeling fed up, I caught a gray goose bus to make the last leg to my hometown and ended up sleeping the whole 12 hours. Once I got home

and unraveled the last few days of events, I did some research and later learned that the stretch that I was on had a reputation for being a dead zone for hitchhiking. If you're interested or ever find yourself in a predicament that requires hitchhiking, then here's some pointers from my experience. Always hitchhike along a road where you can be seen from a good distance because this means you have the chance to get out of the way in case they try to hit you. Yes, this is a thing that happens and has happened to me. Wasn't hit luckily but the driver absolutely wasn't pulling a prank with how fast he was going. To add more on being visible from a distance, try a place where you can see the road for at least a couple of hundred meters and ideally be in a spot where cars can slow down, like maybe ramps near highways. Also,

if you're untrained or don't have weapons on you that you're proficient in using, then never hitchhike after the sun goes down. You can hitchhike as soon as the sun goes up, but you should finish around dusk. To keep it short, the night brings out the weirdos and unstable people. There's more drunk people in cars, more troublesome people, etc. Treat it the same way as to why you might walk down certain streets at daytime. Daytime, you don't give it much thought but at night, you want to avoid it. It is also very difficult to get picked up as you immediately look ten times more like an axe murderer just because it's dark. Just don't bother. You're probably

also more likely to be hassled by police if you're unfortunate enough. Most people will think you're homeless and will offer you cash. Avoid taking money unless you're absolutely in need of it, but I generally recommend turning it down. People sometimes think that giving you money earns them services. If you feel really uncomfortable with a ride or if it looks sketchy, please just turn it down. There was another time that I was picked up and actually joined another hitchhiker. The guy driving us must have either been extremely bored or just felt super generous. The other hitchhiker that I was sitting next to was this older man, maybe mid-thirties with a club foot and that he was walking down the side of the highway. I shrugged it off, feeling kind of bad that he was walking around knowing that he must have been in pain, until he told us that he worked at a Burger King 20 miles from his mom's home. Apparently she could only drive him to work but never home,

so he was forced to walk down the highway every single night that he worked until someone helped him or the cops took him home. This legitimately made me sad, but to him, just another Tuesday night. I know people lie or exaggerate their experiences all the time, especially on the internet, but this man was genuinely in the middle of nowhere, on a highway, and walking with a club foot for 20 miles nearly every night. I rode along as they drove him home and we made sure he got inside. I know living in America sucks for some people, but this, this felt cripplingly depressing. War stories are normally highly in demand, whether because people want to hear about the visceral actions that humans will push themselves to, or because they just want to hear heroic stories. But at the end of the day, we're simply just that.

Humans. We make mistakes or we cope with our current events in unsettling manners. Back in 2017, I was a conscript deep in the woods for SERE training. For those who don't know, SERE stands for Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape. And it's not meant to be taken lightly. So I was setting up a nice camp, and of course, we weren't allowed actual tents, so the shelters had to be made from branches, raincoats, and other miscellaneous material. At this point, everyone is starving and the overall morale is low because, well, obviously this all sucks and everyone wants to be home.

Suddenly, whether it was to spark up morale or to keep us alert, our instructor yells out, first to reach me gets a hot dog. This one guy was crafting something with an axe in his hand when the instructor yelled this and instantly, and I mean instantly, the axe-wielding man jolts up, leaps, and then trips over something. He falls down and ends up embedding the entire axe blade into his leg, severing an artery. He gets sent off for treatment and luckily, he survived. Eventually, the exercise leader comes forward the day after and solemnly says, he almost died over a sausage.

Immediately, our medic just starts laughing hysterically, like can barely breathe laughing. Everyone else is totally silent while he continues to wheeze for like two minutes straight. And just like that, it's never brought up again and everyone just memory holes it. To this day it still feels like a fever dream. We were so starved and deprived that one man sent himself to the hospital over a hot dog. SERE can really be a surreal experience. During our first exercise, our instructors put our platoon in a forest and every soldier was given a roughly 20 by 20 meter square. We weren't allowed to talk to each other, nor help each other, and we weren't allowed to leave our designated area. We were all told to make a camouflaged

bivouac, a campfire, and a signal beacon. We also had to ration the little food that we were given, while looking out for enemies and to just survive for a few days. The instructors would randomly check in on us to make sure that we weren't communicating with one another But I do think it was to ensure no one was losing their minds However, after a few days, everyone began making monkey sounds to each other And communicating in sign language behind the instructors' backs Finally, via monkey calls and sign language An elaborate black market had been established for smuggled cigarettes and snacks, even reaching the guys in the far off corners.

I won't lie, I kinda miss it to be honest. During my deployment, this wannabe tough guy ends up receiving off-size boots that were too large. Instead of simply accepting smaller boots, I guess out of some fear that he'll be mocked, he just went along with it and repeatedly stated, nah it's good, and declined exchanging them. However, this now meant his boots didn't fit properly and he was stuck with them for training and deploying. So, his solution to them being too large was to double up on his socks. For paperwork cases, this is not a big deal, but him doubling up on socks means he's going through them twice as fast as he's supposed to, which leads to him reusing old socks. We're out on training one blistering day and out of nowhere, he just collapses during a physical test. He starts mumbling how his foot is messed up and

removes one of his boots. He peels off the first outer sock and we can already see this red-yellow-brown stain visibly soaking through. He started peeling off the inner sock and the smell was unbearable even outdoors. As he removes the inner sock, he nonchalantly sloughs off a chunk of skin that was about the size of a playing card. The surrounding skin is bleached white and looks like a sheet of paper, but the flesh that was exposed underneath was dark brown with these whitish blue spots. The gagging becomes nearly contagious as people glance at the guy's foot, even causing the corpsman, who had just come back from a hot tour, to turn away after looking at it.

The corpsman clears his throat, yells to get a medivac, and says that the guy is probably dying of sepsis. I've never seen two socks again after this, and it's all because the dude was too macho to ask for different boots. John Ogden and five of his friends were 3.2 kilometers or two miles deep into an unmapped part of England's Mossdale Caverns in 1967 when the rain began to fall. For hours, they'd climbed and crawled their way through the dark, winding tunnels of the cave, exploring a part of the world no one had ever seen. Deep in that labyrinth of stone, they had no way of knowing what was coming. In the downpour, the creeks outside of the mountain were rising. Soon there was a full-on flood. The entrance was buried under a rising lake and the water came rushing into the cave

through every pathway. Ogden and his group were crawling through a narrow tunnel when they heard the rumble of rushing water behind them. It spilled in, first rising up over their feet and quickly climbing to their necks. The group's only hope was a small crack in the rocks up ahead. Ogden forced himself up the fissure, pulling his head up to a tiny pocket of air at the top. There was no room for anyone else. Beneath him, the water filled the tunnel and every one of his friends died. Ogden alone has his head above the water, trapped in a narrow crevice, and it took days before anyone found him. By then, he was dead too, still stuck there in that narrow pathway,

struggling for a last gasp of air. In 2002, divers found MK's body at the bottom of an underwater cave in Croatia, 54 meters or 177 feet below the surface. He was alone, and his diving mask had been removed, and there was a 30 centimeter or 12 inch knife lodged into his chest. At first, the police investigated it as a murder. MK had gone cave diving with friends and the police began to suspect that one of them had

stabbed him and thrown him overboard to hide the body. Forensics, though, revealed a truth that was more chilling than any murder. MK had gotten lost in the maze of the cave, and his oxygen ran out. With no air left, he started drowning. He swam up to an air bubble between the two rocks and tried to breathe it in, but it wasn't enough to save him. He would die here, he realized, and it would be a horrible and painful death. The pain of drowning was too much to bear. MK stabbed himself in the chest with his own knife to escape the agony. Peter Verhoesel was a risk taker. When he and his friends went cave diving through Sterkfonteinaves in South Africa in 1984, he ignored every safety

guideline. There was a line through the water that they were supposed to follow, but Peter's curiosity kept driving him to explore passages off the planned path. The third time he did so, his friends couldn't find him. Peter swam through a maze of tunnels and soon realized that he was lost. He was trapped alone in a cave with no idea of how to get out, and his oxygen was running low. In a stroke of luck, he found a small island at the end of a tunnel. He climbed out of the water and onto the island. Now, at least he wouldn't drown, but he didn't have enough oxygen left to find his way out.

His only hope was to wait for rescue. Peter waited for hours before he gave in to exhaustion and fell asleep. When he awoke, no help had come. He sat in a pitch black cavern with nothing to eat and nothing to do but wait. It took rescuers six weeks to find Peter. By then, his starved body had withered to bones. He left one final message behind for his wife and his mother. In his last days knowing that he would die, he scrawled in the sand, I love you, Cheryl and Ma. In January 2005, Dave Shaw was determined to retrieve Dion Dreyer's body. Dreyer had been dead for 10 years, lost 270 meters or 885 feet into Bushman's Hole in South Africa, but Dave was going to bring his

bones back to his family. He found Dion's body without a problem and hooked a line to it so he could bring it up to safety. When he tried to cover the body with a body bag though, the head snapped free. The body started to float away and catching it turned into a vicious struggle. Day's breath sped up. Soon he was breathing faster than his rebreather could handle. The carbon dioxide it was supposed to filter out was coming back into his lungs, making him confused. His efforts to get Dion into the bag were getting wild and careless, and he was staying at it for too long. After five minutes, Dave gave up and started swimming up, but his light got snagged on the cave line that he'd attached to Dion's body. Dave tried to get free, but Dion's body was dragging him down. He panicked, his breath faster than ever.

Dave was choking on his own exhalations and Dave passed out and died under the water next to the body he'd tried to save. The End This might be a bit out there, but hear me out because I have a story to tell. I'm a New England anon, and grew up in and around small town New Hampshire in Massachusetts for most of my life. I have a friend who moved out to an even more remote small town up in the sticks of New Hampshire, and I've driven out there to see him. The only good way to get there is to go through the small town of Hillsboro, which requires hopping on the very obscure Route 149 that goes through Ware, New Hampshire, up into and through Hillsboro. For those unfamiliar with the area, all of you, I reckon, this isn't really a highway like an interstate.

Honestly, it isn't even much like other routes. That area of southern New Hampshire is surprisingly hilly and unpredictable. The route wraps around sharp inclines and passes by various swamps and dark woods. The woods of New England are usually thick right on the sides of the road, but when driving this route at night, the only times I have, it's obnoxious how dense the woods become. And I even recall an aunt from West Texas who proclaimed, how do any of you drive anywhere? The wilderness is right next to you. I've only driven the route a handful of times, and always exclusively at night between the hours of 8pm to 4am. The route itself also passes by like three graveyards, and the area is usually laden with heavy fog. It's genuinely disturbing if you allow yourself to be sucked into the ambience. I drive a lot for my job, and for some reason, this road has always filled me with dread and anxiety.

And that was before anything weird had happened on it. I'll detail my experience, and I haven't encountered anything supremely paranormal, so this sticks out. I guess most of you probably can't relate, but here's what happened. I somehow lost a few hours of my life. About a year ago was one of the first times I had traveled up to my buddy's house using this route. I wasn't confident with the roads yet so I was blindly following Google Maps which was telling me my journey was going to be about an hour and a half drive. I looked at the time and it was around 7.30pm and freshly dark outside. I loaded up some music and start the 90 minute trek.

The first thing that catches me off guard is how secluded these roads are. This can't surely be the fastest way to my buddy's house. However, I follow the road the best I can and arrive at his place without any particular incidents. Overall, I ended up having a good time with my friend's family and chatted about the drive up. Everyone nods and agrees that it's definitely a trek and my friend says, I blew chatted about the drive up. Everyone nods and agrees that it's definitely a trek and my friend says, I blew a tire on the drive once. I was stuck out there

for an hour waiting for AAA. Right in the middle of the woods next to a swamp. It's pretty creepy man. I comment that I wasn't looking forward to the drive back but that I'll manage my way through. Because of how chaotic the drive felt I didn't drink that night or do any drugs simply due to the unpredictability of the road. We all wind down for the night and I state that it's about time to leave, about 2am or so. I say my goodbyes and get maybe too many well wishes and I decide to lean into my fear. I don't know why, I guess it's the same reason why people go watch horror movies. I knew I was going to get spooked already, so I might as well enhance it. I load up

one of those creepy stories YouTube videos that's like three hours long, partly because I don't have to pay attention to what video comes on next, but also because it helps me keep track of time. I knew the drive wasn't nearly three hours so the lengthy amount of fear will keep me awake. I stop near an exit, get a coffee and chug it down at a 24-hour convenience store and start the drive back down. The video works great. Random stories about skinwalkers and ghosts and spooky stuff like that. I'm pretty tired too so my brain keeps telling itself that I'm seeing stuff in the corner of my headlights. All part of the ambiance I guess. I was honestly enjoying myself despite being creeped out. I get pretty invested in some stories and well

other ones I tune out and think about life. Eventually chugging the coffee made its way through my system so I pulled over to take a leak in the woods. I finish up, get back in the car and start driving. I hit play on the video but not even like 15 minutes later, the video cuts out. Thinking it's just poor reception, I checked my phone to see if I lost internet connection. Instead, the video was over. It was at least three hours long, like three hours and nineteen minutes or something. Startled and confused, my brain begins saying that I might have accidentally skipped later into the video or something. I looked at the time on my stereo,

and it's after five in the morning. I had somehow been driving for the entire duration of the video. I checked the Google Maps to see if it took me somewhere else, but on the maps there literally was no other roads to take. No roads branched off or entered the route. It was just this one long snake-like road for at least an hour and now Google Maps was saying that I'm still a half hour out from my home. I don't know what happened. I lost like two hours of time that night, with no explanation why. Route 149 has some serious bad vibes to it too. I'll also point out the town of Hillsborough is also generally a little off.

It's not too distinct when you're there, but it seems to have a seedier underbelly. It doesn't seem to be any different from any other small New England town, but it actually is far more sinister. It has one of the highest crime rates per capita of any New Hampshire community. This includes the generally secluded and impoverished northern part of the state. For some reason, Hillsboro brings out the worst in its community. Back in my rural hometown of Northern Ontario, the kids used to talk about a game teenagers would play called the graveyard game. The local graveyard was far away from the town, down a dirt road and was split into two sections. Many of the gravestones were very old and there weren't many that were later than the 50s. Most families would have their dead laid to rest in a larger graveyard closer to the nearest city.

The graveyard's perimeter was surrounded by an old wooden fence from decades ago, all rotten and full of nails. There were two old metal road gates on each section of the graveyard and the only way in would be to hop the fence to the gate. Beyond the fence was a large gravel pit, overgrown with roughage and usually filled with trash and other debris. We would always hear stories of older kids and young adults with nothing better to do than play the graveyard game. Many were obviously fairy tale stories told by kids, but there were some cases that took place years ago and actually had some validity, missing people, mysterious cover-ups, and whatnot. They always said that the game could work in any graveyard in any town, but it just originated in our area. The game must be played on a night with a bright moon. If there is no moon to light up the surroundings, the game

will not start at all. The game would begin by a person walking to the graveyard while the sun is still out. There could be more than one person, but apparently it wouldn't work with larger groups. The person or people would stand in the middle of the larger section of the graveyard and wait until the sun goes down. They have to watch the sunset until it is completely gone and dusk has settled. At some point, the sky would grow darker and darker and the game participants would have to decide a good time to start singing the game's song. If the singing began too early, the game wouldn't work at all, and if it began too late, the rest of the game would be delayed and you would have to wait much longer.

The song you would have to sing was always a little bit different, but it was more or less a chant that sounded like the tune to Ring Around the Rosie. Something like, Bones hopping daisies, they're a little crazy, rips and crunches, the sun went down. And it had to be sung very slowly and drawn out. At this point the participant stops standing and sits down, waiting for the next cue. After a while, a high-pitched scream should be heard somewhere off in the distance. Some say it sounds like an old woman,

while some say it doesn't even sound like a person at all since it's too shrill. You then have to wait 30 minutes after the scream is initially sounded off, then you can go on with the rest of the game. Once the thirty minutes have passed, shout something along the lines of, What time is it, my dear neighbor? If you got all the timing correct up until this point, the rest of the game should commence normally. You should see a white dot far off in the distance in the small section of the graveyard. After several minutes, the dot should start to get bigger and bigger until you can make out to the rest of the body. A figure in what appears to be a black suit with pale white skin and an

oversized swollen bald round head appears. The whole face is incredibly deformed to fit the unnaturally round head leaving a very small forehead and very wide eyes. Once you see the figure, you can stand up again and don't sit down. If you sit down, you lose the game and, well, based on the missing person stories, you can simply imagine what happens if you do that. You have to stand still and try not to move around too much. Keep your eyes on the figure. Over the course of an hour it will slowly approach you, so slowly that it will almost appear like it's not even moving. You will eventually be able to make out more details as it gets closer, but don't take your eyes off of it for more than a minute. If you do, you might lose the game. Once it gets to the fence separating the sections,

it will stay at the fence until you shout, come on in my dear neighbor. Now this time, you must close your eyes for it to cross over. Shut them tight for only 30 seconds but keep your head in its direction. Once it is over the fence and on your side it should be noticeably close to you but maintain eye contact for the next part of the game. Noises will start to sound off in the surrounding forest, rustling, high-pitched squeaks and squeals, and you must concentrate on the noises directly behind you, and again, if you turn your head away from the pale figure, you lose the game. So no matter what, do not look behind you or turn away. You will hear sounds of scraping behind you and fabric tearing, followed by footsteps

and scratches at the ground. It will be hard to hear them since the noises from the forest will be growing louder and louder as this goes on. The footsteps will start out slow and deliberate but will slowly turn erratic and unpredictable as they move all over the place behind you. At this point in the game, it is a game of chicken. How close can the pale figure get to you, as well as the footsteps behind you until you say the game is over? To end the game, close your eyes tight and shout at the top of your lungs, my dear neighbor, I want the game to be over.

If you say the words at a good time, when you open your eyes, everything should have stopped and the figure and noises will be gone. If you say the words too early, everything will still be gone but when you open your eyes, there will be a large cut on the back of your leg. When you can look around for whatever caused it, you won't find anything. However, if you wait too long to end the game, when you open your eyes, you will still hear the noises, and now the figure will be in front of you, uncomfortably close. The footsteps from behind will begin to sprint at you at full speed, and so, at this point, the only way to end the game is to get out of the graveyard and back to the town. You will continue to hear running footsteps and more high-pitched screaming following you as you run, so make sure you're only focusing on getting back to town.

If you can outrun it far enough, or for long enough, then you have ended the game. If you get caught, it far enough, or for long enough, then you will have ended the game. If you get caught, the game is lost. I live a few miles outside of town and work nights, so it's not uncommon to get home at around 2am. I was on my way home one night, just kind of zoned out and tired. I didn't even bother to plug my iPod in for music so I was entirely on autopilot. That was until I saw someone walking up ahead. I slowed down a little and moved into the oncoming lane to give them rooms so that way I wouldn't blast them with air.

Also turned my high beams off way I wouldn't blast them with air. Also turn my high beams off so I didn't blind them. After your eyes have adjusted walking at night, nothing sucks quite as bad as someone with their brights on, blinding you while you're walking. Just before I passed him, I saw what looked like a glint. Exactly the same effect when you shine a light into an animal's eyes during the night. Immediately, the stranger leaps out and tries to run in front of my car. At first, I thought he tripped or was drunk or was some dumb kid trying to fake me out. Something like that. Anything.

My adrenaline was pumping pretty hard at this point and it put me into this tough guy mode. So I slowed to a stop quite a ways up the highway and was going to jump out and call him names or something. I was doing about 60 and it took me a while to react and comprehend what just happened. So I was quite a ways down the road before I came to a complete stop. I know it's dumb to get all egotistical but it just really irritates me when I get jump scared so I felt that I had to stop and say something. So just as I'm poking my head out to be all dumb and call names I can see this guy sprinting towards me and I can even hear him running too. Thump, thump, thump like like a full on dead sprint towards me. And this dude was fast. I don't know if you guys have ever tried to stop abruptly going that fast in a smooth fashion, but I put some distance between him and myself.

Instantly, I noped, got back in my car, restarted the engine, and managed to take off without spinning the tires. Just as I saw him approaching my driver's side window as well. The turn off to my house was just up the road, so I kept driving to ensure that I lost him first before heading home. I drove for around an hour all the way to the outskirts of the big city before going back. Eventually I turned around and got back home as the sun was coming up. Even then, I still decided to park a little ways down the road from my house before entering, just in case. My car is bright red and kind of hard to mistake or blend in with such a small town. People see it and know it's mine, you know. Now the next day I go out to bring it back and it's totally fine and all. But every single night when I pass that area after work I'm always kind of hoping that I'll see someone walking on the side of the road.

So I can try and get a better look or something. I don't even know why, I'm just curious. If I were to guess, it was some type of meth head and let me tell you, meth is one heck of a drug. In fact, I remember one night me and a friend were just out on the night drive, smoking weed and creeping ourselves out because it was all foggy and dark out. We parked at the top of this hill because the city lights through the fog looked amazing and I'm a photographer so I thought that this was a really cool opportunity. So, we're sitting in the car, he's rolling another dube whilst I'm prepping my camera

and suddenly, bang, bang, bang, right in the back window. We both just stare at each other before I, being the idiot I am, decided to go outside and have a look. The moment I stepped out of the car and my eyes adjusted, I kid you not, I saw what looked like a naked man scurrying off into the bushes. Have you ever smelled meth before? I'll tell you, it smells just like cat urine mixed with window cleaner. So whatever this naked guy was up to, I did not want to find out. I never moved so fast in my life, got back in my car and begged my friend to drive elsewhere. The rest of our night was uneventful. However, our high was ruined because we were now paranoid about the naked meth man. One night back in 2009, I was driving back home from my at the time girlfriend's house at about 3 am.

She lived a good hour or so away from me in the middle of nowhere in Illinois and I lived just over the border in Indiana. Chicago was about a half hour drive from me for reference. For any Illinois people, she lived in a town called Beecher. For me to get home, I had to take the highway, I-394, for about 20 miles north and then hop on another highway heading east. There's practically nothing along most of this highway stretch. There's a few stores, a hospital, and a prison nearby, but then nothing except exits for the rest of the drive to the next expressway.

So I'm about halfway down this stretch of highway approaching a light that is just turning red. I knew that this particular light and another nearby took forever to change so I was of course bothered and tired. I stop and flick my cigarette out the window and when I do, I notice this person walking along the ditch separating either side of the highway. I found it weird because, well, it's 3.15am on a highway that was devoid of any other cars, much less people walking down the road. This person I notice is wearing an all-grey jumpsuit type deal. My immediate thought is that this is an escaped convict from the jail,

and my mind starts racing before I tell myself that I'm just being paranoid and maybe he just likes to wear jumpsuits. I ignore him and look down at my phone to text for a moment. I sent the text to my then girlfriend and then looked up to find this guy now on my lane of traffic, dead center in my headlights. Just sort of slowly walking towards me and not saying a word. He wasn't asking for help, nor was he threatening me or anything. He was just staring me down, walking towards me, before picking up a faster and faster pace. Of course, I'm waiting for the god-awful light to turn green and I keep thinking to myself, okay, if he gets close to my car I'm flooring it. So just before the light turns green this guy breaks out into a run,

and I conveniently decide that a ticket is worth it over my life. I took off, I mean I completely floored it and swerved to the right to avoid hitting him and to go around him. As this is happening, the light finally turns green, go figure, and as I swerve to the right of him, he makes this giant gallop towards my car and ends up getting so close that he slams his hand on the rear of my car. I would have hit him and not cared at all if I had no other choice, but I obviously tried not to. I spent the next half a mile staring in my rear view until he's out of sight. After I drove past, he just stopped, standing in the middle of the intersection in the center of one particular streetlight,

staring down the road in my direction until I could no longer see him. When I finally got home and calmed down a bit, I went to look at where he had hit my car and found a handprint that I initially thought looked like now dried blood. Never did figure out who he was or what his intentions were, but it scared me enough that I almost always ran through red lights late at night after that. Hello, ex. Once upon a time, my mother and I went to an antique mall in Georgia, and I found myself immediately drawn to two paintings.

The paintings were illustrations of what appeared to be two children, one boy and one girl. Their eyes were bulbous, but there didn't seem to be anything malevolent about them. If anything, I thought their slight cartooniness was unique. According to the dealer, they were painted in the 1950s, but other than that, not much is known about them. I had just graduated high school, so my mom bought them for me as a gift since I liked them so much. We named the girl Kit and the boy Chip. They were given to me in 2011, but I wasn't able to hang them up until 2013 since I was living with my aunt until that point. As soon as I hung them up in the new apartment, my roommate and some of my friends would comment on how creepy they seemed, the boy in particular.

Our first night in the apartment, my roommate and I heard a crash coming from the living room. She inspected the area, but she didn't see anything knocked over. She slept in my room that night. After that, I left the light above the paintings on because for some strange reason, something in my brain kept telling me that they are only kids and they might be afraid of the dark. I know it sounds completely insane, but it just felt right to do so. I turned it on facetiously, yet like I said, it was also partially an instinct. Spookily enough, it did seem to work.

No more loud crashes. There were maybe one or two incidents after that in the next year we lived there. My roommate and I moved into a new place with my boyfriend and a couple of other roommates a little over a year ago. Since we moved in, Kit and Chip have been left in the hallway, the back of their portraits turned to everyone else. I've been trying to get someone to help me hang them up since I don't have the tools myself but the roommates have always been reluctant to help. I suppose I could have hung them up myself but I guess I didn't want to hang them up and have to deal with everyone telling me how creepy they look. I took it a little personally since they were paintings I picked out and frankly

I still find them to be kind of cool. Anyway, despite these being somewhat new apartment buildings, there have been some unexplainable occurrences. There was one night my boyfriend and I were staying up just chatting in the dark. In the middle of our pillow talk we hear what sounds like someone hitting their foot against his acoustic guitar. He leaves his guitars everywhere on the floor so it's hard to avoid tripping over them sometimes. I turn on my lamp to check around the guitar to see if maybe something fell off my bed on top of it, but I didn't see anything near it. On top of that case and a few other things, my roommates seem to have had a few experiences of their own in the house. One of them has a cat

and she and the other friend that share a room frequently notice the cat's attention to a particular corner of the room, no matter how many times they snap their fingers or try to get its attention. Also, about two weekends ago, my boyfriend and I went to a convention out of town, and according to my roommates, apparently one of the nights that they were gone, one of them thought that they heard something fall over in our room. Of course, the cat was suspected, but I know that it's just because they turned off all the lights. Other than the paranormal experiences, it seemed that all of us here deal with a somewhat constant stream of bad luck since moving into this apartment.

There isn't really a lot of concrete evidence but that isn't why I'm posting today. I was actually wondering what your feelings are when you look into the paintings. Do you feel creeped out like my friends? Or do you feel like you need to protect them like me? Either way, we have decided for tonight to at least let them show face up in the kitchen. We will hang them up tomorrow when we don't have to worry about waking the neighbors with the hammering. Maybe the little bit of attention will appease them. To be continued... months, I have had a lot of time to sit and think about fishing and have talked to a lot of people about fishing. One thing that has come up from time to time from people all over the coast that I talk to is some of the weirder sides of things that people have seen while out in the waters.

From Maine to Jersey, there are spots that people fish that have reputations of being haunted. Well, I have one such story. First off, many years ago, my dad and I were fishing in an area of Rhode Island and we experienced, well, something. We were driving down this old dirt access road that led through a thick cedar swamp area and down to a seldom used campsite from which we were going to hike to our pool. As we were putting our waders on and gearing up, we both got this spooky feeling. It was hard to describe. I remember feeling panicky and scared and my dad, who was never much for intuition or ever displayed any feelings really at all, said in a tone that I'd never heard before. I don't feel right. Let's get out of here. We didn't even break the rods down. We just stuck them out the window and drove off fully geared up. I know it doesn't sound like much, but it was sort of profound. My dad brought it up a few times over the years, but to this day I've never experienced anything like it

It wasn't okay Now before I begin this story, here's a quick history fact Back in the colonial days, there were people called wreckers They would stand on beaches with lanterns and trick ships into running aground on the beaches Then loot the ship and kill anyone who survived on the beach. Afterwards, they dragged their bodies back to the water to make it look like they just died in the wreck. Well, one night on East Beach in Rhode Island, I was fishing with my father and as we got down to the beach, we saw some odd drag marks with our lights in the sands. Knowing about the legend, we gave them a double look and then

looked at each other and instantly knew what each other was thinking. After about a half hour of casting, we made our way back to the truck and as we got to the parking lot, our German shepherd started to act suspicious if not scared. As we loaded up the truck with our gear, we saw a light coming out of the dunes, and right when we got a good look at it, my dad scoffed in disbelief and said that the light was an old 18th century lantern. My brain couldn't seem to wrap itself around what was happening, until we saw two more lanterns as four people walked out.

No, they weren't on the beach. We were alone the entire time. At that point, we just threw everything in the bed, picked up our now growling dog and put him in the truck and blasted out of there. As we backed out, our lights went right over the people and we got a real good look at them. And they just looked dirty and, I don't know how else to describe this, it looked sinister, evil. It really freaked us out. I've seen other weird things out in the water, but this one is something that really stuck with me. 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