The Lets Read Podcast - 240: I WAS CATFISHED! | 17 True Scary Stories | EP 228

Episode Date: May 21, 2024

This episode includes narrations of true creepy encounters submitted by normal folks just like yourself. Today you'll experience horrifying stories about Catfishing, Car Trouble, & Crazy College Experiences... 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/LetsRead ♫ Background Music & Audio Remastering: INEKT https://www.instagram.com/_inekt/

Everyone's got a pro. Need tires? I've got a pro. Car making a weird sound? I've got a pro. So who's that pro? The pros at Tread Experts. From tires to auto repair, Tread Experts is always there, helping you with Michelin tires you can trust. Until May 30th, receive up to $70 by prepaid MasterCard with purchase of four new Michelin passenger or light truck tires. Find your pro at your local Tread Experts. From tires to auto repair, we're always there. TreadExperts.ca For my third year of university, I was planning on moving into a large four-bedroom house with the three girls I'd lived with during second year. We'd gotten quite close over the previous two years and I was more than happy to spend my third and final year with them. But in the last few weeks before summer break, I spotted a sign in the window of a house on my way back from uni, and not just any old house either. This house was on my regular route back from university, meaning that I'd walked past it a hundred times over the previous eight months or so, and if I'm perfectly honest, I was obsessed with it. It sat on the elbow on a crook street that was mostly terraced houses, and it stood out not only because it was detached,

but because it has this cozy cottage vibe that appeared refreshingly out of place. It was the kind of house that I could see myself growing into a crazy old cat lady in and I can assure you, I mean that in the best possible sense. It had a tiny little garden out front and from the looks of things, an outdoor cat who would let me pet her whenever she was sitting on the wall outside. All in all, it added up to my dream home so imagine my excitement when I see a room for let sign in the window. I made a note of the email address printed on the small homemade sign and then practically ran back home to write up a first draft. Oh, and I mean first draft. The email said to send over a phone number and a brief introduction, but I think I must have hit about 600 words before I realized

that it was getting out of hand. I definitely went overboard in terms of hyping myself up and heaping praise on their home, but I wanted to live there so, so badly, and when the couple who owned the home got back to me, I wanted it even more. They were a lovely husband and wife couple named Jen and Andrew, and the rent that they were asking for was about half what the other landlord wanted for our four bedroom place. I wouldn't even have to feel bad about backing out of my flatmates as we'd had a mutual friend who'd jump at the chance to live with them. Once we had all the things hashed out, I moved in as soon as the lease on my old place ran out, and so began about two to three weeks of just absolute bliss. Jen and Andrew were a

hard-working, professional, and outgoing couple, meaning I sometimes had the entire house to myself for 13 or 14 hours at a time. That kind of peaceful environment was exactly what I needed for my third and final year of study, and the whole place was decorated so nicely that moving in amounted to a dream come true. I was technically living in their future child's bedroom up in their attic conversion, but they left the decor very neutral, which again was exactly what I needed for long periods of focused study. I still led a fairly active social life, but whereas my old flatmate's place became the party house during the weekend,

I had this consistent crib of comfort to come home to whenever I needed some peace and tranquility. It was every student's dream in a way and at the time, I thought that I was the luckiest girl in the world. But if I'd have known what a slow drip nightmare that I'd just gotten myself into by moving in, I wouldn't have felt nearly so fortunate. Like I said, living there for the first six weeks or so was a dream. I was given my privacy and treated very respectfully, which I suppose is what made the sudden but subtle change easier to notice. One day, I came home from university and the porch door was closed. Now I always close the porch on my way out, always. Out of respect for Jen and Andrew, I wanted to keep the heat in and save them a few quid on bills. However, on that morning, I slept through my alarm.

To get to my first morning lecture, I had to just throw on some clothes, rely on a hat to hide my bedhead, and rush out of the house with just a few dabs of roll-on deodorant and some chewing gum to give the appearance of hygiene. Not my finest hour, but such is life as a student. I knew for a fact that I didn't close the porch door that morning, possibly for the first time since I'd been living there, but like I said when I got back to the house, it was closed. Later that day, I remarked to Jen and Andrew at dinner that one of them had been home that day, and both denied it. I wasn't confrontational or snarky about it, but I told them someone must have been home because the porch door had been open.

Both shrugged it off, told me that no one else had a key, and assured me in the nicest possible way that I must have been mistaken. I was so sure that I wasn't. I mean 99.9% certain because if I'd have closed it shut at the speed that I was going, I swear that I'd have shattered one of the door's panes of glass. But then if neither Jen nor Andrew said that they'd been home, there were no signs of forced entry or burglary. The Mimi was nothing to worry about. Now don't get me wrong, I knew for certain someone had been home.

I didn't feel that I was going mad or anything, I just didn't see it for the red flag that it was, not until it was too late. The point where I properly realized that Andrew wasn't quite the sweet married man that I thought he was, was the run in I had with him outside the upstairs bathroom. I'll do you the good courtesy of not getting into the nitty-gritty of what I was doing in there, but I was in there for a good few minutes. When I finish up, I wash and dry my hands, and then when I open up the bathroom door, there's Andrew, standing right in front of me. He wasn't leering at me or anything, he was just smiling. I gave him an awkward greeting expecting him to move out of my way but he didn't.

He just let a few more awkward seconds tick by before saying, sorry I was just waiting for you to finish. I told him it was fine, even though it bloody well wasn't, then he finally stepped out of my way and let me pass. God knows how long that he was standing out there just listening to me or whatever. We generally operate at a, if the bathroom door is closed, it's in use policy too, so I know something wasn't right about him just standing out there silently. That was a really rough night if I'm being honest.

I thought I'd found my dream set up for my final year and I thought Andrew was this wholesome, dedicated husband who wouldn't dream of making me uncomfortable. It wasn't a complete disaster if he turned out to be a bit of a creep, but it was just really disappointing, I suppose. Andrew went back to his best behavior for about a week after that, but just as I was starting to think that the whole bathroom thing had been a hideous misunderstanding, things escalated considerably. One night at about three in the morning, I get a phone call from one of my old flatmates. She was out drinking, there had been an incident with a boy, and she was both very drunk and very upset. I stayed up to talk to her for a few minutes, made sure that she was in a taxi on her way home,

and then told her that I'd call her again in the morning. After that, I hung up and realized that I needed to nip to the toilet before heading back to bed. I rolled out of bed, put my very fluffy robe on, then crept towards my bedroom door to open it, only to find that it was already open. I always close my door at night, always, especially after the whole bathroom run-in when I started to feel like Andrew's interest in me was less than wholesome. But then that night, my door was ever so slightly ajar. My heart started to pound as I realized someone had been watching me sleep, and me rolling over to answer my friend's call had been the thing to scare them off. If I'd stayed asleep I imagined that they'd have just quietly closed my door again but since I was awake the sound of it suddenly closing would have most definitely alerted

me to their presence. That whole thought chain that went through my head at a mile a minute and suddenly I didn't feel so much like going for a wee anymore. The darkness in the hallway outside terrified me, so I just closed my door, got back into bed, and tried my best to go back to sleep. I woke up tired, anxious, and bursting to pee, and my morning didn't get much better after that. I met up with the friend that I told you about, the one having boy trouble, and I got about five minutes into a conversation with her before I just broke.

I tried my best to hold back the tears, with us being in public and all, but it was so hard. I was heartbroken, exhausted. I didn't even want to go back to the place I'd once been head over heels in love with. Now I know this might sound like a major first world problem to some people. Oh, a man made me feel uncomfortable woe is me, but look at it from my perspective. There was a progression to it, this sort of slow escalation, and if I didn't do something about it, it was bound to get worse. I ended up talking the whole thing out with her over a few cups of tea back at her place and we hashed out a sort of plan. If I really loved that place as much as I said it and I didn't want to let Andrew's creepy

behavior force me out, I had to get a lock on my door. Jen and Andrew hadn't thought to have one fitted and I had a feeling that asking for one might get a bit awkward, but if I wanted to be safe while staying there I needed to ask about one. I can also hear you practically screaming at your devices, saying, why didn't you move out as soon as you realized you were in danger? Well, I didn't actually think that I was in any actual danger. Having my privacy invaded, yes, in a big way, but did I think that there was a serious threat to my life? Not really. I wouldn't be seeing Andrew in quite the same light again, but I knew all I needed to do was get a lock and potentially warn Jen about her husband's behavior,

and that might well resolve the issue. There's also the third factor that has kept me from just packing up all my stuff and just getting the bloody hell out of there. If I was a first year with time to play with, then yeah, maybe I'd have done just that. But this was my third year, the most crucial of my degrees, so couch surfing and looking for a new place would eat into my study time, ruin my focus, and potentially jeopardize my whole degree. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place, so I weighed up my options and I decided that staying at the cottage would be my best bet.

When I raised the prospect of a lock on my door with Jen, it was just as awkward as I'd imagined, but also the most British kind of awkward imaginable. I caught her on a weekend, asked her very politely, and she said yes right away. I actually thought the awkwardness was averted, but as I was walking away, Jen was like, is everything okay? I just didn't know how to address the issue there and then, knowing that it amounted to accusing her husband of slowly escalating harassment, so I didn't. I just said yes, everything was fine. It's just that the whole lock thing had been on my mind for a while and I wanted to ask if it was okay. It was obviously going to be their kids room at some point so a lock wouldn't be needed,

but she agreed that they could simply remove it when the time came. I told her everything was okay, but I know that she didn't believe me, not 100% anyways. If I trusted them completely, if nothing was happening to make me feel uncomfortable, then I wouldn't be asking for one, and she knew that as well as I did. I was actually a bit worried that she'd just ask Andrew to do it, in which case he'd know that I'd try to go behind his back with my request. But she didn't. She said that she'd get a handyman to do it since she and Andrew were both so busy with work. Now a few days go by and I hear nothing back about the lock and then after a week I decided to give Jen a nudge about it. She apologized, told me that it completely slipped her mind and promised to get on it as soon as possible. But that didn't do anything for me, not really, because the same pattern of behavior was due to repeat itself.

And in case he hadn't noticed, Andrew would do something, or something weird would happen with my room or belongings, and then he'd back off for a little while as if his compulsion was satisfied. Around the time I reminded Jen about the lock, Andrew had been quiet for a while, and since I was due an incident I decided to employ one of the tactics my friend and I had talked about. We'd thrown around the idea of getting like a little miniature camera, a nanny cam as they're called sometimes, as a way of catching Andrew in the act. A piece of tech like that was way beyond my very humble student budget, but then we realized that I already had a piece of surveillance equipment, or rather, something which would be easily made as a sort of ad hoc surveillance device. My laptop. I just had to keep it open and facing the door, maybe with a sort of sleep mode or black screen app to make it look switched off, and then just record a very long video using Windows Movie Maker or something. It'd take up a lot of memory,

and the picture might not be the best, but it was a solid enough plan to be put into action, and so that's what I did. Day after day, night after night, I secretly recorded my room whenever I was out or asleep. I hadn't really considered how much work it was going to be, sifting through video files that were anything from 7 to 10 hours long. And if it was what I needed to do before the lock was fitted, so be it. I was definitely ready to move out at that stage. Watching all that video was eating into my study time, but, and I know this might sound so lovey or naive, I felt a responsibility to Jen now. If her husband wasn't who she thought he was, and I just packed up and left her with him without even so much as a warning,

what kind of person would that make me? I remember getting a text from her at the start of the week telling me that a handyman would be out on the Thursday to fit the lock. It was such a huge relief, but I also reckoned that I'd keep on secretly filming until then, and as much as I wanted to say that I'm glad that I kept it up, I don't think that I can mean it wholeheartedly. On the Wednesday, the day before the handyman was due to fit the lock, I arrived back from uni and got to time skipping through my ad hoc CCTV footage. I was so used to seeing absolutely nothing that when I skipped a one-time marker and saw a figure in my room, I honestly recoiled a little bit in

fright. It was, you guessed it, Andrew. I'd had a bloody good idea that he'd been sneaking around my room, but to actually see it happening right there in front of me, I felt this kind of skin-crawling nausea, the likes of which I'd never felt before. At first, he just stood there, careful not to touch anything, just sort of looking around. I'm not claiming to be a psychic or anything, but it was like I could hear his thoughts. He'd obviously been told about the handyman fitting the lock, even if it was very late and in passing, and he wanted to make the most of his one final chance to snoop around my room before I had it under lock and key. He made it way over to this cork board that I had hanging from the one wall. Over the previous two years, I'd filled it with all kinds of pictures of me

and my friends. Friends from uni, friends from back in Shrewsbury, pronounced in Polaroids and passport-sized pictures. A chaotic collage of memories and friends, both old and new. Andrew crept up to it, looked at it for a few minutes, and then reached up to pluck one of the smaller passport-sized pictures from one overpopulated corner. I was furious. Extrem extremely creeped out, but absolutely livid too. Only, Andrew wasn't done yet. Photo in hand, he walked over to my bed and

laid on it. Not on his back, but in a kind of rough fetal position, facing away from the camera. He stayed there long enough for me to think that he was sleeping, but then I saw him move. It was gentle at first, barely could see it at all, until you could quite clearly see him shaking, almost like he was sobbing, but I don't even know how to say this. More sustained, maybe? I couldn't work out exactly what he was doing, but he stayed like that for a few minutes. I know what you're thinking, but if he was doing that, then he certainly didn't leave any trace of it. When he finished, he just got up, straightened out my sheets, and then left with the stolen picture. I finally had him on camera, sneaking around my room, acting like a lunatic and stealing my things. Not exactly crime of the century or anything,

but now I could quite literally show Jen the kind of guy her husband really was. Now granted, doing so would be quite an intrusive act that might well destroy their marriage, but women have got to look out for each other, right? At least, that's what I was taught growing up. I didn't really dilly-dally over it, and I didn't let my new door lock put me off finally doing the right thing either. I waited until we could sit down together and have a proper chat, and then broke it to her as gently as possible. As I imagined, she was initially quite offended at such an accusation, but we'd known each other

for months by this point and she knew that I wouldn't make up some wild claim out of hand. Naturally, she wanted to see the evidence, just to know for certain that what I was saying was true and when she watched the video clip I isolated exactly for her, I could see that she turned pale. And when the clip was over, Jenny apologized profusely to me, told me that she'd make things right, and then declared, very grimly I might add, I think I've got a phone call to make. I knew that they'd be some of the most difficult phone calls of her life, so I went for a walk to give her a bit of privacy. And when I got back, she caught me in the hallway and tears were still streaking down

her face and told me Andrew was going to find somewhere else to live for a while. I cried a bit too as I gave her a hug. I kind of felt like her little sister, you know, and for the next week or so, I tried to be there for as best I could. But ultimately, Jen just wanted to be alone. Just over a week later, I came home from university to find that Jen was home early. She said that she'd taken a mental health day at work and had come home at lunchtime to put the Christmas decorations up. But when she got back, she didn't really much feel like decorating. I asked if she'd spoken to Andrew, and she she had but she didn't want to talk about it. She said that she couldn't really think about it without breaking down into tears and

there had been enough drama dumping on me for the time being. I told her that I'd be up in my room if she needed me for anything even if it was just a talk and she thanked me and I walked out into the hallway and up the stairs. I'd only been up in my room for a few minutes when my phone started to buzz, and it was a text from Jen saying, cup of tea with a question mark. We take into communicating like that sometimes, very first world of us I know, but it saved her walking up the two flights of stairs. I text her back saying, love one, and then got down to studying like I used to before all the horribleness had started. A few minutes later Jen showed up with my tea and then I got back to

studying. Maybe 35 to 40 minutes later I started to feel tired. Not just that usual later afternoon sluggishness either, I mean really lethargic. I drank the rest of the tea in gulps, hoping the little caffeine boost would see me through until the evening, but then just minutes later, I felt the exhaustion hit me like a brick wall, and I could barely keep my eyes open. I kept a few blister packs of Pro Plus in my desk drawer, little caffeine pills that I used to take to pull all-nighters, and as I'm rummaging around looking for them, there's a knock on my door. It was Jen, wanting to know if I was feeling okay. She never came to my room like that,

and there was something in the way that she looked at me that just seemed really out of character. It was like there was a question behind the question, and in a sudden moment of absolute horror, I realized what that question was. I tried to seem as awake as possible and told her yeah, that I was actually thinking about going out with a few friends of mine for a bit. She forced a smile and then just sort of left me there alone. I dry swallowed about four of those caffeine pills and then called the friend who had the boy trouble from earlier that I mentioned and I just said something like, I think they drugged me, please come and pick me up, call an ambulance if I stop texting back.

I couldn't believe that I was texting someone those actual words, I even thought maybe I was being kind of paranoid. Never in a million years when I first moved in did I think that it'd eventually come to something like that. Texting out an SOS, scared for my life, feeling completely and utterly betrayed by the one person I thought that I could trust. It was, and still remains, the worst night of my life. I made myself throw up to try and get whatever was left of that tainted tea out of me, but my friend still drove me to the A&E when she arrived to pick me up. I was kept in hospital overnight and the nurses monitored my condition, but whatever I'd been given just made me sleep for almost 14 hours straight.

And in that time, my friend had been in touch with the police to find out what kind of legal action I could actually take. But the sad fact was, unless I was tested right after I was brought into hospital, there was very little they could do. To test my blood or urine, they needed my consent, and for that, they'd need to be able to wake me up. And thanks to whatever Jan had slipped into my tea, I was basically dead to the world until early the following morning. I could still make a complaint and the police would have a word with Jen to make sure that she had nothing untoward to tell them about Andrew, or maybe even me for that matter. And then this is the part that still gets me the most. When the police arrived to talk to Jen, guess who was there with her her like nothing had ever happened?

Yeah, Andrew. They confirmed that yes, there had been a bit of a tiff, and Andrew had been staying with his parents over the weekend, but nothing I'd been a complete pain in the butt from the start to finish, and they half suspected of me being involved in a burglary that they'd been subjected to because one of the things that had gone missing was, you guessed it, my laptop. The same laptop containing the only piece of evidence that anything remotely weird had happened in the first place. I went ahead with the blood and urine test just in case they'd pick anything up but I had to wait weeks to get a negative result back and by that time I was living in an emergency accommodation provided by the university. The police said that that didn't mean that I wasn't drugged or spiked as a lot of sedatives are out of your system in I guess 12

hours or so. It just meant that I pretty much had no legal recourse, as it was now just a case of he said, she said. My dad had driven over to help me get my stuff back, and funny enough, Andrew hadn't been present during the exchange, and all my stuff was boxed up outside, so no actual contact had to be made. My dad had wanted to give Jen and Andrew a piece of his mind, but it's not surprising that they didn't fancy anything like that. I think by the time I had gotten my stuff back I was just happy to have closed such a nightmarish chapter in my entire life. I had totally resigned myself to police being no help whatsoever.

I know it's not their fault, the fault lay in constraints in the law, so I just moved on, and forgot about it ever happening, and I hope I never ran into them anywhere ever again. I try not to think about what would have happened if I'd given in and taken a nap that day, or if I hadn't caught on to what was going on. I could handle knowing Andrew was some kind of closeted pervert, but thinking his wife was in on it and was about to sell me up the river for lying through her teeth for weeks. Like I said, after all that chaos and insanity, it just isn't worth thinking about. So back when I was in college here in Germany, me and a few friends of mine were invited to a house party one weekend. It wasn't sold as being some crazy all night rave or anything like that, but since the drinking age is much lower than in the US,S., there'd been a lot of beer, and it was certain to get pretty wild. In light of that, me and my friends were really excited. We knew that

there were going to be girls, and being the young single guys that we were, we knew that it'd be a great place to meet some potential dates and, you know, do some flirting. We arrived stinking of cologne, wearing terrible button-up shirts with our beer in tow, and then we set up in the corner and just sort of awkwardly were drinking amongst ourselves for a while. But then the more we drank, the more confident we got, and slowly but surely we started to mingle. One of my friends started putting it on with a few different girls, and at first it was funny to watch him struggle. He was our designated driver for the evening, meaning that he hadn't been drinking and was therefore still very nervous and pretty clumsy. But then, we saw that the attraction to one of the girls was very much reciprocated. We were happy for him, but as much as I'd like to tell you that we were mature and

gave him some space, that wasn't the case at all. We kept harassing him and his potential date, playfully of course, but it was still unwelcome. Eventually he told us to leave them alone because we were ruining his chances with her and only then we'd finally respect his wishes and just leave him in peace. We were pretty drunk by that period so we just went off and entertained ourselves so he could get some space. Now a little time goes by and we start wondering where our sober friend and his lady are. We looked around everywhere for them, checking all of the bedrooms in the house but all were occupied with people drinking or smoking and our friend seemed to be nowhere to be seen. Then in the process of looking for him we we found the girl's friends, and after asking where the new couple was, we discovered that they'd gone out to my friend's car for some alone time together.

We knew exactly what they were up to, and although the girl's friends made us promise to leave them alone, we just had to get a picture or two for posterity, being immature and whatnot, you know the deal. I fully admit that our plan made us total a-holes and that violating someone's intimate privacy is not only wrong but also completely against the law to be honest, and we didn't end up taking pictures or video of anyone that night, as you'll soon come to learn. In order to maintain the element of stealth, only one of us would creep up towards my friend's car before secretly recording whatever was going on inside. That was the plan, at least. And that person wasn't me, so the rest of us sort of held back at the party to make it look like we weren't doing exactly what it is we were doing. We talked to the girl's friends, kept them occupied trying and failing to flirt with

them until we started to grow impatient. All our friend with the phone had to do was run up to the car, snap a few pictures, and then run back with his prize. But longer and longer went by, and there was no sign of our friend with the camera phone. Unable to wait any longer, I went outside to look for him, but instead of secretly filming our friend and his girl in the car, I found him sitting on the curb with no car in sight. He was on the phone with someone so I figured shutting up and listening would get more answers than asking questions he wouldn't respond to. As I listened, I worked out the call was obviously

a serious one and by the end of it, I was almost certain that number one, he'd been crying and number two, that the call sounded like it had been with the police. I asked him where our friend with the car was, and he just shook his head and told me, we need to leave. When he looked up at me, it became clear that yes, he had been crying, but why? He didn't tell me until we took a taxi back to his apartment, and over a few more beers and some cigarettes, he told me what happened. He tried to take some pictures as planned, but when he got to our friend's car, he found him in the passenger seat alone. His head was in his hands and he was in this terrible state with tears

streaming down his face. My friend with the phone kept asking what happened with the girl, over and over, but our friend with the car wouldn't say anything. Wouldn't or couldn't, I don't know. But my phone friend walks around to the passenger side to climb in and talk to him with some privacy, and he asks again, what happened with the girl? And our friend with the car just points to the back seat, and that's when he realizes that our friend isn't alone in the car. He never was, and under the blanket on the back seat, he recognized the shape of a person. It was the girl that he'd been with, and she wasn't breathing. But when my friend with the phone asked what had happened,

car friend just kept saying, I don't know, I don't know. At first, he maybe thought that the girl had had a seizure, maybe a freak heart failure, and he kept saying to call 112, which is the emergency number here in Germany for fire or medical. But my friend with the car, he wouldn't call. He kept saying things like, just wait a minute, I need to think,

and other things to delay my other friend. My friend with the phone said that he jumped out of the car out of instinct, realizing that he was getting his DNA and all of those things onto what was now the scene of the crime, being very paranoid. There was no other reason why he would refuse to call the emergency number or try to delay in any way, or why he'd cover her body instead of just running to get help or maybe even trying to get her out. My friend with the phone then told the other to get out of his car, but he wouldn't. He just suddenly started the engine and drove off before my friend could stop him. He then was faced with a choice. Run and get us, which is what he really wanted to do because he was completely freaked out.

Or do the right thing, be a man and just call the 110 number instead, which is not the number for medical, it's the number for the police. We later discovered that the friend with the car had somehow suffocated this girl, although we never found out exactly how. He planned to drive into the river Maine to take his own life and hide what he'd done, but he couldn't go through with it and was found by the police and subsequently arrested. He pled guilty to everything to try and get as little time in prison as possible and for a while it was a big story but now for most people it's half a forgotten memory really. When I recall it my mind always seemed to land on one specific thing my friend said when he was in his apartment afterwards.

He said realizing that he sat in the car with a dead body, as well as the killer themselves, was the scariest feeling he'd ever felt. It's the kind of moment that would top anybody's list of their life's scariest moments. But he said that just seconds later he was faced with something that was somehow even more terrifying to him. He was terrified that one of the dead girl's friends was going to ask him where she was and how he wouldn't be able to tell her. I just tried to be the best friend I could to him and get him away from the party before his worst fear came true but I also understand how selfish it was of us not to warn anyone what had happened. Those girls might have carried on partying for a while,

not knowing that one of their close friends was gone forever. To be continued... days. As you can probably imagine, it's not a very nice story, but I like to think that it's something others can take something away from, be that a life lesson or whatever else. I was pretty wild in college. You wouldn't think it if you looked at me, but it's true. I did okay in my freshman year, tried to keep my head straight and focus on my studies, but then the sophomore party lifestyle hit me pretty hard. I've also always looked a little older than I was, so although getting carded was standard on campus, if I drove into the city, I could pick up a six-pack almost anywhere. And that was not conducive to a healthy study and party balance. I would regularly find myself forced to walk home from some bar at 2am, having spent all my money on shots with no charge on my phone to call a cab. A normal person might have that happen to them once, but me, it happened at least half a dozen times than I can remember.

The last time, I had just gotten back onto campus after walking maybe two or three miles completely drunk, and I was incredibly tired. I was sobering up, in a terrible mood, and all I wanted to do was get back to my dorm so I could get to that bottle of vodka that I kept hidden in my dorm. But then, I run into this kindly stranger. There's a guy smoking a cigarette outside his block, and he says something sort of softly to me as I walk past him. It was something like crazy night or wild night and I must have just grunted until I saw him smoking. I asked him to bum one and did so. Then we made a little small talk before he invited me inside for a beer and to charge my phone. This guy was still living in the dorms, albeit the nicer kind on the other side of campus, but having alcohol was still very much against the rules. Most heavy partiers had something stashed

away somewhere, but this guy had a mini fridge that had beer cans tucked behind sodas. He said no one suspected him because he was such a nerd, and he was kind of right I guess, because he didn't give off party vibes, but I just found myself seriously impressed. Well, more just wanting to have another beer before I walked the final 20 minutes to my dorm, but impressed nevertheless. I go up to this guy's room, and there it was, beer, hiding in plain sight. I asked to use the guy's bathroom before we drank, and he showed me where it was, and when I got back, we talked and drank and at one point I knew I probably should have started walking back but I figured that I could just rest

a little longer and that, ladies and gentlemen, is the last thing I remember. I woke up the next morning in the hallway outside the guy's apartment. I was fully clothed but my shoes were out there with me. It must have been late morning because it was pretty busy outside meaning people definitely must have stepped over me while passed out in the hallway. I felt like death and I probably looked about the same too. I know I attracted a few looks as I sort of moseyed across campus and back to my room. I'd been really drunk before, but never blackout drunk, and let me tell you, it was not a good feeling. I haven't even put it together why I'd been cruising along just fine before that one beer knocked me out completely cold. I honestly just figured that I was exhausted from hours of drinking, then miles of walking, but

as I said, I'd made that walk five or six times previous, probably having drank even more on some occasions, and I'd never blacked out like that until that night. I figured a lot of you probably have put it together already. Things are sometimes clearer from a distance like that, you know. But never underestimate the power of denial, especially when it comes to young men. I think a year went by before I was really faced with what had happened to me. I always knew in the back of my head, I mean, but like I'd already covered, I had that head buried firmly in the sand.

In the twelve months or so since I blacked out, the same thing happened to multiple guys from our university and even some of the locals too. They were walking someplace late at night, ran into a kind of stranger who offered them beer or maybe a phone charge or whatever they just happened to need at that moment. They then went up to this guy's apartment or got into his car or whatever and he offers them a drink. And then boom, they wake up hours later with no memory of the evening's events. You might think that it'd be those with clear ideas or suspicions that'd be the first to raise the alarm, but in reality, the opposite is true.

The more of an idea that they had of what happened, the more compartmentalizing went on, allowing our seemingly kind stranger to get away with his crimes for a long time. It wasn't until a dude went to a doctor, having no idea why he hurt so much that the cops were even informed that something was going on on campus. Then I don't know how, but they caught up with the guy, arrested him, and then the whole story was in the media within just a few days. The cops think this kindly stranger assaulted anywhere between 18 to 100 different assaults

in the space of two years. And you read that right. 18 confirmed, 100 possible, and I heard almost a dozen were almost talked into testifying, but withdrew one by one in the run-up to the trial itself. Testifying would mean admitting what had happened to them, something that some guys just aren't willing to do. I guess that applies to both sexes, but it especially applies to men. I know that because I was one of those who withdrew. I figured if so many others were brave enough to say it out loud, I wouldn't need to. But that's not how it works. The kindly stranger who invited me into his dorm room that night got more than 500 years in prison on account of the 18 separate

accounts that he was convicted of, plus a bunch of other crimes thrown in there too. It was good news to most, but to me, it meant facing up to what had happened to me, which honestly has been the single toughest thing I'd ever had to do. I've since worked with an organization called One in Six. Named so because statistically, one in six men will be intimately assaulted or violated at some point in their lives, but because of how little we talk about it, you'd think the number is much, much lower. Well, it's not. And if the issues I just discussed affects any of your viewers,

I strongly advise them to go visit www.1in6.org. There's a lot of advice and information there. Just don't close yourselves off and suffer in silence. Because silence is the real killer. Back when I was studying for my master's degree, I was living in a rented townhouse with an old college friend. She worked full-time hours, while I picked up odds and ends at a local coffee shop, meaning she could cover her costs with ease while my wages only just covered half of the rent. She was always okay with supporting me in that sense. She pretty much paid for everything whereas I merely pitched in with

groceries occasionally. I felt like a total bum sometimes but she'd always cheer me up whenever I did and explained that it'd be me paying for bougie things once I had some fancy high salary job. She was an amazing friend to me in that way and we lived like that for almost two years until one day she sat me down for a little talk. She'd fallen in love and planned to get married. The only thing was they'd met online and the guy lived out in Sacramento. They'd already discussed living situations and he'd made it clear that he couldn't relocate due to his mom's poor health. So after thinking it over for a week or two, she decided to move to California so she could be with him. I was happy for her, don't get me wrong.

It sounded completely insane at first, but then the more we talked it over, the more it became obvious that she was crazy about him, and from what she told me, I couldn't blame her. He sounded like Mr. Right, alright, and as sad as I was to see her leave, I knew that she was able to look after herself. But then there was the problem of rent. There was no way that I'd be able to pick up enough hours to cover all the costs, not completely anyway, so if I wanted to carry on living in what was a pretty nice place, I'd have to ask the landlord about finding myself a roommate. The landlord sympathized and agreed to help me find a roommate but insisted on being part of the vetting process. Obviously, that's their prerogative and I trusted them to find someone

reliable and chill, but I was still sort of nervous about the process of living with some total stranger. A few weeks go by, my old college friend moves out and I'm just waiting on the landlord to be in touch about my new roommate. I texted her about it and she replied with something like, almost on meeting with potentials, should hear from me in the next few days. It had all been agreed that I'd continue to pay 50% of the rent should the landlord fail to find anyone before it was next due, so I wasn't worried about the timescale or anything. I just sat back, carried on with my work and studies, and just waited to meet my new roomie. Then a few days later, just like my landlord had said, there's an unexpected

knock on the front door. Outside on the step is a real plain looking guy in his late 30s or early 40s. He's got boxes under each arm, a big smile on his face, and addresses me by name as he introduces himself as my new roommate. I was a little taken aback because my landlord hadn't given me any advanced word about anyone moving in, but since it fit with the whole time scale that he'd given me of a few days and the guy seemed to know me by name, I figured that it was all legit. I kept the door open for the guy as he started to move some of the smaller boxes out of a U-Haul that he had outside, but as he sort of did all that by himself, I crept off into the kitchen to call the landlord. They didn't pick up the call,

so I just left a text and then got back to what I was doing. The next thing I know, I hear the sound of a drill coming from downstairs. I go check it out, wondering why the hell this guy might need a power tool to get his stuff moved in, and it's not the guy at all. It's a locksmith, and they're changing the locks. Again, I'm a little taken aback, but once the locksmith told me that he had a new key ready for me and that he'd been hired by the landlord on account of the new tenant, I just nodded and went back to what I was doing. Only once the guy had moved all of his stuff in and there was a new front door lock did the landlord manage to get back to me.

Not out of negligence either, just out of how busy they were. I asked them if they'd chosen a roommate and they said yes, that they'd be over in the next few days to move in. They hadn't picked up the key yet, but they let me know as soon as they did, so I knew when to expect them. I remember kind of freezing as if to be like, oh no. And then I just asked my landlord, did you have the locks changed? When they replied with a confused no, I think I just about sighed all the air out of my body and, over the course of the next few minutes we established what should have been obvious from the get-go. A total stranger had just moved into this house with me and my landlord had absolutely zero clue who this person was. We agreed that I should call the cops

and get the guy arrested for trespassing and although it had severely freaked me out at first, the fact that he knew my name gave us a huge clue as to who he was. My landlord had mentioned me to a number of the potential tenants, one of whom was a man in his late 30s to early 40s who sounded a lot like the guy who had just so brazenly invaded my home. My landlord thought that his name was Brad or something like that, and he hadn't been anywhere near a favorite to move in. But apparently, Brad had taken it upon himself to do just that. When the cops showed up, I expected them to walk in, arrest the guy, then drag him out by his arms. After all, he has zero evidence that he even lived there and I was ready to get the landlord on the phone to prove it.

But then the cops walked into his bedroom, talked to him for like 20 minutes, and then came out looking exhausted. Brad had shown them a lease, signed by two parties, meaning from their end everything just seemed absolutely kosher. I told them that it was impossible, that whatever documents he'd showed them had to be fake, but they explained that it wasn't theirs to judge. On top of that, all the legal stuff had to go through the landlord, not me,

so once again, I had to just sit back and wait while this total stranger and obvious psychopath slept just feet away from me on the other side of the wall. Problems came almost immediately, with the first being his refusal to pay for utilities. This resulted in us getting the power shut off for an entire day until I literally begged friends and family for a few bucks here and there, until I finally had enough to get the lights turned on again. Meanwhile, Brad, I honestly never did figure out his name, just kind of made do. He made a show of it too, as if to say, nothing you can do with me to make me move out of here. Again, you think once we proved that his lease was fake that

the cops would just come and arrest him, but after living in a place for a certain amount of time, city law states that they're legally a tenant, meaning you can't just throw them out. You need to go get an eviction notice, which again, takes time, and all the while the landlord is losing money and I'm losing my mind. It looked like we were going to have to just live like that too. And a kind of legal, social nightmare for the foreseeable future. But in the end, we got a lucky break. Well, lucky in some ways, unlucky in others.

There was a long, build up to it but eventually I started screaming at Brad and getting in his face and he hit me. And he hit me so hard enough that he actually drew blood which finally was what I needed to actually get him arrested and in that time me and my landlord jumped into action. In our city there's a statute or precedent or whatever legal thing which states that an emergency eviction notice can be served if a tenant is convicted of a violent crime. We'd obviously have to wait for a court date and maybe even an eventual guilty verdict for that but thankfully it came in due course and we were able to evict him. To this day I still can't believe someone would be so brazen

as to do something like that and I still count myself lucky that things didn't escalate beyond just common assault because something tells me that Brad is capable of way worse stuff than that. So back when I was a sophomore in college, I was dating a guy that we'll call Will. I won't give away too many details about him for reasons that'll become obvious as the story progresses. When we first met as freshmen, we couldn't have been any more mismatched. We were from opposite sides of the country. He was an English major while I was studying molecular biology. He was super outgoing and sort of right-brained while I was awkward, shy, and very much his complete opposite. I'm honestly amazed that we even hooked up in the first place, but we did. He got my number, and I almost regret giving it to him because he tried some really wicked cheesy pickup lines,

but in the end, he convinced me to go on a date with him. We dated for the rest of the academic year, visited each other over summer, and by the holidays, he'd become my first serious boyfriend. We were happy, really happy, until just after New Year's when I noticed a sudden change in his behavior. Like I mentioned, Will was a perennial optimist and very much a social butterfly. He always wanted to see and do things while I was a total homebody, so when I noticed that he seemed more and more content to stay cooped up in his dorm room, completely alone, it immediately struck me as odd. Our sophomore year meant that our studies started to ramp up, meaning time alone together was kind of at a premium. I didn't mind just hanging out in his dorm room with him, but sometimes I'd get there and he'd only just gotten out of bed. This was definitely out of character for him, and even more so was how downright cranky and cold that he seemed to be getting with me. One time I showed up and all he did for the first

half hour was play some stupid video game, barely even acknowledging my presence until the game was done. When he couldn't seem to understand why I was mad, I admittedly got way angrier, and he stormed off to take his first shower of the day at like 7.30pm. And while he was showering, my phone just so happened to buzz with a low battery notification, so I just went hunting for a charging cable. Will used to have the same phone as I did, and he had the old cable lying around somewhere, so when I was unable to locate it in the nest of wires behind his desk, I went searching through his drawers. And that's when I found a half-empty bottle of pills with the word Vyvanse written on

the label. He'd obviously been taking them, but I had no idea that he had any kind of condition or anything, so I quickly googled the name to see what they were for. The first result was like Vyvanse is an anti-ADHD medication, and again, I had no idea that Will had ADHD, but that's not really what got my attention. It was the side effects. Hallucinations, paranoia, depression, harmful ideations, you name it, and Vyvanse listed

it as a side effect of overconsumption. I was almost certain that the pills were to blame for Will's sort of sudden behavioral shift, so naturally I wanted to step in, but I also didn't want to inflame the already present tensions that we had with each other, but sadly there was no way to avoid it. When he came out of the shower, I asked him if he had anything he wanted to tell me. Now I know what you're thinking, and no, I didn't do it in a rude or accusatory way. I did it in an earnest, I love you but I'm worried about you kind of way, not wanting to prolong our conflict any further. Somehow, Will still took offense

before flat out denying that he was hiding anything. I tried again, giving him a free pass for us to talk about the Vyvanse without me being remotely mad or judgmental, but again, he denied keeping anything from me. And that's when I straight up asked him, well what about the pills? And he freaked. He goes on this, how dare you snoop around in my room, you're not my effing mother, screaming and shouting and balling up his fists. I'm not proud of it, but I just burst into tears. I've always been very conflict-averse, and unfortunately, sudden aggression just provokes this kind of stress reaction in me. The sight of my tears calmed Will down a little, and he agreed to talk about the pills.

And here's what my initial theory was. Will had suffered with ADHD for years. He was embarrassed by it and kept it a secret. Since he was away from his mom and dad, he'd somehow messed up in his doses and was now suffering the side effects, but here's what was actually going on. Will had never in his life suffered from ADHD. Someone had sold him the pills as a sort of study aid, but instead, Will was using it to be better at that stupid video game that he'd been playing. He wasn't up studying all night like I thought he was. He'd been wasting his time trading insults with literal children. I couldn't hide how mad I was. I'd never heard anything so irresponsible in my entire life. I should have just dumped him right there and then, but I loved him. Go figure. So to his credit, Will admitted that what he was doing was extremely dumb and apologized for worrying me so much.

He then took the bottle of Vyvanse out of the drawer and poured the remaining pills down the toilet and then flushed them away. Over the next few weeks, Will's behavior and sleeping pattern improved significantly and I can say with near certainty that he wasn't taking any meds. But what he was doing was drinking, and he was drinking a lot. As you could probably guess by now, Will was always big into parties, not even for the alcohol so much as the chance just to talk to people. He enjoyed a drink or two, but rarely more than that. He saw alcohol as a kind of social lubricant, and anywhere past his sweet spot, and he just called it and stopped being fun. Well, after the Vyvanse discovery, that all kind of changed. Will started drinking alone, and he wouldn't tell me why or where he was getting it. The most I ever got out of him was,

I'm stressed, but when I asked him what was stressing him out, he just put up a wall and refused to talk about it. Slowly but surely, his sleeping pattern began to creep back to unhealthy territory and after talking to one of his guy friends, I found out that Will was taking the pills again. Once again, I confronted Will, but that time I got a taste of what Vyvanse can do to a person. No matter what I said to him, he would only ever respond with, who told you? Then each time he asked, the question would get louder and more aggressive, and by the end, he was pinning me up against a wall by my shoulders while screaming, who told you? Who effing told you? The tears were streaming down my face. He didn't care. He just carried on screaming until he accepted that I was in no condition to

talk. In that moment, I didn't think that I could get any more frightened of him, and he soon proved me wrong. Will started pacing back and forth as I sat down, leaning down on my knees to hide my face. The only real sounds were his footsteps and my sobs, but suddenly, Will stopped in his tracks. He started staring at the dorm room's neighboring wall, then began hammering on it with his fist while screaming, Shut up, shut up, shut up. In the sight of someone you love, losing their mind right before your eyes is something that I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy. It's terrifying and heartbreaking all at once because it's not them anymore. I can almost sympathize with my ancestors who

believed such people were possessed by demons. They're kind of right in a way because they're not in control of themselves. Something else is at the wheel. I was too scared to ask Will what he could hear that I couldn't because the answer didn't matter, not really. After that I got in touch with Will's mom. I didn't have her number but after looking up his sister's Facebook account, a quick friend request was all it took to get a hold of it. I called her and told her everything and she was amazing. She thanked me for caring, assured me that she'd take over from there and promised that she'd be in touch with any developments. A day went by and my

love you hope you're okay text with Will went unanswered. I called his mom and she assured me that she was working on it but a few hours later I got a text from Will asking me to come pick him up in an Uber. This was a huge red flag because Will loved driving and he loved his car. Either he was drinking heavily again or something had happened. Well something had happened. Will had totaled his car and my jaw dropped when he told me on the phone that it hadn't been an accident. He'd purposely destroyed his own car because he thought his parents were using it to track him, and it later turned out that he was half right,

that his parents had hired a PI to keep an eye on him while they arranged for a stay in rehab. It was a well-intentioned gesture, but given how prone to paranoid delusions Will was at the time, it wreaked absolute havoc on his psyche. But that wasn't all. He wanted me to call us an Uber so we could flee to Canada. According to him, not his parents, nor the US government could track him on the other side of the border. Therefore, if we wanted to live in peace, we'd have to move and there wasn't a moment to spare. Obviously, I said no. There was no way in hell that I was about to just pack up and move to another country. My poor Will needed help, and he needed it badly.

The Will didn't seem to see things that way, and I had no idea just how badly he'd take my refusal. For those of you that don't know how it feels to be stabbed by someone you've once believed would never ever hurt you, I hope it stays that way for you. Luckily, mine was just a superficial wound, but the one Will inflicted on the first person who tried to stop him, that wasn't so superficial. Neither was the head injury Will received when he hit the pavement after getting tasered into submission. I didn't press any charges,

but the same couldn't be said for the good Samaritan who saved my life. I don't begrudge him the right, I just wish things could have transpired differently. My poor Will is currently serving a five year sentence for aggravated assault and although we're no longer together, I still write to him from time to time. He's not a bad person, never was. He just made some very poor decisions and we both have the scars to prove it. I have recently been undertaking a course of cognitive behavioral therapy on the advice of my psychiatrist, and it involved writing an essay on the event that caused me to seek therapy in the first place. It's not something I ever planned on publishing or sharing with anyone, but it dawned on me that what happened might serve as a cautionary tale for others. And if just a little bit of light can come out of all that darkness,

then I guess I should give you a chance to use it in one of your videos, let's read. That being said, I prefer to remain at least partially anonymous if you do share this and if that's okay with you. If you think that makes my story less believable, I understand, but it's quite a big story where I'm from when it happened and I'd rather not draw any more attention to myself than I already have. So back in the late 2000s, after earning my teaching qualifications, I got a job at a middle school in a major midwestern city. Teaching turned out to be a career full of surprises. I was surprised how quickly I was able to land a job, surprised how horribly understaffed and underfunded we were, and surprised at the kids' capacity for sheer cruelty.

I was swamped with work, incredibly stressed out, and admittedly very lonely. I wanted to date, I just didn't have the time. So when I heard about a little website called Plenty of Fish, my curiosity was piqued. I set up a profile, trying not to make my About Me section too cringey, then I set about browsing the profiles of local singles. There were a lot of attractive, interesting young women. An intimidating amount, actually, but as much as I tried, I couldn't seem to hold their attention long enough to actually secure a meetup. But then finally, just when I was starting to think that the whole thing was just some lost cause,

I got a message from a girl named Lira. Lira was a petite Hispanic girl with curly brown hair and big, amber eyes. She was charming, intelligent, and we soon swapped email addresses for more in-depth conversations. She said that she was working as a waitress downtown, had an interest in fashion, but also read a lot of books that she was kind of embarrassed about. When I asked why, she didn't tell me in case I thought she was weird. At that point, very little could have put me off this girl, but she told me that she had a huge interest in serial killers. And I just about jumped for joy. Not only did I somewhat share her interest in criminology, but a kooky interest like that was something that we could really bond over. At least, that's the way it seemed to me at the time.

We traded a few more pictures of each other, some a little racier than others, but nothing nude or X-rated or anything like that. I thought she was pretty, she said I was handsome, and before long, we were planning to meet in person. Between matching and the day of our planned meeting, Lyra and I talked almost all day every day. We talked about our lives, our hopes for the future, our families, and dating history. I was almost 27 at the time and she told me that she was 22, but despite the age gap, we got along very well and I got more and more excited to meet her. We agreed to meet for coffee one Sunday afternoon, so I drove out to the parking lot of a Starbucks in her neighborhood, gave her a description of my car, and then waited for her to show up.

We planned to meet for 2pm, but when 2.15 came and went and Lyra hadn't showed up, I started to get a little worried. I texted her, but she assured me that she was only minutes away, so I just leaned back in the driver's seat of my car and started playing with my phone to pass the time. I obviously wanted to be able to see who's approaching my car, so I'm backed into this parking space facing whatever strip mall the Starbucks was in. I can see anyone and everyone who might approach my car, but every time I look up from my phone, there's no sign of Lyra. Then at one point, I look up to see this guy walking towards the parking spaces where I'm at. There are other cars parked next to me, so I figure that he's just going to get into one of them before driving off.

Only, he doesn't. I see him stop in front of my hood on the edges of my vision and so I look up again to make eye contact with him. The guy is maybe a few years younger than me, dark hair and eyes and a little shaved beard and mustache combo around his mouth and chin. He sort of checks me out for a second, takes a look around him and then pulls out a small digital camera from his jacket and starts snapping pictures of me. At first I just gave him this exaggerated look as if to say, what are you doing dude? But honking my horn didn't stop him either. I rolled down my window intent on telling him to get lost but as soon as I did he makes a beeline from my driver's side and begins talking to me in a low voice. Strangely enough, I can remember exactly what he said, not word for word.

I think he was only two or three sentences in before my head started swimming and I felt like I was going to throw up. It sounds exaggerated right now, I know, but you just wait. Basically, it went a little something like this. He addresses me by name, which is what initially stunned me into silence, and then he says something like, I don't think you want to make a scene here. You don't want people to find out you've been talking to my 17-year-old sister, especially not the school board. Has anyone ever said anything to you that made your whole entire self just stop for a couple of seconds? The only other thing I can compare it to is when I got the news that my dad suddenly passed. It's like everything stops for a few moments. The world keeps going, but you're

just stuck in that one moment longer than everyone else is. In movies and on TV, they try all kinds of things to mimic what it feels like. The first episode of Breaking Bad, for example, when Walter goes temporarily deaf when he gets the news about his cancer. TV producers try to capture that feeling in a thousand different ways on a thousand different TV shows, but they'll never really convey what it's like. You gotta feel it for yourself. And realizing that I've been tricked, catfished, if you will, into something that can destroy my entire life. Trust me, you don't want to know what that feels like. As you can probably guess, I hadn't been talking to any 17 year old. I'd been talking to the guy who was now demanding to be let into my

car. Hell, I don't even know if this girl in the pictures was his sister or not, but we both knew that that wasn't important. All that mattered was what it looked like, and I know this guy could selectively screenshot a few portions of our email exchange to make me look very much like the predatory villain going after the innocent underage girl. It might sound strange to some, all I ever wanted to do was teach. I had an amazing high school history teacher who inspired me to do the same, so it might sound strange to some, but all I ever wanted to do was teach. I had an amazing high school history teacher who inspired me to do the same, so it might seem like an unambitious goal to some, but it's all I ever wanted as a career. My blackmailer knew that, and it made me

a much richer target. They didn't have to mine enough dirt to hold the prospect of arrest and imprisonment over me because the school board would ensure that I never worked another teaching job in my life if there was even the whiff of predatory behavior about me. He had me by the proverbials, as they say. I knew it, and he knew it too. And then over the course of the next few weeks, he must have bled me for at least a thousand dollars before he finally got a grip of myself and went to the cops. Now I won't bore you with each individual exchange. Just know that each one came with a reminder of what he had over me and at the time, I didn't think that I had any

real recourse. I fooled myself into believing that if I paid him a few times, if I just gave him that few thousand he believed that I owed him, that the guy would find a new mark and move on from me. But he didn't. The first rule of blackmailers, you never let them blackmail you. Otherwise, you'll never get rid of them. You let people use you like a human ATM and shock and horror. I don't like the idea of suddenly losing it. One whiff that I was about to hold out on him and the guy threatened my life. After that, I had no choice but to either pack up and move or go to the cops and after reviewing the conversations I had with Lyra, I decided to stand up for myself. For the first two weeks or so, I was too shell-shocked to

actually take a step back and analyze what I'd said and done. I wanted to delete my Plenty of Fish account, sometimes more than anything in the world, but I was too scared and ashamed to even log in. But then, after I realized my life might legitimately be in danger if I suddenly became unable or unwilling to pay, it motivated me to revisit Lyra's conversation history. I wasn't talking to a 17-year-old girl. I mean, I wasn't even talking to a girl. I didn't even know if the girl in the pictures was underage as there was no matches in the results of multiple Google image searches. And that was the start of me going down this major rabbit hole regarding blackmail and cybercrime.

Every single self-declared expert said the same thing. Even if you legit had done something illegal, you have to be the first to approach law enforcement if you're being blackmailed. It sounds stunningly petty that it came down to something as simple as who files the first report, but justice is indeed blind, for better and worse. And when I actually sat down with two detectives who worked extortion cases like mine, they said it was probably one of the least embarrassing cases they'd ever dealt with. Smarter, richer guys than me have been quite literally caught with their pants down, and that alone was reason enough for some of them not to involve the law.

The others were doing something legitimately incriminating. One of the detectives told me about a guy who was actually looking to prey on underage girls. One girl's father found out, blackmailed the guy until he hung himself because he couldn't pay anymore. Some might call that justice, but blackmail is illegal, no matter who the victim is. In the end, what it came down to was if I could survive whatever accusation this guy would make, there was a good chance that when his arrest got traced back to me, whatever material he was hanging over my head was going to get released. Legally, I was going to be fine, but as we know, it was the school board's judgment that really mattered. And sadly, this story doesn't have a happy ending. My blackmailer ended up getting arrested and a sort of sting set up to catch him and I testified against him in court. But before I even got my

day in court, every school in the district got a big brown envelope in the mail containing some heavily doctored images of my Plenty of Fish profile, the conversations with Lyra, and the predatory accusations that had milked almost two grand out of me. The detectives I spoke to were kind enough to contact the school board themselves, assuring me that the packages amounted to false evidence in a blackmail case. They were understanding. The kids' parents, however, they weren't so eager to accept the nuance of the situation. The school board tried to make my case, but it didn't matter. No smoke without fire was the general consensus, and I was given a choice by the school board. Resign and move on, and I'd get a clean recommendation from them for my next teaching

job, or stay and be forced out in a way that'd be a black mark on my record for the rest of my career. When they put it like that, there was no choice in it at all. I've tried to move on with my life, and in some ways, I've been very successful. But in others, I'm still very sorely lacking, hence why I'm writing all this down in the first place. Maybe one day I'll be able to shake off the trust issues that this Lyra gave me and I'll be able to finally start dating like I tried to so many years before. I'll always be scared. I'll always be anxious. But all I can hope is those feelings dampen over time until I can finally get rid of this cursed feeling and earn the love that I know

in my heart that I deserve. I recently discovered your YouTube channel and I've been binging your videos, but I'm also really broke right now. So instead of sending a super chat or becoming a channel member, I figured that I'd show my appreciation by sending a story that you can actually use. So this happened in Vermont in the late 90s sometime, 98 or 99 I think, and it's a true story so you can go research it to confirm I'm not making up a bunch of bull. Now having said that, please forgive me for any inaccuracies. It's been a long time since I talked about this with anyone. If I get dates or little details wrong that's totally on me, but I can promise you, what you're about to read is true, as true can get. So back when I was in high school, there was this kid in my homeroom class named Chris,

who was always into some kind of hustle. For example, there was a time he must have made literally hundreds of dollars selling counterfeit cassette tapes. I personally bought the Weezer album Pinkerton from him, and he only got in trouble when a teacher was caught buying one of his tapes. The teacher got fired, whereas Chris only got a detention, and then he was back and selling loose cigarettes in no time. This really did get him in trouble though. Showing a little misdirected entrepreneurial spirit is one thing, but profiting from getting freshman kids hooked on smoking was something else in my mind. He ended up getting suspended for a while, but I think that his mom pleaded his case to the principal because he managed to avoid outright expulsion. When he returned from the suspension, Chris was a changed man and appeared to have completely cleared up his act.

But as the saying goes, appearances can be deceptive. Instead of running hustles that could easily be traced back to him, Chris found a way to elevate his game, and it all centered around the school's computer lab along with its brand new internet access. So Chris might have been a grifter, but it turned out that he wasn't nearly as dumb as we all thought. All he needed was the right tools. Chris spent more and more time in the computer lab, all under the guise of cleaning up his act. The teachers figured that he'd found his calling or whatever and just sort of left him to it. We all heard that he was building a website or something

or at least learning how to. I remember thinking that was pretty cool but Chris was always super cagey about talking about it. For some reason, Chris was also super into CB radios too. I remember him having an actual picture of one in his locker. He was very proud of the fact that he was building one piece by piece in his mom's garage. And not just any old CB radio either, the most powerful civilian model in the entirety of the United States. When people asked why he'd want something so nerdy, he said that he wanted to have the range to be able to prank any CB user in the country. He pretended to be little kids in trouble or whatever and then laugh his butt off when they

started freaking out and panicking. I don't know if we ever really believed him on that. It was kind of funny, I guess, but also way too elaborate when you could just use payphones for prank calls. But little did we know, Chris was telling the truth, and he'd come up with a very illegal way of doing it. Basically, Chris would visit these internet chat forums set up for CB radio enthusiasts, and he'd pose as a legitimate CB radio trader. I heard that he played it pretty smart too, renting a P.O. box so the hustle wasn't connected to his parents' place, and doing all of his communication by email so no one heard it was just some kid instead of a grown man. He'd reached out to someone looking to sell a part that he needed,

claiming to be this fake trader, but instead of just offering cash for the item on sale, Chris would offer them any replacement part, claiming that he could source just about anything. Most guys just told him to screw off, but every so often, someone agreed to straight up swap and was dumb enough to mail him whatever part he needed. After that, Chris just stopped answering their emails and moved on to his next target. Kind of smart if you think about it, if only in a fiendish kind of way. But much like a lot of endeavors like that, it was only a matter of time before someone figured out a way to get back at him. And boy, did they ever get back at him.

One day, Chris goes to pick up a package from his P.O. box and finds that there's not one, but two boxes inside. He's working multiple targets at one time by this point, so it wasn't a nice, but not entirely unexpected surprise. He grabs both boxes, throws them in the backseat of his mom's car, and then drives back home to open them. His mom's in the house at the time, and she's in the same room when Chris started opening up the boxes. He opens one up, and there's radio parts inside. But when he opens up the other, there's another smaller box inside and when he opens that smaller box, boom.

Chris's mom watched her own son turn into mincemeat right there in front of her and the explosion put her in the hospital for days afterwards. One of Chris's targets hadn't just been content to eat his loss and had come up with a horrifyingly poetic way of getting back at him. I guess the guy could have just called the cops and given them the P.O. Box number because, although this was back during the wild west days of the internet, I'm pretty sure what he was doing was still wire fraud in some way. But it turns out, this dude couldn't wait to see Chris and Cuff, so he decided on a little vigilante justice instead. This guy spent months learning how to build a small, powerful explosive device,

testing out trigger mechanisms and power yields or whatever, until he finally had one that would ship, explode, and kill the first person who opened it. I think the guy was from Iowa or Idaho or something, somewhere way across the country, and I know he ended up going to prison for it because it was all over the newspapers here in Fairhaven. I guess the whole thing had really affected the way I look at the internet as I became an adult. Not only are there tons of people online who just aren't who they say they are, but there's also something legitimately scary about the internet's power to connect people. Sure, it has this amazing power to connect people in a positive way, people who never

would have ended up connecting otherwise, but it also opens us up to all kinds of negative interactions too. There are a whole lot of psychos out there in cyberspace, and if you make them mad, it can have deadly, real-life consequences. In May of 2005, a very bored ex-Marine decided to take advantage of the internet's anonymity to do something very unsavory. 46-year-old Thomas Montgomery, a married father of two, logged onto an internet chat room for teenagers named Pogo and set up a profile depicting a kind of alternate version of himself. In his heyday, Thomas had spent a few years in the United States Marine Corps, but had been discharged in his mid-twenties with medical issues.

In light of that, he chose a username that somewhat exaggerated his role in the services, Marine Sniper. Using an old photograph of himself and Marine Corps fatigues, Thomas posed as an 18-year-old jarhead sniper, bound for the battlefields of Iraq in the coming months. He soon received a message from a user named TallHotBlonde, an 18-year-old girl who wished him luck on his fictional tour of Iraq. I kept thinking, well, we're never going to meet, Thomas later said. I'll just play the game with her, he said. Before long, their careless flirtations blossomed into something increasingly

deeply meaningful. Tall Hot Blonde soon revealed that her name was Jessie, a high school senior from West Virginia with a passion for horses and softball. Thomas, on the other hand, painted her a picture of covert operations and elite special force units. In reality, he never once saw a shot fired in anger. He described himself as a stronger, more virile version of the real-world Thomas, standing at a muscled bound six feet tall with bright red hair and icy blue eyes. The description prompted Jesse to send what was described as some very provocative photos. His plan to win a little female company appeared to be working like a charm, but his

dependence on the buzz it gave him soon became unhealthy. It became more real to me than real life, Thomas later said, and he proved to be as generous as he was affectionate. He sent Jesse gifts of cash and jewelry, and the pair supplemented their online conversations with perfumed handwritten love letters. It wasn't long before Thomas was arranging his schedule around his talks with Jessie to the point that it became a debilitating addiction. If I was smart, I would have just ended it, he later said, but it was like a drug, a drug that I needed every day. By this time, Thomas' online relationship wasn't just taking over his life,

it was taking over his mind too. On January 2nd of 2006, he wrote a note in a digital journal that he appeared to have been keeping and it read, Today, Thomas Montgomery, 46, ceases to exist. He is replaced by an 18-year-old, battle-scarred Marine and is moving to West Virginia to be with the love of his life. He was clearly on the verge of a psychotic break, and as a result, his attempts to hide the affair from his family became increasingly lackadaisical. Finally, in March of 2006, Thomas neglected to log out of his Pogo account,

and his conversations with Jessie were discovered by one of his daughters. Confused as to who this younger woman was, Thomas' daughter showed her mother, and she was furious. Having made a note of Jesse's home address, Thomas' wife wrote her a handwritten letter, exposing her husband for the manipulative fantasist that he was. She enclosed a photograph of their family, having written on the back,

Let me introduce you to these people. That's me. you to these people. That's me, these are our daughters, but the man in the center is Tom, the one you've been talking to. He's not 18, he's 46, and he's been my husband since 1989. Jessie was horrified and broke off the relationship with Thomas immediately. I hate you, she said in a hastily typed text. You should be in jail for this. Thomas was left to deal with the fallout of his digital infidelities, believing his relationship with Jesse was over and done with. But meanwhile, unbeknownst to the Montgomery family, Jesse set about verifying the whole story by contacting one of Thomas' co-workers. 22-year-old part-time machinist Brian Barrett found himself the surprise recipient of an email from Jesse,

and once again, an online romance rapidly blossomed. Given their similar ages and interests, Jesse and Brian were a much better fit for each other, with the latter becoming a shoulder to cry on after confirming the former's worst fears. They talked for a few months, becoming more and more flirtatious until Brian asked Jesse to be his girlfriend. After a series of long-distance telephone calls confirmed that Brian was indeed real, Jesse planned for the couple to meet that summer. The future looked bright, at least until familiar usernames slid into the young woman's DMs. It was from Marine Sniper, and the message simply read, I miss you.

As much as Jessie had been disgusted at Thomas' deception, she couldn't deny that she'd missed him. Thomas was a liar, but he had a way with words, and Jesse was a sucker for silver tongue. She welcomed her former beau's return, but she was honest about her relationship with Thomas' co-worker, Brian. As an older, married man, she expected Thomas to take the news in stride, but she was wrong. Thomas' messages became frighteningly violent as he claimed that Brian would pay in blood for, and I quote, taking what belongs to me. When Jessie defended her new boyfriend, Thomas turned on her too, calling her names that she

would later describe as shockingly abusive. For Jessie, having someone that she had a deep affection for turn so suddenly vile was beyond upsetting, and unsurprisingly, she sought comfort in Brian. In retribution, Thomas took to the chatrooms Thomas still frequented, outing him as a middle-aged freak, and in some cases, accusing him of being a predator to children. Ironically, such extreme measures actually pushed Jessie back into Thomas' digital arms as, just after instances of chatroom slander, she sent him a short six-word message, I ache to be with Tommy. Documentary filmmaker Barbara Schroeder later described the ensuing conversation as Thomas' jackpot. He was being accepted for being 47, she later said, and he still had this attractive young girl wanting him now.

The only trouble was, Thomas was trying to have his cake and eat it too. In the aftermath of his online affairs discovery, Thomas had begged his wife not to leave him. Somehow, perhaps due to the lack of physical infidelity, he managed to save his marriage and promised his wife he'd cease any lurid online activity. Yet it wasn't long before the same old craving set in, and eventually, Thomas returned to his old pattern's behavior. He had no intention of losing his wife and children, but he was also dangerously addicted to his conversations with Jesse. To hide his activities from his wife, Thomas began talking to Jesse until the small hours of the morning, sacrificing his sleep and in turn his mental health in exchange for time with his online paramour. Once again, the obsession began to take a toll on his mental health. The more they talked, the less he slept

and the less Thomas slept, his grip on reality began to weaken. Finally, after weeks of almost constant talking, Jessie realized that she and Thomas had no future together, and she bravely broke things off with him during a long and heartfelt chat exchange. Jessie clearly hadn't learned from her first attempt to romantically reject the middle-aged ex-Marine. Thomas had been unhinged before, but now, he was absolutely psychotic. Behavioral therapists who later dealt with Thomas described him as frightening, and that the final rejection had sent him into an abyss.

For weeks, Thomas stewed in a mix of hatred and a raw desire for revenge. Some believed that he deserted the chatroom altogether, having been outed and humiliated not once, but twice. But Thomas wasn't gone. He was simply lurking, watching, waiting. As time went by, Jesse once again proposed a meeting with 22-year-old Brian Barrett. The invitation delighted him. His serendipitous internet romance was finally about to blossom into something tangible, something real, and he couldn't have been more excited about it. Yet Brian went on to make a fatal error of judgment, one born out of innocent desire to share his good news with others. Brian was now very active in the Pogo chat rooms, having been introduced to them by Jesse. He'd made a bunch of new friends, all of which knew

Jesse and who were over the moon when they heard the news that they were going on their official first date. The thing is, these messages were shared in what was called the main chat, as opposed to direct to private messages. This meant anyone in the chat room could read and react to Brian's good news, including people lurking under assumed or random number usernames. People like Thomas Montgomery. On the afternoon of September 15th, 2006, Brian Barrett finished his workday, closed out his shift, and then walked out into the parking lot towards his car. Out of the corner of his eye, Brian noticed a man standing by a white truck,

a man who seemed to be staring at him as he fished around for his car keys. Brian shot the man a look, but didn't recognize him. Yet moments later, the man called out for his attention. Brian looked around for a second time, but on this occasion, the man was holding a long-barreled, semi-automatic rifle. It was Thomas. According to witnesses, the armed man stated something to the effect of, should have stayed away, before three shots rang out. Brian was dead before he hit the blacktop. Police learned of the bizarre love triangle from Brian's co-workers, who were very familiar with his rivalry with Thomas,

but while he remained on the loose, Jessie wasn't safe. The police poured over Brian's pogo message history to track down any trace of Jessie's address, and when they did, they raced over to her property to ensure that she was safe. This is where police were in for yet another surprise, because instead of Jessie or her parents answering the door, a woman named Mary Sheeler greeted them instead. The officers demanded to know where Jessie was, but a frightened Mary Sheeler claimed to have no idea what they were talking about. When the officers made it clear that a man was on his way to kill her,

Sheeler broke down. There was no Jesse, or more accurately, she had been masquerading as the bubbly 18-year-old the entire time. Jesse's pictures were of those of Mary's teenage daughter, who had no idea her mother was using them to catfish men online. And after cooperating with the police, Mary helped law enforcement bring Thomas Montgomery to justice. He later pled guilty to the murder, but in exchange for his plea, he received a reduced 20-year sentence instead of the death penalty. Prosecutors later attempted to charge Mary Sheeler as some kind of accessory to the crime, but the incident exposed gaping holes in the fight against cybercrime and internet deception in general. Some assert that she deliberately provoked the violence and that she delighted over the idea of two men fighting for her.

Yet in an interview with the BBC, Mary argues the contrary. It was stupid. It should have never happened. I just never thought that it would go anywhere, she said. I honestly thought that it would end, fall off, and that would be the end of it. I didn't want anyone to get hurt. Despite dodging charges, Mary didn't come away unscathed. Her own husband later divorced her over the incident and the use of her daughter's pictures caused a rift that has yet to properly heal. We can't blame Mary Sheeler for the actions of Thomas Montgomery. Both were fantasies, but only one chose to pick up a firearm as a way of hurting the other.

It's just a shame that an innocent young man had to be a kind of sacrificial lamb, a blood tribute to conclude a relationship based on lust, lies, and loathing. Casey Renee Woody was born on October 17th of 1989 in Little Rock, Arkansas. She was the only daughter of Rick and Christy Woody, and although she lost her mother at a young age, she grew into an intelligent, talented young lady. Friends described her as a kind of caring girl who loved singing, dancing, and playing her saxophone. By 2002, the Woody family lived in the rural Arkansas town of Holland, a heavily forested area that relied on a nascent internet for communication. As a result, 13-year-old Casey kept in touch with friends using Yahoo Messenger under the username ModelBehavior. However, it wasn't just close friends Casey talked with online.

Since late 2001, Casey had been kindling a friendship with 17-year-old David Fagan, with the pair having bonded over the loss of loved ones. Two of Casey's close friends, Sam and Jessica, also added David to their Yahoo friends list. Yet while he made an effort to come across as a charming, well-intentioned young man, Sam was not fooled. She might have been just 13, but she was wise enough to recognize that something was wrong. No 17-year-old in their right mind would even think of becoming romantically involved with someone four years their junior, and the fact that David had never called or sent a verifiable picture made her even more suspicious.

She advised Casey not to get too attached to David. Sadly, she didn't listen. Rick Woody, Casey's father, worked grueling 11-hour swing shifts as a police officer, meaning he wasn't home enough to effectively monitor her internet activity. Rick knew that Casey talked to boys in online chat rooms, but wasn't overly concerned about it. He trusted that his daughter was making friends within her age group, and talking online was much safer than meeting in person. Yet when he discovered that Casey was talking to someone in their late teens, he was furious. Rick banned his daughter from any further communication with David, but Casey simply circumvented the ban by calling David long distance. One night during the summer of 2002, Casey and her friend Jessica were having

a sleepover at the Woody family home. Sometime in the early evening, the phone rang. Casey answered the call. It was David. The pair engaged in a little small talk for a while, until suddenly, Jessica heard a strange sound coming from downstairs. She walked out of Casey's bedroom and over to the top of the stairs, listening out for any further noises. And that's when she heard the telltale sound of the kitchen floorboard creaking underfoot. Jessica hurtled back into Casey's room, closing and blocking her door with a nearby dresser. Casey descended into a panic when she realized someone was in the house with them, and she expressed fears to David who was still on the phone with her David told her not to worry, that no one was in the house and that they'd both be fine

After that, the noises stopped Sometime after this incident, Casey began communication with a Yahoo user named Taz2999 Taz claimed to be a 14-year-old football player named Scott, who resided in Alpharetta, Georgia. The pair spoke for a while before Scott asked Casey to be his girlfriend, and having learned from the David debacle, she insisted that Scott send her a picture. Minutes later, an email arrived in Casey's inbox.

It was from Scott, and attached to it was a picture of a handsome teenage boy wearing a football uniform, and she was smitten. Then, on the morning of December 3rd, 2002, Casey's friend Sam noticed Scott's picture hanging in her locker. She was delighted to hear that Casey had found a boyfriend, but was dismayed to hear that it was another semi-anonymous online relationship. Once again, Sam warned Casey of the dangers associated with online strangers, only this time, Casey became confrontational. She didn't appreciate her friend's attempt to mother her and accused Sam of toxic jealousy before storming off to class. Without Casey's knowledge, Sam approached their school's counselor to warn them of her reckless behavior. But rather than approach the situation delicately, Casey was dragged into the principal's office for a stern lecture on stranger danger.

Casey insisted that she didn't give out any personal information, something we know is false based on her phone conversations with David. For some reason, the teachers then decided to bring Sam into the office, Something we know is false based on her phone conversations with David. For some reason, the teachers then decided to bring Sam into the office to out her as the one who'd warned them of Casey's behavior. She was furious, but hid her rage to convince teaching staff that the pair had reconciled. The two girls didn't talk for the rest of the school day, but just after the bell rang, Casey caught Sam in her locker, only to extend

a very unusual invitation. Casey proposed the two girls have a sleepover that same evening, but since it was a school night, the proposal was almost completely out of the question. Sam declined for that very reason, only for Casey to extend the invitation to Jessica and then another friend. Both turned her down and although Casey wasn't outwardly upset about the refusal, she was clearly desperate for some company that evening. A few hours later, Casey was home alone, chatting with Scott on Yahoo Messenger while talking with David on the phone. David told her that he had a dying aunt in Arkansas, Casey's home state, and that he was driving out

to be with her until she passed. Casey expressed her condolences and continued to chat with Scott until exactly 9.41pm when the messages suddenly stopped. Casey's two brothers then returned home at 10.15pm and 11.40pm respectively and contacted their father after becoming concerned at her absence. Rick Woody then raced back home in his squad car and began looking for his daughter. The house showed no obvious signs of a disturbance or break-in, but gradually, Rick began to piece together a series of deeply disturbing clues. Casey's reading glasses, which she used while operating her computer, were inexplicably damaged,

while her beloved Yorkshire Terrier appeared to be limping. Something happened in his home, and Rick was sure of it. It had been sudden, it had been violent, and his daughter was in the gravest of danger. Initially, Rick's law enforcement colleagues suggested that Casey had simply ran away. But any such suggestion was met with vehement denials, with Rick insisting his daughter was no more angst-ridden than the next teenage girl. What's more, she might have been liberal with who she was talking with online, but she wasn't foolish or disobedient enough to leave the house without telling him. Detectives then noticed that all of Casey's coats and shoes had been left behind, and given

she'd gone missing on a night where temperatures dipped below freezing, it became obvious that she'd been abducted against her will. A huge search effort was launched, with Arkansas State Police being joined by the FBI, dozens of volunteers, and every law enforcement agency in the surrounding Faulkner County. Officers pored over the Woody's computer files, while questioning Casey's fellow students at Greenbrier Middle School. The FBI traced Scott's computer to his home in Georgia, only to discover that he was exactly who he claimed to be. His parents insisted that he was home at the time of Casey's disappearance,

and had been worried about her following the abrupt end of their conversation. As a result, he was cleared of all suspicion and became of great help to the overall investigation. When investigators learned that David had been on his way to Arkansas in the hours before Casey disappeared, they began to focus their search around the immediate area for clues of his location. At a nearby Motel 6, uniformed officers discovered a 1993 Buick Regal with California license plates, apparently belonging to a man named David Fuller. Fuller had checked into the motel on December 2nd, having told the clerk that he was planning on a week's stay. He had also bitterly complained about the lack of reliable internet access in his room, something which raised a huge red flag with investigating detectives.

Upon an initial search of Fuller's room, police found nothing of interest, but hidden away in the room's closet, they soon found a trash bag containing a ski mask, camouflage clothing, and a pair of rubber gloves. When asked if they had any idea where a fooler might have gone, the desk clerk at the Motel 6 mentioned him asking about local rent-a-car businesses. Police officers drove out to every car rental place in a 20-mile radius. They quickly questioned the staff before moving on to the next, until finally, they found what they were looking for.

A branch of Enterprise in nearby Conway had received a visit from a man acting very strangely indeed. Before signing the name David Fuller on the rental agreement of a silver Dodge minivan, police officers drove out to every car rental place in a 20 mile radius. They quickly questioned the staff before moving on to the next until, finally, they found what they were looking for. A branch of Enterprise in nearby Conway had received a visit from a man acting very strangely indeed. Before signing the name David Fuller on the rental agreement of a silver Dodge minivan, the man had paced up and down outside the dealership, chain-smoking and muttering to himself. When the minivan was traced to a nearby self-storage facility, Detective Jim

Barrett and two FBI agents drove out to investigate it around 6 p.m. on December 4th. When they arrived, one of the doors to the storage units was wide open. The silver Dodge minivan was inside, forward-facing, with its engine running. Detective Barrett approached the unit with his pistol drawn, but the moment he stepped inside, two deafening gunshots rang out. The officers scrambled for cover, barking at their suspect to come out with their hands up. No one responded. Reinforcements arrived shortly afterward. A heavily armed SWAT team poured out of an armored truck, surrounded the storage unit, and then stormed in with violent precision. There was no resistance. Fuller was lying inside the

Dodge minivan. His second shot had blown his own brains out. The first had executed Casey. She was lying on her back in the rear of the minivan, which had been converted into a makeshift torture chamber. Her wrists and ankles chained to the floor, and she had been violated excessively before her sudden execution. Police soon discovered that David Leslie Fuller was born in Salt Lake City, Utah, back in 1955. After marrying a woman named Sally Krenz, Fuller moved her out to coastal Mississippi where he enlisted in the U.S. Navy. They later moved on to Maryland, had a son and a daughter, before finally settling in California. As the marriage

went on, Fuller developed severe behavioral problems and began exhibiting wild mood swings. His wife also noticed that he was spending an increasing amount of time online and would sometimes take walks around the neighborhood at night while talking on his phone. He also became increasingly defensive when asked who he was talking to, and Sally began to doubt that the nature of the calls were less than innocent. After his wife filed for divorce, Fuller moved into his own apartment in La Mesa, California, and was later arrested after violently attacking his wife and children. During the incident, Sally Krenz had locked herself and her children in a bedroom, only for her soon-to-be ex-husband to take it off the hinges with a

screwdriver. Following the arrest and the imposition of a restraining order, Fuller's life entered a sharp downward spiral. He was later detained on suspicion of exposing himself to two young girls and was later fired from his job as a used car salesman after being caught watching adult content on his work computer. Following his death, the FBI quickly obtained Fuller's personal computer. Its hard drive contained numerous pictures of Casey, along with a detailed list of her friends' names, their phone numbers, and their addresses. It also became apparent that from the winter of the year 2000, Fuller had attempted to groom at least three other girls in Casey's age group. Thankfully, none of these interactions led to a face-to-face meeting,

but not for David's lack of trying. In one instance, he'd offered to pay for a girl in Michigan to fly out to California, and although she'd never given David her address, he somehow found a way to have flowers mailed to her family home. Investigators also discovered that David had visited Casey's hometown twice during the fall of 2002, with the trips amounting to in-depth reconnaissance. Some even theorized that David had been inside the Woody's family home on the night Casey and Jessica detected an intruder, and if it wasn't for the unexpected presence of a friend, Casey would have been taken far earlier than December.

Following the taking of his own life, David Fuller was cremated and interred at Wasatch Lawn Memorial Park in Mill Creek, Utah. Outlived by both his parents, they initially refused to believe reports of their son's crime. It was only later, when compelling evidence was presented to them, that they accepted the monstrous things he'd done. Casey's funeral was held on December 9th of 2002 at South Crossroads Church Cemetery in Rosebud, Arkansas. After being laid to rest next to her mother, Casey's two friends, Sam and Jessica, delivered a brilliantly poignant but melancholy eulogy. When the two girls learned of their friend's death, they held each other and wept.

Yet as they wept, it began to snow outside. Jessica recalled that in the days prior to her death, Casey had expressed a desire to see the snow that year. Its sudden appearance was no coincidence. It was Casey, reaching out to them from beyond the grave. Cold comfort for close friends. In April of the year 2000, Raymond Chan received a call from an old high school friend who by that time was studying at Texas A&M University. Raymond was pleased to hear from him, but the conversation soon took a somber turn. An old classmate, Cary Cuyava, had been found dead on a remote ranch in Texas Hill Country. He was so badly decomposed that it was difficult to ascertain his identity,

and the story behind his death horrified his already heartbroken family and friends. It was discovered that Carrie had been in an online relationship with a person calling themselves Kelly McCauley. Kelly claimed to be a pre-law student trapped in a toxic relationship with a violent boyfriend, and although their friendship began as platonic, it quickly blossomed into a long-distance romance. One night, after Kelly spoke of a particularly frightening incident with her boyfriend, Carrie became determined to rescue her. The next day, on April 7th of the year 2000,

Carrie departed his campus home, headed for Kelly's hometown of San Antonio. Carrie informed his parents of the trip, initially informing them that he'd be gone for a week. Then, after eight days of no contact, Cary emailed them to say that he was fine but would be staying in San Antonio a little longer. There was talk among Cary's friends that he was soon to be married and they regaled each other with stories of his whirlwind romance with the continually mysterious Kelly. In reality, by the time the email was sent on April 15th, there's a chance that Carrie was already dead. After becoming concerned regarding Carrie's prolonged absence from school, Carrie's family filed a missing persons report with the Brazos County Sheriff's Department,

who in turn began coordinating with their San Antonio colleagues. Obviously, law enforcement's primary person of interest was Carrie's love interest, Kelly, but as they began to investigate, it soon became obvious that she was not who she purported to be. After interviewing several frequent visitors to the chat room the couple visited, police obtained Kelly's phone number and address. And this is how they discovered that Kelly was actually 31-year-old Kenny Lockwood, a former McDonald's employee who lived in his parents' basement. He struck a rather unassuming figure, having no prior record and a penchant for computer science. But after hours of heavy questioning, Kenny began to crack.

He admitted to fabricating Kelly in order to flirt with younger men on the internet, having concocted an entire life story for her to seem more convincing. Carrie's sudden appearance in San Antonio had surprised him, but instead of admitting to his deception, Lockwood met up with his unwitting e-boyfriend under the pretense of being Kelly's brother. Lockwood then drove Carrie out in the middle of nowhere, to a long abandoned ranch, and on their arrival, he pointed to one of the empty buildings. Kelly was inside, he claimed, hiding from her abusive boyfriend, and she needed

Carrie more than ever. Carrie got out of Lockwood's truck and began walking towards the house. Lockwood walked up behind him for a minute before he quietly pulled out a large caliber pistol and shot Carrie in the back of the head. To delay the discovery of the murder, Lockwood sent a reassuring email to Carrie's parents using their son's email address. Then shockingly, he went right back to assuming the role of Kelly online. It's clear that Lockwood was and remains a dangerous psychopath, but how did a person like Carrie manage to fall for such a terrifying ruse?

According to his friends, Carrie was highly intelligent but also socially proficient. He wasn't some nerd desperate for female attention, nor was he ignorant to the dangers of online relationships. He was a logical, level-headed engineering student, but still he'd fallen for Lockwood's deadly ploy. Mediums of online communication have become increasingly sophisticated in recent years, offering people from opposite sides of the globe a chance to talk in real time. But they also allow people to communicate completely anonymously, and while this might

be a net positive for society as a whole, there will always be those who abuse such a privilege. For example, child predators have a much easier time stalking and grooming potential victims in anonymous internet chat rooms. But while the need to protect our children from such people remains an obvious one, perhaps it's adults who should practice a little more caution. As early as 1999, the U.S. Attorney General warned of how severe instances of cyber-stalking could be, and expressed a deep concern over its potential for growth. He cited a report stating that 1 in 12 women have experienced stalker-like behavior at the hands of a man, and explained how such people could quite easily exploit the anonymity and accessibility of the internet

to update their harassment techniques for the digital age. The Attorney General also warned against dismissing cyber-stalking as relatively harmless, and argued it was often a prelude to tangible harassment or assault. The following year, the research group Crimes Against Children provided a shocking insight into both the prevalence and severity of the online predation of children. With congressional funding, the group interviewed exactly 1,501 children between the ages of 10 to 17. Approximately, 1 in 5 were the subject of inappropriate online solicitation or approach within the last year, while 1 in 33 were

asked to meet in person by a complete stranger who also offered them money or gifts in exchange for meeting face-to-face. Despite these numbers, only between 3 and 9% of all instances of harassment were reported to parents, the police, or the relevant internet service provider. What's more, the sudden growth in such incidents paint a grim picture for the far more advanced internet of the 2020s. From 1996 to 1999, attempts by online predators to contact children had risen from 113 to just under 1,500 cases. And if those stats balloon by almost 1,400% in just three years, we can only imagine what they must be in the present day.

Clearly, such statistics prevented a serious threat to the safety of children worldwide, but the Attorney General touched on another issue, one which was overshadowed by the more sinister threat to children. Deviants and criminals weren't simply using the internet to anonymously harass people. They were setting up so-called honeypot scams, where beautiful women, either real or fictitious, are used to lure in the lonely and lustful. Little did the Attorney General know, but this small part of his cited report would balloon into a large-scale issue for online communities and become colloquially known as catfishing.

Since internet users quickly adopted a robust attitude of trust but verify when it came to interacting with strangers online, predators needed a different approach. Instead of hunting for potential victims, they began fishing instead. They'd set up a fake social media profile, usually involving photographs of an attractive photogenic individual, and then place the profile in a position to be observed by others. This less direct approach has proven extremely effective for many who've employed it, so much so that it's not just young boys and girls who fall victim to such ploys, it's grown adults as well. Carrie isn't the only adult male who'd been lured to their doom, and other such catfish murders have occurred deep into the age of internet safety.

Yet just a cursory analysis reveals some depressingly terrifying conclusions. In the past, predatory killers were forced to exploit a person's physical vulnerabilities in order to dominate and murder them. Whereas in the age of the internet, a person can exploit another's emotional vulnerabilities in order to take their lives. It's ironic that the smaller the world gets, the more isolated we're becoming. We can talk with almost anyone in the world at the drop of a hat, yet it's the terminally online who often profess deep feelings of loneliness. And while such a phenomenon continues, there will always be those willing to take a terrible

advantage of it. So this story really traumatized me. It happened about a year ago on my way home from college. My parents lived six hours from campus, so I decided to drive home after my last day so I could spend the summer at home and prepare for my senior year of college in the fall. Unfortunately, my summer break had to start with a memory that I'm sure will be seared in my brain for years to come. My last exam ended at around 4 and I decided to get some dinner with a few friends that I probably wouldn't see for the summer.

We hung out a little later than I wanted and I didn't start the 6 hour drive home until after 9pm. I was looking at getting home at around 3am, which my parents were not thrilled about. The drive wasn't bad. From the restaurant we ate at, it only takes about 10 minutes to get to the highway and then it's almost a straight shot to my hometown. I love to drive, especially at night. The traffic is light and there is something about just traveling great distances in a vehicle that really makes me feel alive. I could sit alone

with my thoughts or jam out to some early 2000 hits and just be happy as a ham. Luckily, I usually stay up late so I wasn't worried about getting tired or anything like that. When I hit the two hour mark, it started to storm pretty badly. It was that sideways rain that made it incredibly hard to see. Deciding to be safe rather than sorry, I pulled into a rest area. It was one of those 24 hour gas stations attached to a fast food restaurant, so I figured that I would get a Red Bull and maybe something to eat and read for a little bit until the rain subsided. After all, for the first time since that school year started, I finally wasn't in a hurry. I took some snacks to my car, found my book in my bag and started to read.

What was nice about this rest stop was that it was kind of busy, even though it was one in the morning, so I felt pretty comfortable sitting in the parking lot reading. The rain started to stop and slow down to a light sprinkle, but I wanted to finish the last chapters since I only had a couple of pages left. As I was finishing up, I could hear the sound of heavy panting outside the car, almost like gasp of air. After a few seconds, I finally looked up for my book and there was a woman pacing right outside my car. She looked hysterical and upset. I hate to judge people but she looked a little crazy too so I just tried to ignore her. Within seconds of putting my head back down the woman ran at my car and started to bang on my window. She was screaming and it almost seemed like she was trying to open my door,

but I can't be too sure about that. I didn't say anything, I just sort of looked at her and tried to process what was happening. And then she started screaming. Please, let me in or at least let me use your phone. He's gonna get me. I didn't unlock the door, of course, but I did shout through the closed window, who's trying to get you? The woman just started screaming, becoming more and more incoherent and nearly impossible to understand through all of her sobs. And what sounded like desperation, she was able to formulate words and screamed again, please, I can see your phone right there, please just let me use it really

quick. And this is where I thought I was making the right decision. My friends at school always called me weak, soft, and too trusting. It's probably why every boyfriend I ever had has walked all over me. So I decided that I wasn't going to be so trusting anymore. Mainly because I didn't know this insane woman, but also because she wanted my phone and I could clearly see a cell phone directly in her hand. With confidence, I shouted back, yeah, nice try. I can see the phone in your hand. Get away or I'll call the cops. Now feeling confident in my newly found backbone, I thought for sure that that would scare the woman away. But instead, she started to freak out even more. She started to wave the phone around in her hand,

and I could clearly see a destroyed and cracked screen, and she shouted, My husband broke my phone! Please call the cops before he gets here! Right at that moment, she let out a scream which still haunts me. A big silver pickup truck came flying into the parking lot, running over the curb on its way. At that moment I could see the clear fear written on this poor woman's face, and then I realized that she wasn't some crazy drug addict, but a woman who was clearly in danger. Before I could lend a hand, she turned and ran, and a smaller but muscular man got out of the car and started to chase this woman. I got out my phone to call the police, and thankfully at

that moment, two squad cars had already pulled into the lot. They immediately identified this man and arrested him swiftly. The man didn't even seem to notice that he was being apprehended at the time, he just stared at this woman with these rage filled eyes it seemed like and once they took the man I got out of the car to make sure that the woman was alright and I apologized profusely for not trusting her. She called someone for a ride and I sat in the parking lot for a while longer trying to calm down from what I'd just witnessed. I went inside to grab a coffee for the rest of my drive and I was speaking to the woman at the

cash register for a little while. She told me that the woman had run in there, going crazy, yelling about her husband trying to get her and that they needed to call for help. The cashier told me that they get dozens of crazy people in there every night and she can't be sure who is telling the truth or who was just messed up. She called the police for the woman and then kicked her out of the store because the cashier thought that the woman may have been on something just like I did. I thought about that incident during my entire drive home. I realized that I may not have been in direct danger but just the entire series of events really messed me up. The fear and pain that I could see in the woman's eyes still makes my stomach turn, and the look in the man's eyes

is something I'll never forget. He looked like he had some serious, sinister intentions, and I'll never forget the memory of him running full speed at my car, chasing that woman. To this day, I don't know what happened to that man or woman, and most disturbingly, I don't know what motivated that man to do that that night. But judging by his demeanor and erratic behavior, whatever it honestly paid decently. Basically, without getting into details, I would drive all over the state delivering medications to people that couldn't otherwise pick them up from a pharmacy for one reason or another. The work aspect of the job was straightforward, if not a little boring. It was the driving part of the job that I loved. I'm someone who absolutely adores podcasts of all type and

because my day was spent mostly driving, I would just devour hours of content. Some may find that boring, but for me, that was like a dream job. One day, I had to make a delivery that was in the middle of nowhere. I mean, quite literally, there was nothing nearby. I passed by a small handful of farms and that was pretty much it. The closest town was probably 30 minutes away at least. I eventually pulled up to this shack that was barely eligible to be considered even a home, I would say. It was honestly sad, but the guy didn't seem to care too much. I dropped off his medication and started my long journey back to civilization. My next drop was over an

hour from this location so I knew that I was going to get a nice chunk of podcast in. The first hiccup came when I was leaving the man's house. I had no service at all so I couldn't put the new address into my GPS and worst of all, I couldn't load any podcasts. I looked at the route that morning before I started my trip and I believed that I had a general idea of where to go, just I wasn't confident. I started in the direction that I thought was the correct way and hoped for the best. While driving, I enjoyed the sunshine cooking me through the windshield. Every few minutes I would check my phone to see if any service came back, but it was still no use unfortunately. And then came hiccup number two. While I was driving down a long empty road of nothing, I must have hit something on the road because

I slightly lost control for a brief second and I had a flat tire, which was just perfect. I got out to change the tire and of course hiccup number three came. There was no spare tire in the trunk. And at this point, I was feeling like crap. I had no idea where I was, no service on my phone, and now I had a flat tire on the side of the road. The only silver lining here was that it was beautiful outside. Something about the thought of being stranded on the side of the road in the middle of the night seemed scary, but this seemed peaceful, being stranded on such side of the road in the middle of the night seemed scary but this seemed peaceful being stranded on such a beautiful day. I sat on the side of the road for a while trying to figure out what to do. I didn't know if I should walk until I saw a farm or a town and the problem is if I walked I would have to leave the vehicle and had a lot of sensitive material in the car. I thought about maybe just sitting there until maybe someone would drive by

that I could eventually go get help, but that seemed unlikely since I saw maybe two cars since I got to this area. I wrestled with the idea for a while and then a small miracle happened, or at least at the moment I considered it a miracle. A car drove by and when he saw me on the side of the road he pulled over. There was a bigger man who got out of the car and started making his way over to my vehicle and in a soft but very deep voice the man said, looks like you could use a hand. I explained the situation about not having a spare or any cell phone service and the man just chuckled and said, dear, phones don't really work around here. If you want, I can give you a lift to my place and you can call someone.

It's only a few more minutes up the road. Now ordinarily, I would never agree to do something like that. But at this point, I was honestly desperate. I locked up my car tight and decided to leave everything in the car, figuring that it would be safe for a little while while I was gone. I agreed and I got into this random, kind gentleman's car. And the first thing I noticed was the horrific smell. It smelled like the man hadn't showered in 50 years. The car itself was also filthy. Trash and cans lined the floor of the car. As the man started driving, I looked down and noticed the cans at my feet were beer cans, which didn't make me feel safe. I just kept telling myself that this man was helping me and I needed to be nice.

A few minutes later, we pulled up to a barn that looked like it was falling apart. It had a silo, at least I think that's what they're called, those big cylinder things that barns have, and the silo had a giant hole in it. The barn itself was falling over. The roof looked partially caved in, but the most glaring thing I noticed was that there was no farmhouse at all. It was just this old barn. Before I could say anything, the man said,

Phone's just inside there, son. Make your call, and I'll take you back. I opened the door and took a few steps towards the barn. I'm not sure what was running through my head at that moment that had caused me to believe that this barn had a phone. Maybe it was leaving that run-down shack at my last stop, or maybe I was just an idiot. But either way, I started to slowly make my way to the barn.

When I was a few steps away from the car, I turned around and the man looked like he was sneaking out of the car, but his eyes seemed to be just oddly fixated on me. When I turned and looked, he sort of had this deer-in-the-headlights look, but he stopped moving for a moment, and he just uttered these words. It's inside the barn. It's over there on the left. I slowly started to turn my head back towards the barn and out of the corner of my eye, I saw that the man was reaching into his glove box. I looked forward at the barn, and I was close enough now to see that the inside of the barn was just completely empty, abandoned. My instincts kicked in and I realized that something bad may be about to happen.

Without thinking, I just decided to run. As I took off, I looked behind me and the man was inches from where I was just standing. He had a large blunt object in his hand that I think was some sort of pipe, but I couldn't be sure. I just kept running, trying to keep my distance from the road, my heart about to explode. Thankfully, it was so sunny that I could actually see where I was going, and I finally ran far enough that I got service on my cell phone. I was able to call the cops and try to explain to them where I was and I tried to give them a brief description of the man and his car and everything that was happening.

I didn't think it was a good idea but the police told me to carefully make my way back to my car which I did reluctantly. I was able to get there and the police were already there, but thankfully the man wasn't. I gave my statement and told them exactly where the man took me. Unfortunately, the man's car or description didn't match any of the folks that lived in the nearby areas and they seemed to be pretty familiar with everyone. We got my car towed and the day ended at that moment. As far as I know, the police never found this man, but honestly, it seemed like they didn't care too much when I was giving my statement. Thankfully, I'm sitting here today able to tell this story, but if I didn't run when I decided to run, I could have found myself in a very much different situation. Every time I drive by a barn now, I'm reminded of that horrible afternoon.

It just goes to show, sometimes monsters don't always hide in the shadows of night and can lurk even on the brightest of sunny days. So I just want to say that some people really do suck. I know that may seem like a horrible way to start a story, but it's true, and you'll see what I mean. A few years ago, my wife and I decided to take a road trip for our anniversary to see the Grand Canyon. We lived about 10 hours away, but neither one of us had ever gotten into a car and drove up to see it. This became the destination for our first wedding anniversary, so we could check that off our bucket list. The trip started great. We stopped at some diners and shops along the way. When we arrived, we started hiking and exploring. I'll say this, we are about as beginner as it gets

when it comes to hiking, so when I say we went hiking, it was more like walking around the style. My wife was able to find a campsite online where we were allowed to sleep in the back of my truck under the stars. The word campsite sometimes implies that a lot of people will be surrounding you, but there wasn't anybody even close to us. And the night was beautiful, romantic, and I would dare say perfect up until this point. We were laying there together, staring at the beautiful night sky. At this point, I didn't even have any idea what time it was. I knew that it was late, but it really didn't matter. I was just happy being with my girl. After a while of talking, I could tell that she was about to pass out soon. Her voice started to get hoarse, and she started

to nestle into my chest harder. Eventually she fell asleep and of course I wasn't tired at all. Trying not to wake her up I reached blindly into my bag to find my phone. I decided that I was going to watch something on my phone until I got tired enough to fall asleep. Before I could even get anything set up to play on my phone I hear the sounds of shushing. I figured that I could have been hearing things since being outdoors overnight isn't something I'm accustomed to. I stayed quiet for a little bit trying to listen to the eerie quietness of the surrounding area and just as I was about to move on from my paranoia I heard what sounded like movement

on the outside of my truck. I was trying to quietly search for my bag for a pocket knife that I knew was in there from work, but I was struggling to remain quiet as I did so. I finally got the knife and I sat, waiting for someone or some animal or something to show itself. I sat quietly for a few minutes and then I heard the light sound of the wind blowing. After a minute or two, I realized what the sound was and it wasn't wind. It was the sound of air leaving my tires. I got up and got out of the truck and my tires were nearly flat. Before I could even react, someone came from the front of the truck, tackling me to the ground.

I think I took two punches to the head that honestly had me spinning a little bit. As I lay on the ground, dazed and confused, I noticed the man got up to the back of the truck. I tried to get up pretty fast, but my body felt like jello, and I heard my wife scream. The man just kept saying, stop screaming, relax, it's okay, it's okay. But once I heard her screaming, the adrenaline gave me the strength to get to my feet. I rushed over to the guy and pushed him down. I couldn't believe my eyes.

I knew exactly who this piece of garbage was, I'm not even kidding. It was my wife's ex-boyfriend, back from high school. That's right, I, back from high school. That's right, I said it, high school. They were together ten years ago, for like six months, and this guy has been so obsessed with her ever since. I've had some unfortunate incidents with this guy, but nothing like what she's gone through.

She has blocked him countless times, she's called the police on him, and has even had him arrested a couple of times. This jerk even tried to break up our wedding, and I kind of had a feeling that that was going to happen, so I had one of my friends be a bouncer, and to nobody's surprise, he tried to get in. Since our wedding day though, we've had no incidents with him. I'm not sure why we thought this, but we thought that maybe he finally moved on. So, I stared at this guy laying on the ground and I told him to get out of here right now, as I held up my little pocket knife, pointed directly at him. It didn't occur to me until afterward that this guy definitely had a knife on him since he slashed my tires, but he never actually presented it during the entire ordeal.

As I held up my knife, trying to look as intimidating as possible, my wife was already on the phone with the cops. I guess I shouldn't be surprised anymore, but he didn't leave. He didn't care. He just kept saying, we can get out of here now, come on. At this point, I was terrified. This guy is absolutely nuts, and given our location, I had no idea how long it would take for police or park rangers to get there. My wife just kept screaming for him to get out of there. As I stood in front of the truck just waiting for this guy to charge me again, I felt dizzy but still held my ground. He would walk away and then come back and shout the same things that he'd been yelling about the entire time. He just kept pacing and I didn't want to move and potentially make things worse.

To my surprise, the authorities were able to show up in less than 15 minutes and let me tell you, those 15 minutes may have well been 15 hours in my mind. They arrested him and he screamed obscenities the entire time. Obviously, at this point we pressed charges and this time he got more than just a slap on the wrist finally. That was the last time my wife and I went camping though and it probably will remain the last time. It's been years since that ordeal and we've never had another incident with this guy. It took all those years but she was finally and we've never had another incident with this guy. It took all those years but she was finally able to get a restraining order on this creep.

He was somehow able to avoid serious legal trouble all those past years and that was a real eye-opener for me. This guy was clearly dangerous and had a warped perspective of reality. Either one of us could have been seriously hurt but thankfully we made it out with no damage, other than some mental scars and four deflated tires. I won't lie, every day I'm still on high alert because you just never know, he might come back and if he does, this time I'll be ready. For a long time, my family and I have made a big difference in my small community. My grandpa opened and owned his own car repair shop which he passed on to my father who ran the shop for 50 years. And now at 35 years old, my father handed me the keys to run the shop so to speak. I love cars and being able to solve the issues that come up.

But honestly, I enjoy being able to solve the issues that come up, but honestly, I enjoy being able to help the people in the area. I don't know this for a fact, but judging by stories that I see online, it just seems like a lot of mechanics out there try and take advantage of their clients to make a few extra bucks, but not me. Most of my customers are the locals that live in the area or nearby. Often we get customers from nearby areas just because of our reputation. In a time where many people are struggling financially, it benefits to save a few bucks here or there. Occasionally we'll get a customer who is traveling through. My hometown isn't far off an exit that pretty much is in the middle of nowhere if I'm being honest. At least a couple of times a month we'll get someone on a cross-country trip or something like that that ends up having a

flat tire or engine trouble. I would say that 99% of the time these folks are friendly and go about their business when finished. On a rare occasion we'll get someone who is just horrible. Several months ago I probably had the worst customer and all my time doing this job. This customer wasn't just bad, she was borderline evil. The day started like any other day. Slow for the most part other than an oil change and around noon a beautiful woman came strolling in. She was driving a white Volkswagen and I knew right away that she was from out of town. People in my town didn't look like Volkswagen, and I knew right away that she was from out of town. People in my town didn't look like this woman. I don't mean that as an insult to this

woman or the people of my town, it's just the way she was dressed, the makeup she had on, even the way she talked was nothing like the people here. And if that wasn't a dead giveaway, the Vermont license plate was, considering that it's almost a day's drive from here. The woman jumped out of her car erratically and started claiming that she needed her car fixed right away. I didn't like her tone, but business was slow, so I let her continue to aggressively try and explain the issue. She seemed confused and stuttered over her words a little bit. She claimed that while she was driving, the engine started to get really loud, and if she took the car over 50 miles per hour,

that it would start to shake. Then, in an arrogant tone that still bothers me, she said, you'll fix this car right now. It was like she was trying to use a Jedi mind trick or something on me, and it took everything I had to not turn her away, but against my better judgment, I took the car in. I told her that she could wait for a while and I would try to find the problem and let her know what she was dealing with. Not long after, I found the issue. And let's just say that it wasn't going to be an easy fix. I informed her that I couldn't fix it today, but I could have it ready by midday tomorrow. And she caused a scene, said whatever, and just stormed out of

the shop. She didn't inquire about hotels, transportation, food, or anything else. She just simply left, leaving me with her car. I assumed that she wanted me to fix it, so I started working on the vehicle immediately. Since I didn't want to deal with her, I decided to work late and finish the job that night, aiming to get rid of her early the next morning, as I anticipated that she might arrive early looking to figure out what's going on. I completed the job at around 10pm and felt pretty exhausted. I began cleaning up the shop and preparing to leave.

It was nearly 11pm when I finally was ready to turn off the lights and head home. As I grabbed my coat, I thought I heard a sound coming from the garage, resembling a tool hitting the ground. Since I'm meticulous about my tools and always put them away, I wanted to make sure that I returned anything that fell before leaving. I went back into the garage and upon turning on the light, noticed two of my wrenches on the ground. I was confused because I hadn't used those wrenches at all that day and I couldn't understand how they fell or why they would be in a location where they would fall. Feeling annoyed, I picked them up and as I was putting the last wrench away, I heard a scream coming from the corner. I turned around, and saw the same woman from earlier running toward me with a massive wrench

in her hand. She swung, but I managed to raise my hands just in time to protect my head. It still hurt, believe me, but thankfully it wasn't a direct hit to my noggin. She struck me again and then again and by that point I was on the ground assuming this sort of defensive position while still shielding my skull. She dealt one final blow to my ribs and it was excruciatingly painful. I heard the wrench hit the ground and a few seconds later her car started and she sped out of my parking lot. It took a huge effort for me but I managed to get back on my feet. I first called my wife and then I called the cops. I should have called the police immediately but I was simply relieved

to be alive and that the ordeal was over so my thinking wasn't really rational at that moment. Unfortunately, I didn't recall any license plate number that she had and the only camera in the shop unfortunately didn't capture the license plate or provide a clear view of the woman. Therefore, all I could provide the police was a description of the woman and the make and model of her car. And what's most terrifying to me is that I have no idea why she attacked me. She was trying to bash my head in, and if I hadn't protected myself, she could have caused severe damage. It's also frightening to think that she may have been hiding around my shop that entire day.

When I finished working on a car, I hanged the keys behind the register. This woman must have snuck in, unnoticed, and taken the keys while I was closing up, waiting for the moment when I was most vulnerable to launch her attack. If anyone out there spots a white Volkswagen Jetta and encounters a beautiful blonde woman from out of town, exercise caution, as she might be the same insane person who had tried to take my life. In 2011, my girlfriend lived in California while she finished her last year of school. Earlier that year, I took a job in New York, so we decided to do the long distance thing for a year. I know how hard it can be for some people, but her and I were so career focused at the time that we weren't worried about it. I was fortunate enough in my new job to get several weeks vacation as soon as I signed on. We figured out which weeks worked best for us and planned for me to come visit accordingly.

I used the first two weeks of the four weeks of vacation that I got early in the year to visit and I flew down both times and spent the entire time just hanging out with her and spending time in her apartment checking emails and stuff whenever she had class or work. Four months later I used my third week of vacation and flew down to see her. That flight could be its own horrifying story. I don't like flying in general but this flight was particularly bad. The weather was horrible and the entire time it felt like the plane was literally going to explode. When I finally landed at LAX, which is the Los Angeles airport, I was completely rattled. I couldn't believe that I had to get back on a plane in a few days. I spent the first few days of the

trip incredibly anxious. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I really don't like to fly, and this flight really messed me up. My girlfriend was getting annoyed with me and suggested that I of the trip incredibly anxious. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I really don't like to fly, and this flight really messed me up. My girlfriend was getting annoyed with me and suggested that I just rent a car for the drive home. At first, I shot down the idea immediately, but then I thought about it more. I thought about how nice a cross-country road trip alone would be. Listening to some great music, catching up on some old podcasts, listening to Let's Read really. And after some thought I decided that I was going to do it. I called my boss and told him that I would be a day late coming back just because that drive was going to take about two

days and thankfully he was cool with that plan. The rest of the trip went great. I kissed my girlfriend goodbye and started my two-day trip. I was only about 12 hours into this trip when I realized that I should have just sucked it up and got on a plane. I was already hurting for driving and realized quickly that long-distance driving by myself just isn't for me. When I was driving through the long stretches of nothing, I found it hard to keep my eyes open. No amount of coffee or energy drinks could get me to wake up, and I found it hard to keep my eyes open. No amount of coffee or energy drinks could get me to wake up, and I found myself swerving all over the road and dozing off every few minutes. Thankfully, there was no traffic, so my reckless driving wasn't affecting

anybody else. And around this time, I noticed a pull-off section of the road with a rest stop. It wasn't one of those nice ones with food and stuff. It was just a building with a restroom and probably two dozen parking spots. I figured I would pull into the exit, use the bathroom, maybe shut my eyes for a few minutes and get back on the road. I didn't like this idea for many reasons. Firstly, I didn't know if it was illegal to sleep in your car at a rest stop, and I honestly still don't,

but I figured it's called a rest stop for a reason, so I figured I could actually rest. Secondly, this place was creepy. There wasn't a car or any sign of life anywhere, which I guess you could argue was a good thing, but it just felt kind of off-putting for some reason. Lastly, I don't like scary movies, and I've seen enough of them to scare me for life in situations like this. But despite all of that, I decided that I was just too tired to drive. I locked my doors and set an alarm for two hours. It was just before 2.30am when I set my alarm. Then I moved my car to the very last spot, which was next to a heavily forested area.

I figured if I was far enough away from the restroom and the road, if somebody did pull into the stop, they wouldn't venture all the way down to my car. Even though I was terrified of doing this, I ended up passing out almost instantly. Not long after passing out, I thought that I could hear tapping outside my car. I didn't know if I was dreaming or if there was a bird or something outside being loud. I opened my eyes and I didn't see anything except the pitch black darkness all around me. I looked at my phone and I still had about 40 minutes until my alarm, so I decided to close my eyes for a little while longer. Right as I closed my eyes I could hear the tapping again,

and this time I knew for sure that I wasn't dreaming. I sat up in the driver's seat and really looked at my surroundings through the window. When I turned around, I couldn't believe my eyes. The trunk of my car was open. The tapping sound I was hearing was the wind rocking the trunk back and forth. I felt sick but tried to rationalize it. I figured since I passed out with the keys in my pocket maybe I'd accidentally hit the trunk button with my leg or something. I stared in that direction for a few moments and I saw and heard nothing. At this point

I figured my theory must be correct about the trunk button. I decided that I was going to get out and close the trunk and then just start my trip again. I slowly opened the door because I was still pretty shaken up at this point. When I started to slowly make my way out of the vehicle, I noticed that my bag, which was in the trunk, was now on the ground behind my car, and it was opened. Every instinct in my head at this moment was telling me to get into that car and drive as fast as I could. But I needed that bag. It had my work computer, my work ID badge, as well as semi-important things like my contacts for my eyes and my medications.

I decided to make a run for the bag. As I picked it up, I saw someone run out of the forest. It happened so fast, it blows my mind. But this person, this figure, grabs me, and I assumed that he was trying to throw me into my own trunk, but in a moment of just absolute pure adrenaline, I pulled the keys out of my pocket and struck this random attacker on the head with the keys. This momentarily stunned this man, and I was able to throw my bag in the door and just jump in my car. He had his face concealed, but by the grunt that he made when I struck him, he sounded to be about middle-aged. My heart was blasting out of my chest. I started the car, reversed out of the spot as fast as I could. As I was putting the car into drive, the attacker started running directly at my car.

I started to accelerate and as I looked up at the bathroom, two more people were running out and directly at my vehicle. One of these figures was fast enough to reach my car as I was driving by, punching it, leaving a giant dent in the door. I just drove for hours. I drove until my gas was just about empty and finally stopped and filled up. And I drove straight back to New York and then I only stopped to get gas. I never actually reported the incident because I didn't exactly know where in God's name I even was. I just knew that it was a small rest area on this highway. And that night messed me up for a while and I still don't like driving at night in secluded areas anymore. For a long time I would think about those attackers and what they had planned to do with me. Why were there two

hiding in the bathroom and why didn't they steal anything from my bag? It always got my mind going to the darkest corners. But maybe some people are just pure evil. A couple of years ago, I was in between jobs and honestly just trying to find myself. To be honest, life wasn't the best during this time. I had dropped out of school and been traveling around the country a little bit doing odd jobs. I know that may sound cool, but it wasn't. I wasn't traveling around the country to see the world. I was traveling to find work and hopefully, maybe find my calling along the way, as I said, but I had no friends. And honestly, I didn't care about that little bit of family that I did have. So I constantly made my way to new towns or cities. And the story I'm about to share happened shortly after moving close to a moderately sized town in northern Pennsylvania.

Most of the people seemed nice, or at the very least, they kept to themselves. It was one of those older coal towns, you know. The buildings were old and almost falling apart. And you could tell from a glance that the town was relatively poor. When I arrived, I noticed that there was a restaurant in the heart of the town that was doing a crazy amount of business. I have some experience cooking and I figured, what the heck, I could cook again. I went inside and they hired me almost right away. I worked for about a week and I felt good about the situation.

I know it was fast, but I could see myself settling down in this town. The only problem was that I didn't actually live in the town yet. I still lived about 40 minutes away, which isn't too bad. But when you have a car like mine, it may as well be across the country. After a couple of weeks, I decided that this town was definitely for me. I was going to look for a place to live in town, or at least close by. The hunt for a place wasn't going great, and it really sucked having to drive home at 3am when the restaurant closed.

On my second Saturday, I got stuck late and didn't leave the restaurant until 3.45 in the morning. I was miserable and tired, and I just wanted to lie down and go to bed. I started my long drive home and I tried to stay awake by blasting some 80s music. The drive wasn't a bad drive, just super long. No highways, just long stretches of nothing and farms. About halfway home I noticed a white Mazda pulled over on the side of the road with its hazard lights on. I started to slow down and as I passed the vehicle, I noticed a small woman standing next to the door of the car, sort of frantically waving me down. I knew that I should have just kept driving, but I'd been in that situation before

and I figured that I could help. I got out of the car and slowly made my way over to the woman. She instantly jogged over and started to thank me, over and over again. I asked her how I could help and she just kept saying, her tires, her tires. I tried to get her to elaborate, like as in which tire or is it a flat, but she didn't seem to understand what I was saying. And that's when I finally got a good look at her. This woman looked, how can I put this nicely, she looks like she's seen better days. She didn't have a tooth in her head and her hair was frizzy and wild. Her skin looked like it was falling off her bones and she might have weighed maybe 80 pounds. Her voice

sounded deep like she'd been smoking a pack of cigarettes every day of her life since she'd been born. When she moved in closer to me I could smell her and it was bad. I don't really know how to describe the smell but it certainly wasn't good. I immediately became aware that this may be a dangerous situation and I started to slowly back away so I could possibly make a sprint for my car which was probably about 20 feet in front of her Mazda. She must have noticed that I was trying to slip away because she said, wait it's not the tires it's something with the engine. The car won't run. Maybe I could use your phone. I told her my phone was broken which of course was a lie but I sure as hell wasn't going to take my phone out. I told her my phone was broken, which of course was a lie, but I sure as hell wasn't going to take my phone out. Then, in her weird voice, she then said, well maybe you can fix my phone.

You look smart. It's just over here in the back of the car. You know how sometimes people do stupid things and you can't quite explain it? Well, I decided to walk over to the back of her car with her at that moment. I don't know if I felt bad for her or what, but for some reason I believed her. We got to the back of the Mazda and she says, It's back there. It's just... open the trunk. I'm just too weak to open it. It sticks sometimes. Every single red flag in my body was shooting up. I finally realized that walking over here was a huge mistake. I turned around and I noticed that the woman had both of her hands in her front hoodie pocket.

I grabbed the latch of the trunk, thinking about if it was safe to run. I didn't know if this woman had a weapon hiding under that hoodie though. I looked in the back window right before opening that back hatch and I saw the unmistakable silhouette of a person. I must have made some sort of gasp or noise because while I was frozen in that moment, the woman said, open it now. I finally reached my breaking point. I could clearly see what was about to happen. I turned around and pushed the woman directly to the ground as I made a full sprint for my car. I bust opened my door, started my car and I just peeled away. I frantically looked through the mirror and saw the most terrifying thing I'd ever witnessed in the span of like 0.2 seconds. There was a man with a beanie running at my car, and the woman was waving something in her hand that may have

been some sort of weapon, but it was a little too dark to be sure. I drove home at probably 85 miles per hour, even though the speed limit was only about 50, And when I got home, I was sweating. I called the police to report what had happened on the side of the road. I would have called earlier, but there was just no service on those terrible dark back roads. And I don't know for sure what those two intended on doing to me, but I know whatever it was, it was not good. I don't know what clicked after that, but shortly after this incident, I moved back to my hometown and I just enrolled in a community college there. To this day, every time I drive on a dark and desolate road I'm always reminded of that nightmare of a night, and I don't think I'll be forgetting about it any time soon. Car trouble was the worst.

With all the other things we have to deal with on a day-to-day basis, having your car break down while you're already late to work or heading to a first date can sometimes feel like the last straw. And for this and a few other reasons, I have transitioned from buying cars to just leasing. I love the low maintenance and reliability of swapping out cars every few years. And the story I'm about to tell you took place four years ago. I brought in my SUV for a routine maintenance and they said that there was a recall that needed to be fixed. I said that was fine as recalls don't cost any additional money. After waiting a few hours for all the work to be done, I headed home to continue the rest of the day. But once I hit the highway, my check engine light came on and the car wouldn't go

above 40 miles an hour. I turned around and brought it right back to the shop. They said that whatever they used under the hood to fasten the recall can be detached and they would fix it right away. I was pretty annoyed but glad it seemed like an easy fix. Now fast forward to four days later and the same exact thing happened. The check engine light came on and I couldn't accelerate beyond 30 to 40 miles an hour. I called the shop and let them know that I would be bringing it in immediately and they kind of tried to push back and said that I needed to make an appointment. I voiced my frustration and let them know how the car had been working perfectly until they did whatever they needed to do with the so-called recall. When I brought my car in, I was met by someone named Jerry, a tall bearded

guy with a few missing teeth. They said he was sorry for the inconvenience and said that I just needed to fill out a little paperwork so they could fix the recall again. It asked for my address, phone number, email, and I'm sure a few other things that I just raced through to finish. After about 45 minutes, Jerry came back out and said that he personally took care of it and it should be all set. He gave me a wide smile, which looked like a graveyard with all his missing and chipped teeth. I said thanks and headed to my car where the keys were sitting on the seat. As I got in the car and started to leave, I could see Jerry kind of flagging me down. I rolled down my window and he said,

I just want to make sure there's nothing else I can do for you. Anything at all. I paused for a minute and said, Nope, I'm all set. And rolled up my window hoping that he would get the hint. Now fast forward about a week, I was still worried every time I drove my car that the issue was going to happen again. It was a long week at work and I was excited to get some food and sit on the couch and do nothing for the night. About halfway into a movie I was watching, I got a call from an unknown number.

I answered it and no one said anything on the other side. And annoyed, I respond, Hello? Hello? But still nothing except for this very faint sound. It sort of sounded like whispering or breathing. I hung up and went back to the movie, and about five minutes later I get a call from the same number. I decided to answer again and this time, still no answer, but I could hear the breathing much more clearly and this time, can I help you? Still no answer. I just hung up and blocked the number on my phone. I dozed off on the couch and woke up to what I thought was lightning or I thought maybe the TV had gotten really bright but the TV was off. As I tried to gather my bearings I noticed the flash again coming from my window. I jolted over to my window and experienced

one of the most terrifying things in my life. I saw that there was a man, and they were running away from the side of my house, heading to a car parked out on the side of the road. It was difficult to tell, but once my eyes adjusted it was clear. I ran to my front door to see if I could get a better look or maybe a license plate number or something. All I saw was that it was a red rust bucket with a bunch of Sunoco gas stickers on the back. I called the police, reporting the incident. I knew that there wasn't much they could do, but the important thing was to get it filed to 1. be safe and 2. hopefully get some more patrol cars surveying this area.

The following week on my way to work, the car issue happened for the third time, and this time I was irate. I called and embarrassingly was not very pleasant on the phone with the auto shop. I said I was coming in as soon as I could and I expected the fix to be permanent or they would be replacing my leased SUV with a new one. I went in and spoke to the manager again, voicing how upset I was and that I expected a fix, or I'd be asking for a new vehicle that wasn't having so many issues. They assured me that they would fasten it so that it would be more likely that the hood would fly off than this being an issue again. At least, that's what I remember them saying.

After waiting only about a half an hour, the manager came out and again apologized and said that they would be waiving any cost for the service. As I was leaving, I stopped dead in my tracks. I saw the same red car with all the stickers on the bumper. I didn't know what to do. I literally was just standing there staring until I saw someone walking up towards the vehicle. It was that guy. Jerry. The toothless wonder that I mentioned earlier. I got in my car and drove off and headed home. I wasn't sure what to do.

I didn't know if that was Jerry's car or just a car that the shop was working on. I decided to still call the police and let them know. I was very honest and said hey, I saw the car. I saw someone get in it, but it's also an auto shop so I don't really have any more information. I figured that it's their job to do a little digging and connect the dots. But I never did get closure from this incident. The police never followed back up with me. Luckily I didn't ever have any other incidents of phone calls or people showing up at the house that I was living at at the time. I have a whole new vehicle now, which I love, and I make sure

that any oil change or inspection is done at a completely different body shop. 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

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