The Lets Read Podcast - 247: MY FRIEND WENT INSANE IN THE WOODS | 23 True Scary Stories | EP 235

Episode Date: July 9, 2024

This episode includes narrations of true creepy encounters submitted by normal folks just like yourself. Today you'll experience horrifying stories about the scariest places in the USA, vacation incidents & the story of how my friend lost his mind in the woods HAVE A STORY TO SUBMIT? www.Reddit.com/r/LetsReadOfficial Or over email: [e-mail] FOLLOW ME ON - ►YouTube - https://www.youtube.com/c/letsreadofficial ► Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/letsread.official/ ► Twitter - https://twitter.com/LetsRead ♫ Music & Audio Mix: INEKT https://www.youtube.com/@inekt

Mom, Mom, did you see my race? Of course I did, darling. Look, you did your best. You tried. The thing is, it's not about winning. It's about taking part. Next year you might do better. But I did win, Mom.

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Southern-style glad-handling with potential voters, and often accompanied his colleague on the campaign trail. Then on October 16th of 1972, with less than a month before voting day, Boggs and Begich decided to take a flight from Anchorage, Alaska's most populated city, to the state capital, Juneau. The 90-minute flight took off after dark, with the politicians intending on a few hours' sleep in a Juno hotel, before starting bright and early on the campaign trail. But despite taking off without incident, the plane carrying Boggs and Begich never landed,

and what followed was one of the largest search and rescue efforts in Alaska's history. As per Alaskan state law, the small aircraft which carried bogs and baggage was required to carry an emergency location transmitter. When activated, this device would relay two locations to state aviation authorities. The first location would mark the point where an aircraft first ran into trouble, while the second would mark the site of the aircraft's crash landing. But what puzzled investigators was the fact that the Cessna hadn't sent out a single emergency transmission prior to its disappearance. To some, this suggested that the plane's pilot had neglected to bring one aboard prior to takeoff, yet multiple witnesses stated that they were quite sure that the pilot was carrying a portable emergency transponder in his flight gear that night. On November 24th, 1972, 39 days after they first went missing, the search for Boggs and Begich was called off.

Both were later declared missing, presumed dead. Aviation investigators concluded that there was no way the pilot had a transponder on his person, or he'd have most certainly activated it at the first sign of trouble. The only other explanation would be some kind of catastrophic mid-flight event, such as a collision with another aircraft or some kind of surface-to-air missile strike. Yet in more than five weeks of searching, not a single scrap of airplane debris was ever found. To some, the deaths of Congressman Boggs and Representative Begich are a tragic but isolated mystery. Yet to others, it's just the tip of a deep

and very terrifying iceberg known as the Black Triangle. The Black Triangle cuts through four of Alaska's twelve boroughs, with its corners comprising large swaths of land from Juneau and Yucatat in the southeast, all the way to the Barrow Mountain Range in the north. Geographically speaking, that's almost all of eastern Alaska, an area more than half the state's residents call home. However, what's shocking is that the rate at which people go missing in this region is almost two times higher than the national average. Since 1988, almost 16,000 people have gone missing from the union's northernmost state,

but those are just the official numbers. Others say the number of missing people was closer to 50,000 and that the discrepancy is due to poor management or a deliberate cover-up. However, Alaskan missing persons agencies have been quick to downplay such speculation. According to them, the real number of missing people is just over 1,300, out of a total population of almost three-quarters of a million. But at nearly 42 missing persons for every 100,000 citizens, that's still the highest number of missing people per capita in the entire United States. And considering that Arizona comes in second place with only 4.2 missing persons per

100,000, you start to see why things just don't add up. As you can imagine, Alaskan state troopers are almost overwhelmed by the workload and call on more than a thousand volunteer search and rescue personnel to assist them. But considering they're responsible for more than half a million square miles of territory, it's easy to see why such a large force is still considered woefully understaffed. Shaden Lowry, a professional wilderness guide with the Wrangell St. Elias National Park, spoke to the unique nature of search and rescue operations within his home state. People tend to underestimate how wild Alaska is, he said. The scale is difficult to wrap their heads around. Everything is so massive, and the vast majority of the state is still untouched by human infrastructure.

Just over 26% of Alaska is still considered wilderness territory, and while that might sound like a relatively small portion, it accounts for more than half of all America's wildlands. This alone could explain the wildly disproportionate number of disappearances, but the terrain is about as unforgiving as it comes. Most of the Alaskan Triangle is dotted with freezing glaciers, deep crevices, and rivers with unimaginably strong currents. There are also rough, winding roads that snake through steep mountain passes, and more than 300,000 grizzly bears, all of which pose an ever-present danger to visitors and year-round residents alike. When people do go missing here in Alaska,

it can be very difficult to find them quickly, added wilderness guide Shaden Lowry. A typical search and rescue operation in the lower 48 states has less terrain to search with more manpower to search it. On top of that, the hazards in Alaska make it an extremely hostile environment to be injured or lost in, and the weather can easily put search efforts on hold for days since they rely so heavily on aircraft to access remote areas.

The use of the term hostile environment might be an understatement of the century. Out in Alaska, even the smallest of mistakes can prove deadly. In a place where the lowest recorded temperatures have touched minus 70, something as small as a wet sleeping bag can become the root cause of death by exposure. A lot of the fatalities in our park end up being river-related, as Shaden Lowry continued. People can easily get swept away in even a couple of feet of swiftly moving current or quickly become hypothermic and drown. The same is true for the rest of Alaska's wilderness territory. The state doesn't just have more unexplained disappearances than any other state. It has more incidents of accidental

drowning too, making up 60% of all national park deaths in the entire United States. This has led many, including Shaden Lowry, to conclude that the disappearances in the Alaskan Triangle are down to the state's unparalleled wilderness and hazardous terrain. Yet, there are others who posit less tangible explanations. According to the folklore of Alaska's indigenous tribespeople, the Tlingits, the disappearances are caused by what they refer to as Kushtaka. While some have equated Kushtaka to a kind of Alaskan Sasquatch, the Tlingits are quick to explain that the creature is more like an otter than an ape. Living in amphibious existence near lakes and rivers, the Kushtaka can take on the form of a person's loved ones to lure them to a watery grave.

The fact that such a legend has been ones to lure them to a watery grave. The fact that such a legend has been passed down from generation to generation is a testament to its continued relevance. Yet some point to more contemporary legends to explain the nature of the Alaskan Triangle. Back in November of 1986, a Japan Airlines pilot named Kenju Torochi reported an extended, unexplainable aircraft that appeared to accompany them on a flight into Anchorage International Airport. According to the report, the craft followed us from the Alaskan-Canadian border, along a flight plan that flows from Fort Yukon to Fairbanks and then on to Anchorage.

A few months later, Captain Turochi reported an identical incident along the same flight path, but the Federal Aviation Administration downplayed the incident. We determined that there was a second radar target at the time of the reported sighting, they said. But it was not another aircraft. It was split radar returned from the Japan Airlines Boeing 747, nothing more than an instrument malfunction. The FAA declared the mystery solved, but Captain Turochi was adamant that it was no mere radar malfunction, and that what had followed them was very, very real. However, rather than blame UFOs,

there are some who looked a more terrestrial phenomenon to explain the Alaskan Triangle. Dark conspiracies talk of a highly secretive pyramid-like structure under the Denali National Park. In theory, the site is home to the physicists and engineers of the top-secret high-frequency active auroral research, or HARP, program. Officially speaking, the goal of the program is to better understand global weather patterns, but some contend that this is just a cover for the project's true goal, controlling the weather by interrupting the Earth's natural magnetic fields. Some blame the HARP program for Alaska's notorious winter squalls, snowstorms which are able to bury entire towns in just a few hours.

But to date, there's been no proven link between the HAARP program and any of the state's unpredictable weather patterns. This isn't to say that Alaska isn't a place rich in natural beauty, and some of the folks out there in Fairbanks and Anchorage are some of the nicest people it's possible to meet. But the fact remains, Alaska can be an extremely dangerous place for those unfamiliar with the terrain, weather, and wildlife. And unless you've got a great deal of experience in these areas, only the boldest souls can truly conquer the magnificent realms of Alaska. In 2015, 34-year-old Seth Ellingsworth was working a shift at the Hanford nuclear site in his home state of Washington when he suddenly detected an unusual odor.

Not long after, he noticed a drastic change in his respiratory health. I started having breathing problems, said Ellingsworth, and it hasn't gone away since. Seth went from being a healthy active father of four to a sufferer of reactive airway disease in a matter of months. As the condition became worse, he became unable to work. He now takes a cocktail of drugs and steroids, including cefirlacast, prednisone, and corticosteroids, while being forced to use a bronchodilator on a daily basis. But what did Seth encounter that proved so catastrophic to his health? More than 70 years ago, the Hanford site was charged with producing plutonium for America's arsenal of nuclear weapons. Today, it is managed by the

Department of Energy through its contractor, Washington River Protection Solutions, who were awarded a jaw-dropping $110 billion contract to clean up 56 million gallons of chemical and nuclear waste. The effort will require 177 concrete-lined underground tanks, and filling them is expected to take half a decade. However, there's one significant problem. The tanks are leaking, and the noxious toxic waste trickling out into the soil contains chemicals that have been proven to cause brain cancer and lung damage. In 2016 alone, 61 of the site's employees were listed as being exposed to near-fatal doses of chemicals, prompting one nuclear expert to call it an underground Chernobyl just waiting to happen.

Over the past two decades, the U.S. Department of Energy had conducted almost 20 different studies of the Hanford nuclear site. Every one of them has exposed significant health risks to those employed there. Airborne toxins far exceeded occupational limits, and a definitive link was established between exposure to toxic vapors and tissue damage in the workers' lungs. Washington-based physician Dr. Brian Campbell said he evaluated 29 of Hanford's employees, only to discover, and I quote, some of the worst cases of dementia that I've ever seen in young people, and more likely than not, it's caused by the exposure they had at Hanford.

Dr. Campbell has also claimed that the Department of Energy is trying to sweep the findings under the rug to downplay their own failings and culpability. In spring of 2016, NBC News reached out to dozens of Hanford employees, both past and present. Twenty agreed to discuss the devastating effects on their health. One former worker, Diana Gregg, claimed to have developed tremors on the right side of her body, while Lani Puteet had been diagnosed with severe nerve damage. Sometimes the pain gets so great I just pass out, he told a news network. Another ex-employee, Mario Diaz, claimed that he was losing his memory and that breathing was becoming increasingly difficult. The worst part is they didn't share

what they knew, Mr. Diaz said. They knew it was hurting us, but they didn't tell us. Mr. Diaz was told over and over that he was working in a safe, controlled environment, but as he and so many others now know, that simply was not true. He also stated that he was denied access to valuable safety equipment, such as masks and air tanks, and was then threatened with disciplinary action when he insisted on it. In response to the Department of Energy's unwillingness to act on the problem, a local activist group known as the Hanford Challenge began collating evidence of the site's dangers. They've since claimed that three local deaths have been undeniable linked to incidents of chemical exposure at Hanford.

One of these unfortunate souls was a guy named Gary Saul. Gary passed away in 2011 after a long and painful battle with premature dementia. His doctors insisted the diagnosis was work-related, but Gary died before he was able to taste any kind of justice. Following his passing, Gary's family sought the help of the state's lieutenant governor, Siris Habib, who later said the circumstances of his death were scandalous. When you think about the risk not only to the workers, but also to our water supply, Habib related a statement to the press. It's like a Stephen King novel. This is something that I think everyone in the country should be

thinking about. On the other hand, State Attorney Bob Ferguson took a more direct approach and filed a lawsuit against the federal government. It's unforgivable, he said. They've known for decades. It's been going on year after year, report after report, and to be candid, they have to live with themselves on that. I ask the question all the time, Ferguson continued. How many more workers have to get sick before they do something about it? Please ask them, because I really want to know. The DOE's Deputy Assistant Secretary, Mark Whitney, appeared to respond to the open question by attempting to reassure the public.

He stated that all Hanford employees who had been sent for medical evaluation had since returned to work, and that he couldn't comment on those who'd since parted ways with her contractor. However, in a later interview, Assistant Secretary Whitney was confronted with evidence linking Hanford's chemical leaks to the sudden deterioration of their employees' health. He soon changed his tune. I wish we had a more complete understanding of those circumstances, he said. Over the last couple of years, a lot of effort has gone into strengthening our efforts to deal with a potential vapor exposure issue,

but I'm not a medical professional and can't provide a qualified medical opinion. Whitney then promised that the DOE was in the process of strengthening communication with those affected by the chemical leaks and that it planned to invest up to $50 million into improved air monitoring. However, months later, the situation still hadn't improved. Towards the summer of 2016, journalists contacted the subcontractor charged with monitoring the air quality around the Hanford toxic waste tanks. Assistant Secretary Whitney had said almost 200,000 air quality readings had never found a single instance of toxic air. But when asked to confirm this, the subcontractor's response spoke volumes. I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to discuss that, he told reporters. In 2009, the previously mentioned activist group the Hanford Challenge

organized a series of privately funded air quality readings around the Hanford waste tanks. Mercury was found at almost five times the safe amount, while ammonia was measured at more than 18 times above permitted limits. The group always knew the government was lying to them, but now they had the proof right there in their hands. Assistant Secretary Whitney was quick to make excuses. I'm not aware of what workers were told, and I don't know anything about those readings, he told reporters. They could have been taken at the top of a 20 or 40 foot stack where workers wouldn't be. It took until 2014 for the Department of Energy to admit

that those who went within 30 feet of the waste tanks were exposed to devastating levels of toxicity, but to some, the danger is far bigger. Seattle-based investigative reporter Susanna Frame says a buildup of vapor in the waste tanks has the potential to spark a catastrophic man-made disaster. If you care about this country, if you don't want a nuclear disaster, you should care about Hanford, she said, and many would argue that she's right. You see, Hanford is located right on the banks of the Columbia River, which flows down from the Cascade Mountains in the north, before snaking east through the city of Portland. If an explosive chain reaction sees the Hanford waste tanks burst,

millions of gallons of toxic chemical waste could spill into the river, contaminating the water supply of more than a million Americans and turning the entire region into a lifeless, toxic wasteland. Washington River Protection Solutions has since reached an agreement with workers' unions, promising to provide air tanks to all relevant employees. But to many, the policy change comes a day late and a dollar short. Our lives don't matter to them. It's just business, said one former employee. It costs more money to protect us than it does to fight us. And so with that in mind, you might want to avoid the area around Hanford, especially the town of Richland, which lies just downstream of it.

But in the years to come, if Hanford doesn't get on top of their toxic waste leaks, you might want to avoid the entire upper reaches of the west coast of America. On May 15th, 2022, 69-year-old John McCary of Long Beach, California, sent a text message to a member of his family. He told them that he was headed out on a few errands and would call once he returned. John was never heard from again. Three weeks later, his car was found abandoned on Lake Hill Road near Panamint Springs, and just a quarter mile away lay John's severely dehydrated corpse. It's not clear why he stopped his car that day, but he did so in a place known all over the world as Death Valley. Carving through the deserts of eastern California, Death Valley is widely believed to be one of the hottest places

on earth. Having originally been home to the Timbisha tribe, the valley received its English name during the Great California Gold Rush of 1849. Dozens of pioneer wagon trains would venture into the valley, never to return, and their fellow travelers learned quickly to either avoid it or cross it overnight. On July 10, 1913, the United States Weather Bureau recorded a high temperature of 134 degrees Fahrenheit, 56.7 degrees Celsius, at the valley's Furnace Creek, which stands as the highest ambient air temperature ever recorded on the surface of the earth. The accuracy of these readings has since been disputed by modern experts, but it's safe to say the Death Valley has more than earned the name. Less than a month after the discovery of John McCary's corpse, the body of

67-year-old Marine veteran David Keller was found halfway between Zabriskie Point and Furness Creek. He'd been reported missing just days earlier, during a heatwave in which temperatures had reached a sweltering 123 degrees Fahrenheit. When his car was found, search and rescue teams observed a handwritten note displayed on the dash, out of gas, it said. His body was found two and a half miles from his car, but only 30 feet from California Highway 190, which was obscured by a gentle slope and a few mesquite trees. If David had managed to just go a few more feet, his life might have been saved. Just days later, the National Park Service announced that it was looking for a third man, Peter Haratunian,

whose vehicle was found abandoned by park rangers on May 23rd. They also encouraged those visiting or simply driving through Death Valley to do so only during the cooler parts of the day and to keep plenty of water at hand. To date, Peter Heratunian has yet to be found, but sadly, the summer has yet claimed another unfortunate victim. As recently as July 3rd, 2023, a 65-year-old San Diego man was found dead from heat stroke after a drive through Death Valley ended with two flat tires. The air conditioning of the driver's vehicle had malfunctioned either before or during the drive, meaning he had no way to keep himself cool after pulling over. The vehicle did not crash but had two flat tires when stopped, the park service

shared in a press release, and the initial investigation suggests that heat-related illness may have caused the driver to run off the road. Prior to the man's death, temperatures had reached 126 degrees Fahrenheit, while the overnight low temperature remained a jaw-dropping 98 degrees. Extreme heat deaths are the leading cause of weather-related deaths in the United States, with an annual average of 702 heat-related fatalities. There are two kinds of heat stroke, classic and exertional. Classic heat stroke typically strikes infants, the elderly, and the obese, as well as those suffering from chronic medical conditions such as diabetes or heart disease.

Exertional heat stroke, on the other hand, can affect perfectly healthy individuals. Following a period of intense overexertion, distance runners, cyclists, and other endurance athletes sometimes experience what's referred to as exercise-induced hyperthermia. That's hyperthermia, as in overheating, not hypothermia, which would refer to cold conditions, and generally speaking, there's no lasting damage to be suffered from a brief hyperthermic reaction, but an extensive one can induce some serious physiological complications. Perhaps the most frightening thing is that it's almost like a nuclear meltdown. Once the body reaches a certain temperature, its own attempts to remedy the issue will only increase body heat, like a runaway freight

train catapulting towards organ failure, brain damage, and eventually death. It seems a grim kind of mercy that those who suffer from extreme heat stroke experience confusion, semi-consciousness, or hallucination before they pass. Because the actual details of death by hypothermia are beyond horrifying, and although each heat stroke victim may exhibit varying responses to extreme internal temperatures, it generally goes a little something like this. As your core temperature reaches 105 to 106 degrees, your limbs and core become wracked with painful seizures. And then as it ticks over to 107 to 109 degrees, victims begin vomiting and soiling themselves. At 110 to 111, mass cell death commences as vital proteins begin to distort and denature.

The cells in your liver begin to die, meaning the blood is no longer filtered of toxic substances, and as the tiny tubes in your kidneys are slowly cooked, the toxicity level of the blood only rises. The large but delicate Purkinje neurons in your brain begin to break down, meaning your heartbeat becomes irregular and arrhythmic. Muscle tissue begins to degenerate, while blood starts to leak from vessels all over your body. Those who survive this long will begin to see blood in their vomit, and as holes form in the upper and lower intestines, other secretions become tinged with hemorrhaging blood. In a last-ditch effort, your circulatory system responds to all the damage by clotting

your blood, thinking your vessels have been severed. This triggers what physicians call a clotting cascade. As your insides liquefy and congeal, purple hemorrhagic spots appear on your skin. Those, the bloody vomit, and your convulsions are the only external hints of the total devastation suffered by your internal organs. And that's how those who die in Death Valley spend their final hours. Overcome with confusion, racked with pain, cooking from the inside out. So this summer, wherever you might be, please remain as safe and hydrated as possible because for many, an afternoon's drive through a dusty desert valley might just be right back. BetMGM Casino. Check out a wide variety of table games with a live dealer or enjoy over 3,000 games to choose from like Cash Eruption, UFC Gold Blitz. Make instant deposits or same-day withdrawals. Download the BetMGM Ontario app today. Visit BetMGM.com for terms and conditions. 19 plus to wager Ontario only. Please gamble responsibly.

If you have questions or concerns about gambling or someone close to you, please contact Connex Ontario at 1-866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with iGaming Ontario. There's a district in the city of Los Angeles that's officially known as Central City East. Covering 50 blocks east of downtown, Central City East is home to many of LA's budding artists who make use of the neighborhood's cheap housing while commuting to the neighboring arts district. For this description alone, Central City East might seem none too dissimilar to many other districts and cities around the world. However, for almost a hundred years now, it's been a hotbed of homelessness,

drug trafficking, and serious violent crime, all while being referred to by another, much more notorious nickname, Skid Row. The term Skid Row is actually derived from an old logging term. Lumberjacks would transport their lumber to a nearby river by sliding them down roads made from greased skids. These lumberjacks would then wait there for transportation back up the hill and, by extension, the term began to be applied to places where people with no employment or prospects gathered in large numbers. Towards the end of the 19th century, the area that would become known as Skid Row was surprisingly prosperous. California was still in the process of being settled, so the demand for temporary laborers was nothing short of astronomical.

Legions of seasonal workers would flood the town during harvest time and the vast majority headed for Central City East, which was home to a number of cheap hotels, theaters, and taverns. But as the demand for work began to dry up, and more of the district's denizens found themselves out of work, severe social problems began to develop. By the 1930s, Skid Row was home to as many as 10,000 unemployed laborers, many of whom turned to drugs, alcohol, and criminality for relief. By the late 1940s, the social contagion seeping out of the area drew the attention of long-serving police chief Clements B. Harall. Harall initiated what he referred to as a blockade raid, meaning the entire area was sealed off by police officers before a dragnet of others swept through the district to pick up pimps, escorts, and dealers.

More than 350 people were arrested in what Chief Haral called a resoundingly successful operation, and to his credit, crime statistics from the period showed a marked drop in violent crime. But the issue was never really cleaning up the neighborhood. It was making sure that it stayed clean. By the mid-50s, the city of Los Angeles had launched several social welfare programs in a bid to rehabilitate Skid Row and its image. A number of so-called sober houses were opened, and the district seemed to take on a redemptive nature rather than a destructive one but as many suspected the changes didn't last and as the psychedelia of the 1960s washed over California skid row once again descended into chaos

by the mid-70s skid row was once again out of control however instead the strong-70s, Skid Row was once again out of control. However, instead, the strong-arm tactics of their forebearers, city officials stunned LA's citizenry by abandoning the district altogether. In 1976, Skid Row was declared a containment zone, where homelessness and a small-scale narcotics possession would be tolerated. The move coincided with a huge cut in funding for the area, meaning many residents had to rely on charity to get by. It was also around this time that Skid Row's population saw a massive influx of homeless Vietnam veterans, men whose PTSD and drug addiction made them very dangerous individuals. While it was certainly unsafe for outsiders to wander around Skid Row, those who called it home were also victimized with chilling regularity.

On two consecutive nights during November of 1964, the bodies of two homeless men were found with multiple stab wounds. Each had been murdered where they slept, and the level of violence applied during the attacks was shocking to even the most hardened of homicide detectives. But without any idea of who their suspect was, both cases eventually just went cold. And ten years later, the murders started up again. Only this time, the circumstances were considerably more frightening. From December 1st of 1974 to January 31st of 1975, the bodies of eight homeless men were found stabbed to death in the alleys and back streets of Skid Row. Each victim had their throat cut from ear to ear, and at each crime scene, the killer had collected a cup of their blood before leaving it next to their lifeless corpses.

There was evidence the killer had consumed some of the victim's blood, but with the murders occurring prior to the advent of DNA forensics, such evidence was next to useless. The media dubbed the killer the Skid Row Slasher and rushed to share police reports that the killer had left a ring of salt around the bodies of some of his victims. This led some to speculate that the murders were related to witchcraft and Satanism, and while the public obsessed over such salacious rumors,

the LAPD turned to the FBI's criminal psychologists for assistance. Federal agents estimated that the killer was a white male in his late 20s or early 30s, 6 feet tall and 190 pounds, with shoulder-length stringy blonde hair. He was also described as a venally impotent, poorly educated loner who vented his own feelings of worthlessness on hapless derelicts and down and outers. He strongly identifies with the derelicts and drifters he kills, and we think he's trying to resolve his own inner conflicts by turning his wrath and hatred outward. The profile proved to be shockingly

accurate. When the LAPD finally found their suspect, he was almost exactly as federal agents had described. Despite being African American, 32-year-old Vaughn Greenwood was indeed a poorly educated loner, but he never revealed the motive behind the murders. Then, on December 30th, 1976, Greenwood was convicted on nine counts of first-degree murder, and he was sentenced to life without parole on account of, and I quote, his presence in any community would constitute a menace. With the Skid Row slasher behind bars, a period of relative calm returned to the district. Yet just three years later, a familiar pattern began to emerge. On October 23, 1978, a 50-year-old homeless man was found stabbed to death in a Skid Row alleyway. A week later, the killer claimed another two victims one night after the other, a pattern which mimicked that of the Skid Row slasher

just a few years before. The following week, the spree intensified with terrifying speed when three homeless men were stabbed to death in the space of seven days, one of the murders occurring right outside L.A. City Hall, prompting outrage from the public and politicians alike. Many released statements condemning the actions the man dubbed the Skid Row Stabber, while promising swift justice to those responsible. But that night, the killer claimed another two victims in a grim display of homicidal defiance. Several other homeless men were murdered throughout the holiday season, but perhaps the most horrifying was when a second body showed up outside of L.A. City Hall.

The body of 45-year-old Frank Garcia was found on November 23, 1978. Unlike the first murder, which had occurred in the dead of night, Frank had been stabbed to death in the early evening, while a large crowd had been present outside of City Hall. Somehow, the killer had managed to kill a man with hundreds of witnesses present, yet not a single witness came forward with any pertinent information. Even more perplexing is the fact that a handprint was found in the soil next to Frank's body. But after careful analysis, police determined that the handprint belonged to neither Frank nor his killer. Someone had seen Frank's body that night and they'd been so close that they'd almost touched it. But still, they didn't come forward. It set a grim tone for the investigation that followed.

This wasn't just a serial killer. Someone was making a statement, and the public was either too afraid or too callous to help stop it. Thankfully, the police were able to track down an associate of a victim named David Jones. The pair couldn't be described as friends, but shortly before he disappeared, the associate noticed Jones in the company of a man named Luther. Three months later, in January 1979, a piece of graffiti in the Los Angeles bus terminal prompted a 911 call. It said, My name is Luther, and I will kill winos.

The graffiti prompted the police to search for the mysterious Luther, who said to be an Afro-Latino man in his early 30s. However, their search was interrupted by a call from the LAPD's fingerprint recognition expert. A print taken from the scene of Frank Garcia's body was found to belong to 29-year-old Bobby Joe Maxwell, who had been released from prison in his native Tennessee only to relocate to Los Angeles a year before the murders. Maxwell spent a lot of his spare time hanging out in Skid Row and was said to frequently harass the local homeless population. Not only that, but as late as December 1978, he was arrested after violently accosting a trio of sleeping homeless men and was in possession of a knife at the time of his arrest.

He spent the next several weeks in the L.A. County Jail and during this period, the stabber did not commit any murders. However, the final murder occurred just three days after Maxwell was released. Based on the timing, as well as the direct evidence of the handprint, Bobby Joe Maxwell was arrested in April 1979. During a search of his apartment, a large amount of seized literature proved that Maxwell was a practicing Satanist. However, Maxwell's preferred school of Satanism was not the harmlessly rebellious kind made famous by the likes of Anton LaVey and Aleister Crowley, but rather a dark and disturbingly violent philosophy that required direct human sacrifice. For legal and bureaucratic reasons, Maxwell's trial didn't begin for another five years, but when it did, the statements of the prosecution's key witness proved devastating. Sidney Storch, a 37-year-old convicted felon,

was Maxwell's cellmate for three weeks during 1983. Storch claimed that during this time, Maxwell had extensively recounted his murders of homeless men and was not only proud of it, but was quite convinced that he'd be found innocent on account of a deal he'd made with a very powerful person. In addition to such damning testimony, Maxwell's handwriting was also a dead match for the Luther graffiti left in the LA bus terminal. Prosecutors also established that the knife found on Maxwell's person during his December 1978 arrest was the exact size and shape as the one used by the Skid Row Stabber. At the conclusion of his trial, Bobby Joe Maxwell was found guilty on two counts of first-degree murder, and at his sentencing in late 1984, he was handed life without parole. The media and the

wider public celebrated the conviction as if he had been convicted of all 11 murders, but serious questions remained unanswered. For example, how could law enforcement, as well as the jury by extension, be so confident of Maxwell's guilt when there wasn't a shred of physical evidence connecting him to the crime? To those in dissent, Maxwell had been convicted because of who he was, not what he had done, and that constituted a complete miscarriage of justice. But surprisingly, neither the media nor the wider public cared for the nuance of the situation. They wanted the killer caught, and the only thing that would rob them of their satisfaction

would be if the Skid Row stabbings continued. However, they didn't, and if the stabber really wasn't Maxwell, then the trial and media frenzy that followed his arrest were enough to frighten them into inactivity. As mob fervor died down, the debate surrounding Maxwell's potential innocence intensified. Over the next 30 years, he lodged a series of increasingly convincing appeals, culminating in the 2010 discovery that the prosecution's star witness had given false testimonies in court, possibly as a result of LAPD intimidation. An investigation showed the same witness had lied in six other cases, and as he was a former police officer, the political and legal turmoil

that resulted sent shockwaves through the California law enforcement community. Bobby Joe Maxwell's conviction was soon overturned and the appellate court announced a retrial was in the works. But frustratingly, at the end of 2017, Bobby Joe suffered a severe heart attack and fell into a coma. He never regained consciousness but was declared not guilty in August of 2018 and went on to pass away in April of the following year, having never gotten to enjoy his vindication. To this day, the identity of the Skid Row Stabber remains a mystery and they're unlikely to be caught anytime soon. The level of crime that occurs in Skid Row, as well as the wider Los Angeles area, means little attention can be devoted to old cases. After all, fresh ones are coming in every single day.

And just after midnight on November 28th, 2010, 49-year-old Herbert White received a call on his cell phone. White was a former cocaine addict who had managed to turn his life around, and he spent a great deal of his spare time helping out his various Narcotics Anonymous sponsors. Herb's wife was used to such late-night phone calls, as her husband often rolled out of bed in the wee small hours of the morning to help out a sponsor in need. That night, the call had come from Edward and Melissa Garcia, a drug-addicted married couple Herb had met in a bank a few days prior. Having recognized them to be down on their luck, Herb had given them his cell phone and promised to help them if they ever wanted to get sober. The call had come sooner

than expected, but he was ready when it came. Herb met the couple in a dark parking lot. They were penniless, homeless, and claimed to be going through severe withdrawals. Herb drove them to a small hotel on Skid Row where they checked into room 66. Any other couple might have shown gratitude for such a display of generosity, but instead, what Edward and Melissa did was the very definition of evil. The following morning, a member of the hotel's housekeeping team stopped by the room to perform her daily duties. She found the room unlocked, with the bed stripped of sheets and sitting on the bare mattress, perfectly positioned in the center, was Herbert White's L.A. Lakers baseball cap.

At the foot of the bed was a large black backpack, and the air in the room was thick, with a stench of death. Recognizing the gravity of the situation, the housekeeper rushed to fetch the hotel's manager, who foolishly walked into the room and opened up the backpack. Inside were two severed human arms, bound with duct tape, and underneath the bed was the dismembered torso of Herbert White. Edward and Melissa Garcia were swiftly tracked down and arrested, and at their trial for Herbert's murder, their harrowing motives were revealed to the court. Based on statements collected by the LAPD, the state's prosecutor told jurors that the couple had a long-held fantasy of killing someone and then dismembering their body, and what the state called an, I quote, a ritual murder.

Defense attorneys offered a different version of events, one in which White had been selling the couple crystal methamphetamine, and his death was the result of a drug deal gone wrong. The court heard that Edward and Melissa had only recently moved to Los Angeles from their native Pennsylvania and had lived out of their car until it was towed. They briefly took refuge in a Hollywood Hills homeless encampment until it was bulldozed and then relocated to Skid Row. The Garcia's attorney painted a picture of a desperate couple who'd simply defended themselves after their exploitation turned violent, but the prosecution made it clear that they were no angels. Eighteen months before the murder of Herbert White, the Garcias hatched a plan that involved Melissa posing as an escort,

luring a man to their apartment. When their mark arrived and disrobed, Edward sprang out of the darkness with a knife and took the man prisoner. The couple then attempted to lure a second victim to the apartment, but both victims escaped when their scheme suddenly unraveled. Having learned from the mistakes of their first attempt, the Garcias tried their plan a second time after arriving in Los Angeles. The court heard that after a brief struggle, Herbert was knocked unconscious and then bound with duct tape. However, instead of simply killing him as quickly

and quietly as possible, the Garcias tortured Herbert extensively before delivering the fatal stab wound. Following Herbert's death, the Garcias began to quite literally butcher him. An LA County coroner stated that the way in which Herbert's body had been dismantled was somewhat impressive, not unlike a surgeon. However, the coroner also mentioned that sections of the victim's legs had been filleted, suggesting that the Garcias planned to consume some of Herbert's flesh once they had the opportunity. I could feel what my son felt that night, Herbert's mother stated at the trial's conclusion, and I miss him every day. She spoke of his love for basketball and how he seemed to put the needs of just about everyone else in his life before his own.

But what would drive two people, no matter how disturbed they are, to take the life of someone so selfless in such a horrifying manner? Clearly, Skid Row isn't just a place of murder and malevolence. It's a place of mystery too. Many of those mysteries involve a place once known as the Cecil Hotel. Now, I won't go into too much detail on this last point because I've covered the Cecil in a previous video, but for those unfamiliar with the Cecil Hotel and the unsettling things that have occurred in its recent past, here's a brief primer. Beginning in 1931, the hotel hosted a number of bizarre incidents involving individuals taking their own lives or being victims of murders, and it was once said to be the temporary residence of the night stalker serial killer Richard Ramirez. However, in more recent years,

the Cecil has retained its infamy due to the mysterious death of Canadian student Elisa Lamb. Elisa's body was recovered from a large water tank atop the Cecil's roof, where she had been a guest at the time of her death. She was last seen alive on January 31st of 2013, and her body was discovered by a hotel maintenance worker investigating complaints of low water pressure. Interest in Elisa's disappearance peaked around two weeks later when the LAPD released security footage of her behaving strangely in a hotel elevator on the day she died. After an autopsy declared the cause of her death inconclusive, the video of her fearful mannerisms

went viral, and there was an intense online speculation as to what exactly happened to her. In the weeks that followed, the LA County Coroner's Office ruled the death an accident, with Elisa's bipolar disorder being a significant contributing factor. However, to this day, her ultimate fate remains a hotly debated mystery. At the end of the day, Skid Row is just as dangerous as those unfortunate enough to be homeless there as it is for residents and visitors. But what's undeniable is that the district attracts a certain kind of malevolent individual who wants nothing more than to prey on the most vulnerable. However, with LA's seeming inability to deal with the issue, the situation just gets worse and worse. And now, just like in the past, things are getting out of

control. And it's only a matter of time before another knife-wielding maniac heads down the skid row to hunt where their prey is bountiful and the eyes are turned blind. During the late spring of 1960, a Utah-based rancher noticed something curious while taking a walk on his land after sundown. Out of a section of rocky ground, a slender plume of steam appeared to be rising into the cold night air. The rancher made a note of its location, then appeared to be rising into the cold night air. The rancher made a note of its location, then retired to his home for the night. The next morning, he contacted Salt Lake City-based caving enthusiast Dale Green and invited him to survey the land. Dale accepted the invitation and sometime later, he arrived at the ranch in the company of several fellow cavers.

Within a matter of hours, the team traced the steam vents to a narrow surface hole about a half mile away, and after establishing that the cave system was stable enough to explore, they descended into the darkness. Over the course of the next few hours, the team mapped out over 400 meters of chutes and tunnels, and although the passageways appeared to be stable, they were lined with a damp clay that rubbed off on the caver's skin and clothing. Everybody who goes through that cave comes out covered with clay, Dale Green later said, and when we went in, there was no sign anyone had been there before us.

Since the cave system appeared to be unexplored, it fell to Dale to give it a name. One came to mind almost immediately. Before their exploration, the clay-lined tunnels had been smooth and unblemished, but as the team made their way out, they saw that the walls were dotted with impressions of their fingers and palms. To Dale, it was reminiscent of Silly Putty, but in light of the reddish-brown clay that now covered his clothes, he decided on a similar one, Nutty Putty. The Nutty Putty cave system soon fell under the remit of the Utah State Government,

who turned over the management of them to a local caving club known as Timpanogos Grado. For the next four decades, the cave system was frequented by several amateur caving groups, including a number of local Boy Scout troops who were excited to explore the subterranean twists and turns. Yet it was during one of these visits that a Scout became trapped inside a particularly narrow passageway. The small tunnel diverted from the scout's prearranged route, but as boisterous young boys are prone to do, he wandered off course and subsequently became trapped. Despite a minor panic ensuing,

the boy was soon found and freed by search and rescue personnel. But just months later, the same thing happened all over again. Over the years that followed, several other instances of trapped cavers prompted the Timpanogos Grotto to put several safeguards in place. By the early 2000s, the cave system was receiving over 5,000 visitors a year and had been for quite some time. Such public demand was great news for the caving club, but not so great for the cave itself. The excessive visitation had resulted in a gradual smoothening of the tunnel walls, meaning certain sections had become extremely slippery underfoot. One passage, known as the Big Slide, was set at almost exactly 45 degrees, rendering it potentially fatal to

inexperienced cavers. In 2006, efforts to curb the number of annual visitors to Nutty Putty were made in the hopes of slowing down the gradual erosion of the clay walls. This coincided with certain sections of the cave being completely closed off to the public, with the big slide becoming the focus of the caving club's fears. As a result, an impassable steel gate was installed at the slide's entrance during May of 2006, completely barring it from public entry. However, some of the cave's more challenging sections were what drew such vast public interest in the first place, and with access denied, admission numbers dropped steadily for the next three years. Eventually, in 2009, the Timpanogos Grotto Caving Club

made the difficult decision to reopen the previously closed-off tunnels, but only to members of the public who completed a fairly strict application process. Applicants had to demonstrate familiarity with caving and tunneling, and agreed to don all the necessary safety gear before heading underground. A few months later, the Grotto received an application from the local Jones family, who wished to explore the caves as a kind of Thanksgiving bonding experience. Their now grown-up children had explored caves with their father during their youth, adding an element of nostalgia to the visit. But for one of them, it was a trip that they'd never return from. 26-year-old John Edward Jones had returned to his native Utah from

Virginia, where he studied medicine while living with his wife and one-year-old daughter. Then, on November 24th of 2009, he and nine of his friends and family drove out to Nutty Putty for an evening of adventure caving. John first climbed down into the caves at around 8pm that night, having expressed his desire to explore one of the narrower caves that had been christened the Birthing Canal. But on his way there, he took a wrong turn and ended up in an uncharted tunnel near a section known as Ed's Push. John was suddenly faced with a pitch black hole almost directly beneath his feet, one that sank down into the very bowels of the earth, and in entering it, head first, he made the last mistake of his young life. Believing he was in the marginally wider birthing canal, John crawled into the hall expecting the narrow passage to open up into a much larger cave.

It was considered a rite of passage for many cavers and considering he was a local boy, it may surprise you to learn that John had never visited the Nutty Putty Caves before. His father may well have considered them to be too advanced for him back when he was a kid, especially in light of the reoccurring incidents involving Boy Scouts. As a result, John may have considered traversing the tunnels a point of pride, an old score to be settled, and as such, he put his all into pushing himself deeper and deeper into the uncharted tunnel until he found that he was stuck. In any other situation, this might not have been a problem, as a caver can simply back up and reverse until it's possible to turn around. But John was stuck at a downward 70 degree angle with gravity rendering retreat impossible.

Within just a few minutes, the Jones family realized just how much danger John was in, and they rushed to summon highly trained search and rescue personnel who specialized in freeing trapped cavers. Over the next 27 hours, more than 100 different rescue workers, both professional and amateur, descended on the Nutty Putty Cave system to offer any help they could. After failing to dislodge John with their bare hands, rescue workers tried a number of other methods, including an intricate system of ropes and pulleys in order to free the trapped caver.

But sadly, none of their techniques proved successful, and one rescuer was severely injured when one attempt went badly wrong. Perhaps the most pressing issue was John's positioning. If he'd been trapped upright, the rescue effort could have extended for days, possibly even weeks, but the human body is simply not designed to be upside down for long periods of time. And around the 20-hour mark, John complained of feeling increasingly lightheaded and short of breath. Around a year before John became trapped, Dr. Jay Kahn of the Minneapolis Medical School explained the dangers of remaining upside down for too long in the run-up to a stunt performed by street magician David Blaine. A person's lower extremities have constrictor mechanisms that protect blood vessels from damage when we stand up, he explained. But the brain does not have such constrictor mechanisms. Therefore, remaining in an upside-down position for prolonged periods of time may lead to blood vessels rupturing or blood leakage. This is because blood would pool in the skull,

causing pressure to build up inside the brain and eyes, causing bleeding, strokes, seizures, or even death. The rescue workers knew how much danger John was in, and once he complained of feeling poorly, they expedited their efforts in the hopes of saving his life. But sadly, and despite the valiant efforts of all involved, John Edward Jones passed away just before midnight on November 25th, just one day before Thanksgiving. Since it proved impossible to retrieve his body, the state of Utah declared the Nutty Putty Cave System to be John Edward Jones' final resting place, and would, therefore, be closed to public entry. Many believe this was the most respectful course of action,

and agreed with the state's decision to forbid any further attempts to retrieve John's body. Yet others disagreed. Cave specialist John Jasper, who has led many young groups to visit Nutty Putty, believes exploring caves is safe and fun, provided you take proper safety measures. Cave specialist John Jasper, who has led many young groups to visit Nutty Putty, believes exploring caves is safe and fun, provided you take proper safety measures. He also believes that the decision to close the caves is a hysterical overreaction, and that every possible effort shouldn't be made to retrieve John's body for a proper burial and reopen the caves to the public. Others have not been so reasonable.

On April 4th, 2018, the plaque that was engraved to memorialize John was reported to have been vandalized and may suspect that disgruntled cavers are to blame. But if those kinds of people want a face running into John's still-trapped skeleton, they should be welcome to. After all, if they're not careful, they might just end up joining him. Booster Juice is the dragon's lair, where dragon fruit lives for a limited time.

The Pink Dragon Booster Mixer, Dragon Slay a Smoothie, and Dragon Booster Ball Await. Order now on the Booster Rewards app. Oh, excuse me. Why are you walking so close behind me? Well, you're a tall guy. You throw a decent shadow when I'm walking in it to keep out of this bright sun. It hurts my eyes. Okay, well, you know what? Specsavers, you can get two pairs of glasses from $149. And, oh, you'll like this.

One can be a pair of prescription sunglasses. Sounds great. Where's the nearest store? Not far. Come on. Let's hurry, then. To my count. One, two, one, two, one, two, one, two.

Visit specsavers.ca for details. To my count. 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, in 2007, and for reasons that are totally irrelevant to the story, I dropped out of college. I had to move back with my mom who was incredibly angry at me for dropping out and her condition for me staying there was that I got a job and paid a little rent. Not long after, I ended up picking up a few shifts at some catering company, which is where I met Danny. Danny was only a year older, and we were into the same kind of movies and music, so we developed this kind of workplace bromance that quickly spilled over into our spare time. We ended up working at different places, but we stayed in touch, and every so often we'd head out on a little camping trip. We called it camping, but the truth was it was just an excuse to get drunk, grill up some steaks, and then give each other the crease by talking about all the spooky stuff that we liked around the campfire afterwards. We didn't even bring a tent along or anything. We just slept off the beer in the front seats of our cars and then drove back home the following afternoon once our heads had been cleared.

It might sound kinda lame to some people, but the closer we got to our 30s, the more we valued what little time that we had to just get drunk, talk crap, and laugh our butts off like we used to do in the sweaty-ass kitchen back in the day. We went about four or five times in as many years, but summer of 2015 marked our final camping trip. What happened that night, and over the weeks that followed, is almost a complete mystery to everyone but Danny, and he's never been the same since. Danny was always a quiet guy. He had an awesome sense of humor and he could handle his beer, but if I had to sum him up in one word, that word would be chill. That's half the reason that he was such a great drinking buddy. There was never any drama with him and that same thing extended into his personal life too. By 2015, he had totally gotten his life on track. He didn't do drugs anymore, he had himself an awesome girlfriend, and he was earning top dollar as a supervisor for some pharmaceuticals company.

Everything seemed to be going his way, which makes what happened next all the more confusing. So, we drive out to the middle of nowhere on Friday afternoon and then get to setting up our camp for the evening. I focused on setting up a decent campfire while Danny went to and from the car unpacking the coolers and camping chairs. Then at one point, I'm working on the fire in silence while he's walking back with the cooler in each hand. He puts them down, but as he does so, he says something under his breath that sounded a lot like, La Jellies. I looked up from the campfire being like, huh? What'd you say, La Jellies? But then Danny gives me this look of confusion and basically returns the same question by asking what the hell La Jellies means.

I remember laughing a little before telling him he's the weirdo that said it first, thinking I'd either misheard him or it was some kind of dumb inside joke that he was pandering, I don't know. And he went through a heavy deez nuts phase for a while, so at first I kind of figured it was another verbal trap or something. But the look of confusion on his face persisted until he finally said, Dude, I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't say anything. He kept this super serious look on his face long enough for this wave of creepy to just run through me. And after a few seconds, I started giving him a slow clap for managing to legitimately scare me.

I thought that might break through his little ruse, cause to me there was no other explanation for what he was even doing. But when he continued insisting that he hadn't said anything, I started to feel like I was going crazy. I'd heard something, but maybe my distracted self misheard him clearing his throat or whatever and I was making a big deal out of nothing. I now understand that that was the first red flag of the trip. But in the moment, I didn't see it for what it was. No one cancels their beer and steaks trip over some silly little misunderstanding, and I wasn't about to frantically call 911 to, like, 302 my buddy. I guess that's just how those things go. You don't worry about the tremors and then

the earthquake hits, but by then, it's too late to do anything about it. I hadn't forgotten about the whole phantom word thing, but I pushed it to the back of my mind by the time we got to cracking open the first beers. Now, it must have been around 7.30pm by that time, a couple more hours of daylight to burn, and there had been no repeated incidents like the one before. We got ourselves good and lost in the conversation, grilled up our steaks and for the next few hours, the mood was a good one. Then not long after sunset, our bellies are full and we got a nice little buzz going when there's a brief lull in the conversation. We're both just sort of staring

off into the fire enjoying the sound of crickets and the crackling wood when out of nowhere Danny just says, bozo. I turn to look at him and he's got this big smile stretched across his face and I asked him, who's a bozo? Kind of laughing to myself at how he just plucked the word out of the air. But he just says it again before wheeze laughing to himself. You know that kind of sign that laughter some people have when they're not making any noise, but just kind of rhythmically bobbing in their seat? He's doing that for like a minute before I ask him again. Who's Bozo? What the hell's so funny? The question only seemed to add to the hilarity for him, and he started rocking back and forth,

shaking his head, barely able to contain himself. I remember leaning forward to try and get a look at him or make eye contact. I'm not really sure what I was trying to do. But that's when I saw how red in the face he was. And how there was this strip of drool dripping off of his bottom lip. Things went from funny, to weird, to creepy, really goddamn fast. But when I asked Danny if he was okay, he literally fell off of his camping chair and erupted into the loudest, most unhinged laughter I've ever heard in my entire life. I knew something was wrong, I just didn't know what. And when he started making these weird choking slash coughing noises, I was terrified that he was having some kind of seizure. That I kind of knew how to deal with, so I just jumped

into action and turned him on his side. But then before I could think to do anything else, I noticed that he was breathing fine, and that he was just sort of weakly trying to push me off of him as if to say, I'm okay, just give me some room. I back off a little, and as I do so, Danny seems like he's starting to calm down. He takes a few deep breaths, wipes away the tears and the drool and then finds his feet while letting out a few sort of chuckles like he was getting the last of it out of his system. These were all very reassuring signs at first and I was starting to think that maybe he just had a sort of manic fit of laughter. It wouldn't have been the first time one of us had just laughed until it hurt, but as you probably noticed, his little episode was very irregular, and that's putting it kind of kindly. But then, right when I thought that I was worrying myself over nothing,

Danny started to take his clothes off. I think I let out a sort of, what the hell are you doing, but it was no good. It was like he couldn't hear me. There were still ripples of that laughter coming and going, little tremors here and there, but other than that, he just got on with stripping himself completely bare. And that's the point where I had a major sense of humor failure. It came out as anger, but I promise you it was nothing but fear. I was yelling at him to put his clothes on, that it wasn't funny and if he kept it up I was going to drive off and then only come back and get him once he was sober. Now it was an empty threat,

there was no way I was getting behind the wheel with that many beers in me but like I said, my patience was about to run dry. I don't mean my patience with him as such, I just mean with this whole situation. Something was obviously very wrong and I needed to know what so I could try and fix it. But there was no fixing anything and things just got worse. Right as I'm in the middle of yelling all these sort of empty threats at him, Danny started peeing. And I don't mean like walked off and found a tree to kind of hide behind, I mean he just started peeing right there, not moving at all, just staring at me with this dumb look on his face. Next second he looks

down, notices that he's peeing all over his own legs and then breaks out into another bout of near uncontrollable laughter. And I say near because he didn't double over or roll on the floor this time. Instead, he walked over to the nearest tree, which was maybe 10 or 15 feet away, and he starts punching it. Really hard. The sound of his knuckles crunching into the bark with all the force he could muster made me feel physically sick. Danny's a big guy too, especially back then when he was lifting, so imagine a 6 foot 4, 250 pound guy just wailing on a tree, and then imagine the kind of damage that'd do to his knuckles.

I kept screaming at him to stop, and I knew if I grabbed him there was a good chance that he'd turn on me, but what else could I do? I tried to get him to stop, but he turned around and shoved me off like I was nothing. It worked though, he was distracted enough to stop punching the tree, but the damage was done and his knuckles looked like raw steak. I can't imagine the kind of pain that he must have been in, and I guess some kind of messed up adrenaline high kept him from feeling it, but as I got to my feet and he looked at the blood running over his fingers, he started to laugh again. I don't think the words can ever

really cover how terrified I was in that moment. The best I can sum it up is this. It's like every thought in my head was replaced by the numbers 911. I needed help, a lot of help, and I needed it fast. I remember taking my phone out while backing up away from him and he didn't follow at first. He kept on laughing at the mess that he'd made on his knuckles. But when he heard me talking to the 911 dispatcher, he stopped laughing, pointed at me, and screamed something that I couldn't make out at first. And that's how I know that he was still in there somehow. He had enough sense to know that I was doing something that he didn't want me to do but the way he expressed his discontent was just as confusing as it was frightening and all the

other stuff. The first time he yelled at me, I was trying to listen to the dispatcher, so my brain wasn't tuned in to what he was shouting. The second time, I heard him loud and clear, and although it was another kind of nonsense word, I'll try my best to type it out. He screamed at me, two or three times before he charged, double with dark. And I'm just kind of writing out what I think he said. I tried to listen out for a word in there, but there was nothing, and more than seven years later, and I still can't figure out what he was trying to say. Maybe it doesn't mean anything at all, and it was just part of his brain being all defective and gabbling his words,

but after the third time of screaming it, at the very top of his brain being all defective and gabbling his words, but after the third time of screaming it, at the very top of his lungs, he started running at me like some sort of linebacker. I turned and ran, phone in hand, hoping my natural night vision would just adjust fast enough to avoid smashing into a tree. I think I must have ran for a good couple of minutes before I realized no one was chasing me anymore. And I remember kneeling down and trying to puke as quietly as possible so I could still listen for anyone following. When it was clear Danny wasn't following, I started walking back to where our campfire was. Walking too fast and I might end up walking into a trap.

Walking too slow and I might end up losing him in the woods. It ended up being the second one and although it didn't seem like the worst of the two options as I walked back through the darkness, time went and proved me wrong on that one. When I got back to our campfire, Danny was nowhere to be seen. I'll admit to not looking too hard for him at first, it's something I'll always feel guilty about but at the time, I was terrified that he was just crouched behind some tree waiting for me to let my guard down. It was around that time that I realized that I was still in the line with 911. But knowing that I wouldn't be able to defend myself, I hung up with the intention of calling back once I was safe. Again looking back on it, that's something that I see as a big mistake

on my part but I cannot overstate how terrified I was or how much that influenced my decision making. Instead, I ran back to my car, locked the doors, and then called 911 again once I was in a position to drive off if Danny reappeared. I told the dispatcher everything, but hammered home the point of it being some kind of mental health crisis. The last thing I wanted was to watch my best friend getting shot by the cops, especially by some small town sheriff's deputy with very little de-escalation training. It's not their fault, I got a brother-in-law who's a cop, so I know it's all budget related and not just incompetence, but still, you get my point. About 30 to 40 minutes later, these two deputies actually show up and I help them search the surrounding woods, calling out Danny's name as we went. They kept their pistols

in their holsters and walked with pepper spray and tasers at the ready. This was a huge weight off my mind and they were very receptive to the idea of it being some kind of psychotic break, but they also raised an issue that I feel that I should take the time to clarify now. Danny might have been a fairly regular beer drinker and I know he experimented a little growing up, but at the time of his disappearance, he was not on any kind of illegal or prescription drug. Beer was his vice, but even then, he wouldn't drink any more than a bottle or two each night, and by 2015, a 12-pack each around the campfire was considered super indulgent by our standards. He wasn't an alcoholic. He hadn't taken anything on

the night that he disappeared, and to the knowledge of those close to him, he wasn't suffering from any ongoing mental health issues. I'm not saying that there's anything suspicious or mysterious about that. Perfectly normal people sometimes experience random, unexpected mental issues, you know, during their lifetimes and go on to have perfectly normal lives again after recovering. But what the vast majority of those people don't do is disappear for six months and then reappear with zero memory of what had happened while they were gone. I guess I shouldn't have told you that right there. Maybe I'm not the best person to tell the story, but it's true. Danny was declared a missing person around 12 hours after he disappeared

first. I think it normally takes longer to get that status, but his vulnerable mental state allowed us to kind of get that process sped up. The cops went back in bigger numbers to search the forest, but didn't find anything. After that, they went back with even more guys, but also tracker dogs and search and rescue teams and all that other stuff, and still they didn't find anybody. A month or two into the search, cops said that they were still looking, but we kind of knew that they'd given up on finding Danny alive. There was a lot of talk of him falling into some river and drowning or maybe succumbing to the cold if he couldn't get out of the water in time. But no matter how hard the cops

searched the river, for miles up and down each bank, there was no sign of Danny or what was left of him. A few months later, all the media interest in the case had died down and the case had only one cop working on it at that point, but we weren't quite ready to give up. I'm not saying that we all expected Danny to just show up alive, but we knew that he was out there, somewhere. People don't just disappear, and at some point, he'd show up again. That might be a happy reunion, or it might be a heartbreaking one, but either way, we told ourselves that it was an inevitability.

Maybe for some of us it was a matter of faith, but for me, it was something I told myself to avoid having to face the possibility that Danny was dead. We held onto that belief for six long months. Almost nothing else mattered. We hoped, dreamed, and prayed the day Danny would reappear. And then one day, believe it or not, he did. At the time he showed up again, I was working as the regional sales representative for a fairly large stationary company. The workday had ended with this long sales strategy meeting because we had all but completely transitioned to online by that point, and the meeting meant that I had my phone switched to do not disturb mode. When I got out of the meeting, I walked to my car, pulled out my phone, and saw at least a dozen missed calls from a bunch of different people. I kind of knew what it was going to be about since most of the callers were Danny's parents, siblings, and mutual friends of ours, but I honestly expected it was because his body

had been found. So when I heard that he'd been found alive, I was blown away. I celebrated like the chiefs that just won the Super Bowl and then drove straight over to Danny's parents' place to join in with the celebrations. But when I got there, not only was Danny not there, but no one seemed in the mood to celebrate. You see, the person I called back first,

a mutual friend who lived out of state, didn't know all the details. He just knew Danny had been found alive. So when I got to his parents' place and they filled me in on what was happening, I understood why the mood was so low. In the early morning hours of the day Danny showed up, he walked into the emergency room and told a nurse that he felt ill.

But this emergency room wasn't anywhere near where he went missing. It was up in Canada. And when Danny found out where, and more accurately, when he was, he freaked out so bad that he had to be restrained and sedated. When he came to, he claimed to have no memory of what had happened to him over the past six months, and that his final memory before blacking out was driving out to the camping spot that he and I had picked out. He had no idea how he'd gotten so far from home, or how he'd managed to survive without ever interacting with his bank account. That was another thing. One of the big

reasons I thought Danny was dead was the total lack of online or financial activity. His parents managed to get a hold of his Facebook and Gmail logins, which would then notify them if there was any attempts to access them. They also asked Danny's bank to report any activity to them, but much like his social media, they remained completely untouched for the time that he went missing. He had to have been earning cash some way, or at least doing something to earn his meals, but he swore to have absolutely no idea what he'd been up to in the time that he went missing. He'd lost a bunch of weight, his hair had grown out, and he had this big patchy beard too. You could hardly recognize him at first. But it wasn't just his appearance that had changed.

His personality had too. Danny ended up staying in the hospital for a day or two, at least until his parents drove out there to collect him. And then when he got back home, his parents sent out a group text saying that he needed a few days to himself. I respected their request, but it still hurt a little. I waited all that time to see him again and sometimes thinking it had never happened and now the moment was finally here.

It was like he didn't care. I know that's a very selfish way of looking at it, but to not even call or text, even when you're just around the block, that wasn't like Danny at all. I understood that he'd been through some kind of trauma, and that he needed time to work through it, but to me, it felt like a shared trauma, you know? We went through it together, so we needed to figure it out together too. A few days later, I got a call from a number I didn't recognize, and it was Danny. I was so psyched to hear his voice for the first time in months,

but almost immediately I noticed how one-sided the excitement was. He sounded tired, really tired, but it wasn't just that. I figured after all that had happened, he'd at least want to talk about it a little. And not only did he not want to talk about it. He shut down all attempts to address what had happened that night. The first time I backed off on it. I was just too happy to hear from him. But I also got him to promise me that at some point in the future we'd try and work out what had happened to him. And he agreed and not just in passing as in he said it himself. I promise. But he never did. The press kept offering him more and more money for an interview, but he declined every one. The cops then offered to help him retrace his steps in the hopes that it'd jog his memory or something, but he declined that offer too.

About the only thing he did was get a physical from his doctor, and when the word got around that he was perfectly healthy, people started to suspect that something weird was going on. A guy goes missing in some bizarre six-month-long blackout, loses a bunch of weight, and has a giant gap in his memory after a violent psychotic episode and he's just... okay? No malnutrition, no concussion or head trauma, he's just fit and healthy, nothing to see here. Something just didn't smell right. Not long after, we got the whole truth of the doctor's visit. There was some residual damage to his knuckles and he needed to rest and put on some weight, but aside from that, he was perfectly okay. No head trauma, no broken bones, no bad teeth or hygiene-related conditions.

I only mention that last part because that showed that in the time that he was blacked out, he was still taking care of himself somehow. He hadn't shaved, but he definitely had been showering and brushing his teeth, so even if he had no memory, there had been someone at the wheel, so to speak. But what the doctor did find was a lot of calluses on his feet, suggesting wherever he'd been, he'd walked a lot. And this tied into the whole weight loss thing too and why he hadn't needed any money, that we could tell, to get himself around. We had to do all this guesswork on our own. Danny didn't want to help with any of it. He said he was tired and that he just wanted to move on with his life.

I remember him telling me how nothing anyone could do will bring that time back and how he was basically comfortable with just not knowing. In his mind, not knowing anything was better than finding out one bad thing that happened while he was basically in a walking coma. And then the more he refused to talk about it, and the more that the whole thing rattled around in his skull, the more I started to doubt that Danny's memory was as blank as he said it was. The fact that he didn't want even to try to find out what had happened to him just didn't sit right with me. If that were me, I'd do anything to find out what had happened in the time that had been stolen from me. I mean, if I freaked out and got all violent before blacking out, I'd do anything to find out what had happened in the time that had been stolen from me. I mean, if I freaked out and got all violent before blacking out, I'd want to make sure that I didn't hurt anyone in the process. I guess it's easy for me to say that now, and different people react to things different ways,

but I always just found it odd how it seemed more like he didn't want to talk about it, and less like he legitimately couldn't remember. I tried like three or four times to talk to him about it, but in the end, Danny told me to either stop asking him about his disappearance or stop talking to him altogether. And that was the beginning of the end of our friendship, I guess. And it's kind of ironic. I thought Danny's disappearance was the end of our friendship, but in reality, it was his return that marked the end. But it wasn't just his unwillingness to talk about what had happened that really killed off our friendship, it was how different he was when he showed up again. I understand that traumatic events can have dramatic effects on people and those effects can vary from person to person, but in a way, it was like Danny didn't come back at all and someone else had now taken his place. He shunned everything he used to love,

all but completely stopped laughing and smiling and he stopped drinking alcohol completely. The third part I understand. I'm not shaming him for quitting drinking, but I'm also not the only person to notice that it changed him. Almost everyone noticed it, but we all assumed whatever dark cloud was following him around would lift once he got back into the swing of things. But it didn't. And it was like he became that dark cloud. And he stayed that way for a year or so until we finally drifted apart. I say drifted apart, but we still swap birthday and holiday texts around those times of year. I've just come to accept that things aren't

what they used to be and that the friend I lost in the woods that night is never coming back. This happened a few years ago at around mid-November. My mother and I loved being outside and going for walks. This night in particular was freezing, but we decided that we wanted to go out for a quick walk. As we walked back home, we went down this one side street that we use all the time. It's a neighborhood street that leads to the main street and then back into our neighborhood. We get halfway down the street when I hear dog bark over the music on my phone. I turn it off and turn to look for the dog because I love dogs and I wasn't aware that there was a big dog on this street. Now some context. I know quite a few people on this street and I know which

houses have dogs. Most of the people on the block have small dogs or cats. This came from a house that didn't have a dog, let alone a big dog. I spun around and saw a big dark mass, just feet from me. If he stepped two more feet, he would have been able to grab me. I immediately felt weird and started speedwalking back to my mom, who at that point didn't realize that I had stopped. I turned off my phone and whispered to her that I thought that we were being followed. She turned around and grabbed my arm and told her that I thought that we were being followed.

She turned around and grabbed my arm and told me that there were two men right behind us. We started walking in a zig-zag pattern and sure enough, they followed her every step. Once they caught on that we knew, one of the dudes started to make a small chit-chat with us. Awfully late for y'all to be walking, huh? I swear his voice sounded like the definition of the siren's voice, luring sailors to their doom. He continued asking us questions and my mom kept walking and replying with quick replies. From the sound of his voice I knew that we were in danger so I went to dial 911. Instead my mom told me to call my dad as he would be able to get to us quicker because we were almost home. We got to the busy street and looked behind us to see them

speedwalking to us. We decided to risk it and ran into the middle of the street as cars passed on either side of us. We ran across again and met my dad on the other side. We looked across the streets and both men were now gone. We got into the car and searched the streets but these guys had disappeared into what seemed like thin air. I asked my mom if we would have been kidnapped if I hadn't heard that dog and she asked me what dog. I asked her how she didn't hear that massive dog bark especially with how good her hearing is. I still have no clue what it was that I heard, but I do know that it was most likely what saved my life. Some background. I'm a 28-year-old female and a dog walker and pet sitter.

Some of the dogs I walk have reactivity, as did this one dog, a pit slash lab mix. She used to be a bad puller along with being incredibly reactive to other dogs on leashes as soon as she'd see them. Through lots of work and training with her, she has come a long way with her reactivity to the point that it really is not an issue anymore, even when other owners carelessly allow their dogs to get too close for comfort. On this one walk, she was a dream the whole time. Past multiple dogs without issue, she would just look at me for a treat that she knew that she'd get if she was good. We turned down a side street that looked completely vacant at the time so I could give her some more relaxed walking time and all went well for a while. Not a soul in sight. Until there was. While I'm usually very good at keeping my head on a swivel,

as some of my walks are not in the safest areas of the city, this guy took me by surprise. I don't know how he did it, but he got about two or three feet behind us without my dog or me even knowing that he was there, and all of a sudden shouted something unintelligible. I could only make out the last two words of, Your dog. Immediately my dog, with no prior history of human reactivity, got between us and started growling, snapping and lunging aggressively at this man. I'm a smaller woman at five foot three, I'd guess this guy was probably 6'7 to say the least and incredibly muscular. As soon as he saw my dog trying to nip at him and bite him

and attack him and me struggling to hold her back, he threw his arms up and bolted across the street without another word and disappeared shortly after around a corner. I've never praised a dog for reactivity until that point. Gave her all the treats that I had left in my pocket, took her home and told her owner what had just happened and how her dog might have just saved my life. Of course I hope I'm wrong and the guy was just slow with social cues or something but neither the dog nor I got that impression.

Needless to say she is by far my favorite client's dog. I go on walks with her still every week, but we haven't gone down that side street again while there are no people about, and I'm beyond blessed to have her and get to walk her weekly, but I do hope that I never meet the your dog guy again. Oh! Excuse me. Why are you walking so close behind me? Well, you're a tall guy.

You throw a decent shadow when I'm walking in it to keep out of this bright sun. It hurts my eyes. Okay, well, you know what? Specsavers, you can get two pairs of glasses from $149. And, oh, you'll like this. One can be a pair of prescription sunglasses. Sounds great. Where's the nearest store? Not far. Come on. Let's hurry then. To my count. One, two, one, two, one, two, one, two. Visit Specsavers.ca for details. Mom, Mom, did you see my race?

Of course I did, darling. Look, you did your best. You tried. The thing is, it's not about winning. It's about taking part. Next year you might do better. But I did win, Mom. You did? When it's sunny, make sure you can still see. At Specsavers, get two pairs of glasses from $149

and one can be prescription sunglasses. Hey, the sun won't wait. Visit specsavers.ca for details. Conditions apply. Recently, I moved out of my apartment. I simply had to because I didn't feel safe with my landlords. I lived in this really nice, dumbo apartment in Brooklyn for a few months with my roommate, who paid for most of the rent since her parents are super rich. Our landlords were actually this seemingly really sweet couple who lived a few floors above with their kids. The first few weeks were somewhat normal except for the fact that every time I saw their kids in the elevator, they would scream at me before they

got off and then just run away. I thought it was funny and cute at first, but then their eldest son came to visit and started doing the same thing, and he looked about my age. I didn't really think much of it, since maybe he was just playing with his younger siblings or something. Things got really weird when I bumped into all of them together and we talked for a bit. Out of nowhere, while we were having a pleasant conversation, the dad apologized to me, saying that his son might act strange, because he's a,

you know, and then he said a really explicit word referring to people with mental disabilities. I was pretty shocked with him just saying that out of the blue. I paused for a bit and I can't really remember what I said, but I remember just wanting to get out of this conversation now. A few days later I bumped into the dad again in the elevator. I was pretty standoffish and he was just talking about how great my apartment is and how much of a generous guy he is for giving us such a low rate. Then he asked if I could babysit his kids as he and his wife and his eldest son would be at dinner. I said no at first but then he countered Offord

saying that he'd pay $150 an hour. And being the greedy idiot that I am, I agreed, and this is where I messed up. When I got to his place, I was speechless. His apartment wrapped around the entire floor of the building. It was the nicest apartment I will ever see, that's for sure. About an hour in, everything was normal. I was playing some fighting game with his kids when we suddenly heard the front door slam. I told them to stay there as I peeked to see what was going on, and I see the dad falling all over the place, clearly incredibly drunk. He started walking toward me and at the last minute fell face first onto his couch.

I must have popped a blood vessel trying to hold in my laughter. I asked if he was okay and walked over to assist him. He then turned around, looked at me and said, my wife will let us, please. When I tried asking what, his wife walked up to me, thanked me, paid me, and told me to come back another time. I just kind of went back to my apartment in shock, wondering what in God's name just happened, and I definitely wasn't going back. I told my roommate and she told me that she also bumped into the dad and he told her, My wife is cool, just so you know. With no explanation and just left. At this point we knew that we were sure as hell that we were not renewing our lease.

We didn't see our landlords until our final month. We kind of joked to our friends about how our landlords were incredibly creepy. And the next time I see them was actually with my boyfriend who was well aware of what they were trying to do. It was an intensely awkward elevator ride as when they saw us in there, they just went quiet and smiled and nodded at us repeatedly. As we step out of the elevator, the dad shouts hey to us and winks at me as the doors closed. After that, I asked my boyfriend to stay with us for the remainder of our lease because at this point my roommate and I were pretty freaked out. Our final and creepiest encounter was a few days before moving out.

My roommate walked out of the apartment and both the landlords were sitting in front of the elevators waiting for us. She said they started sobbing when they saw her and begged us to stay. They apparently apologized for making us uncomfortable and said they thought that we were the quote pretty young girls that they were waiting for. She didn't say a word to them and got on the elevator and called me to warn me that they were outside and then they started to knock. My boyfriend answered and said when the guy saw him he asked if I was here. Of course my boyfriend said no, but they tried walking in anyway. I walk out of my room saying that I'll call the police if they don't leave,

and they beg me not to and just run out of the apartment. A few days ago, we get a text from a random number saying that we could live there for six months free if we just gave them a few nights. Of course, I blocked and deleted their number. The whole thing was just such an uncomfortable experience living there for all those months, especially knowing that they had the keys to our apartment. I was chatting to a friend and remembered this creepy story from the pandemic. I'm a 30-year-old female and living alone. I had no car and no shops nearby. It was 9pm and I had just gotten back from work and realized that there was no food in the house so I ordered a grocery delivery on Uber Eats.

I asked them to leave it at the door due to COVID rules. There was no knock at the door and I saw a tall skinny guy standing right by it. I shouted through the letterbox to leave it on the floor and back up. He said no and that he had to hand it to me as it had alcohol in it. I hadn't ordered any alcohol so I told him that he had the wrong order. He claimed it was correct and I told him sternly to put it on the floor and back up. Again he refused. Stupidly, I was tired. I opened the door a crack to tell him to do it due to COVID rules, and he stepped towards the door and put his hand on the handle. I pulled it shut and shouted to leave it or I was reporting him.

He put it down and stepped back. I asked him through the letterbox to back up further. He did so, but again, when I opened the door, he stepped forward. I always remember the chill down my spine when he said, Pretty. Very pretty. In a low, monotone voice. I noticed that he had his phone out pointed at me and asked what he was doing. He said that he had to take a picture,

but it was pointed at my face and not the bag on the floor. I grabbed it and slammed the door shut and locked it. I watched through a crack in the curtains as he stood by the door, pacing back and forth as if he couldn't make up his mind. He knocked, but I ignored it. I was getting seriously creepy vibes and called my best mate for advice. She told me to report him and to not open the door. I shouted out the letterbox for him to leave, but he just still stood there. My dog, who was normally the sweetest little thing, had picked up on my anxiety and began barking at the door. He turned and got into his car that was parked across the street from my house.

I kept watching for the next ten or so minutes through the window, but he wouldn't leave. He just sat there, but I figured maybe he was picking another order to take. Suddenly, a message popped up on Uber. He told me he'd forgotten a bag in the car and asked me to come get it. I checked my order and it was all there, so I messaged saying that it wasn't mine. He got insistent, saying that he couldn't leave until I picked it up. He was practically begging me to come to the car, saying that it wouldn't take a minute and I could grab it from the passenger side. I lost my mind. I told him that I'd heard what he'd said and that I knew that he was taking

a picture of me and not the order and that I was calling the police now. He still said that I had to come get it. The entire time I was on the phone to the police, he was still messaging me, even saying, quote, the police not come, pick up order and I leave. Why are you making it hard? The police told me someone would be there within 20 minutes and to stay inside with the doors locked. My dog was going nuts, hackles up, barking. My neighbor's husband, who was 6'4 and built like a brick shed, texted me saying that he heard a commotion and asked if I was okay. I told him what was going on and he immediately ran out, shouting at the guy that the driver was a predator and to F off before he got F'd up. The delivery guy peeled out of there and my neighbors came over to make me a brew and wait for the police.

I made a report to both them and Uber but all I got was an apology from Uber. The police never came back to me. I got a car shortly after and didn't use Uber again until my boyfriend eventually moved in. Yesterday I took my son fishing. He wanted to go to a nearby lake that we haven't been to in quite some time. It's not known to be a great area, and for some background, the last time we went, about a year ago, a car drove by and screamed, nice nice butt at me while I stood there with my young son. This kind of garbage behavior is unfortunately expected in the area. It's also known to be a late night hookup spot as well as a late night drug deal location. Due to the lake's

reputation, I had made a deal with my dad that I wouldn't stay there past 4pm without him. My 12 year old son, who looks much younger than he is, and I pulled up to our favorite fishing spot, a small pond on the opposite side of the road is the lake. Almost immediately an older gentleman approached us asking if there were fish in the pond. I replied that we had just gotten started so nothing yet, but that we had caught a fish in the pond on plenty of other occasions. He thanked us for the information and returned to his spot on the other side of the road. About 15 minutes later, another younger man approaches the older man with a dog.

I can see and hear them chatting, but they've made no move to involve us in the conversation, which I'm glad for. I just want to enjoy a day with my son. Unfortunately, the water in the pond was incredibly low and murky, and I could tell that we weren't going to have any luck. I tell my son to pack it up and we'll try another spot on the other side of the lake. As we began packing up our gear into the trunk, the younger man yells over, Hey, sorry if my dog and I ran you off. I tell him it's no problem and we were simply moving to a better fishing spot. He then starts telling me how nice it is to see a mom taking her kid fishing, how you don't see that very often, etc. I get this a lot and I'm pretty used to it. We have a short conversation about it as I pack up and I then move towards the driver's side doors to depart.

Before I can leave, the driver's side doors to depart. Before I can leave, the younger man starts up another conversation, this time asking how old I think he is. And this feels strange to me, but I'm nice to a fault sometimes, so I answer his question. I tell him I'm a horrible judge of age, but maybe 25? He tells me he's 38 and I'm too kind and I laugh it off saying something like I work with teenagers so they always guess me well above my age just to be mean. He asks where I work and I stupidly tell him my city. It turns out he lives there too and starts going on and on about how he got a free apartment on such and such street because his baby mama kicked him out of their house. I think he's talking about some kind of government assistant program. It was a weird flex, but okay.

At this point, I'm standing by the car door with my hand on the handle and my son is already in the back seat. This guy can't take the hint and starts telling me all about his awful baby mama and how women are supposed to be submissive, quiet, and do what they're told. He specifically said, I mean it's cool that you can bait a hook or whatever but you're still a woman. Now my alarm bells are blaring. This guy struck up a conversation by commending me for doing a typically dad thing with my kid and now he's putting me down for the same thing. He's gone from being overly friendly and complimentary to agitated and ranting. I should have just been rude and just got in the car and left, but I've unfortunately been conditioned, like many people, to be polite even when we're uncomfortable. Instead, I start making

comments in the hopes that he'll see I'm not some meek, submissive woman who's going to just agree with him. After all, I'm a tatted up chick with an eyebrow piercing and two lip piercings. I don't exactly look like a submissive little housewife. I guess I'm trying to make him just as uncomfortable as he had made me in the hopes that he'd leave me alone. After he says women shouldn't be loud or opinionated, I tell him, oh, well, you wouldn't like me at all. He tries to backpedal, saying, I mean, it's okay to be loud, I guess, but don't try that with your man, you know. I say, my man doesn't tell me anything. I do what I want. And this kind of back and forth goes on for a while before he finally shakes his head and says,

I just don't understand what kind of woman would act like that. And I reply, A strong one. As soon as the words left my mouth, the older gentleman yells from his spot on the bank, Yeah, say that again, honey. This distracted the creep long enough for me to hop in the car and lock the doors. I still don't feel safe, though. Unbeknownst to Creepazoid, only two of my car doors actually have functioning locks,

but at least they're the two on his side. I put the key in the ignition and turn. No dice, nothing. Of all the times for my car to act up, it chooses now. Panic has now set in. As I repeatedly try to start my car, I can see him out of the corner of my eye. He's taken notice of my car troubles and is trying to get my attention. As he takes a few steps towards my car, the engine finally roars to life and I just peel out of there. Only then do I let my composure crumble and have aundee with his three-year-old son.

Since my brother had moved from Glasgow, we didn't get to see him or his family too often, so we cherished any time we got to see them. Unfortunately, his wife could not travel down due to work, and just a day into his visit, he was called back for an emergency. His nephew wanted to stay as we had bought him two tickets to the football game the next day, so I agreed to take him back to his dad in Dundee after the game. The only train I could get was a fairly late one and therefore the last one of the day, so I took my nephew to the football game and headed straight to the station afterwards. The train was pretty busy, but I had booked two seats for us, and just as we were about to board the train, the man standing next to me made an odd comment saying, like sardines? Aren't they? I hate sardines.

I found this fairly odd and I just awkwardly laughed it off. I've never been good at making conversations with strangers and always feel uneasy when one approaches me. As we made our way to our seats, I noticed an old couple sitting in them. I told them those were our seats, but they were fairly rude and told me that old people shouldn't have to stand for a journey. I always hated confrontation, especially in public, so I just left. There were no two seats together anywhere on the train so my nephew and I were forced to stand for about an hour until many people on the train finally got off when it stopped in Perth. My nephew and I sat down and I

mistakenly fell asleep as I was so tired after a fairly long day and standing for an hour on the train. As my nephew was only three, he obviously fell asleep as well. I awoke just as the last passengers were getting off at Dundee. I quickly jumped up and tried to get my nephew off the train as quickly as possible, but he was too slow and I had to stay on the train with him, meaning that we missed the stop. As the train was delayed slightly, it was now going straight to Aberdeen, which was about an hour or so away. I sat down and tried to phone anyone I knew, but I didn't have any signal. I began to panic as I knew that there would be no return trains from Aberdeen at this time of night, likely meaning that I would

have to stay there the night in a hotel. I tried to compose myself and look about the train to see if there was anyone who could maybe help me. My carriage had more or less cleared out by this point and there were only three other people left. An older woman sleeping a few rows in front, a young man reading a book at the opposite side and a third man behind me. I told my nephew to go back to sleep and started trying to plan what I would do when we got to Aberdeen. As my phone had no signal, this was obviously fairly difficult and I thought that I should ask the man behind me for help. I looked in the window's reflection at him and noticed that it was the same man who made the sardine comment earlier. He was a middle-aged man, fairly average build and height, and there

was nothing to suggest that he was in any way dangerous, except one thing. He was staring right at me. I looked away for a minute, thinking maybe he was just looking about the train as I did only a moment ago, but when I looked again, he was still staring. His stare didn't seem to break until he got to presumably go to the toilet. I debated switching to another carriage, but before I could gather my stuff and wake my nephew, he returned. Only this time, he sat in a different seat, facing me directly. A few uneasy minutes passed before he made his first comment. Someone's sleepy, he said, nodding to my nephew. I laughed awkwardly and put my

earphones in to avoid having to talk to him, even though my phone had just died. Must be some set of earphones if they can listen to music when your phone's dead, he said. And my heart dropped. I'm only kidding you, he said. But now I have no excuse to avoid conversation with you. So, are you going home or visiting someone? he asked. I made the mistake of telling him what had happened and that I had missed my stop. That's quite the situation.

You won't get a train back at this time. I nodded and said that I would find a hotel for the night. He then approached my seat and sat across from me. Hotels will be all booked out and even if they aren't, they'll charge you a fortune. I got a place not too far from the station. You can stay there for the night and get the train in the morning. I'll stay out of the way of you and your son, don't you worry. I explained to the man that it was not my son and that I was happy to pay for a hotel. I tried to stay polite by saying that I didn't want to be a nuisance for him,

even though I really just wanted to tell him to go away. Oh, believe me, you won't be any nuisance to me. He said in a very overly friendly tone, and I was now feeling extremely unnerved, but still tried my best to talk myself out of the situation. This conversation carried on for another ten minutes or so and he was increasingly insistent that I stayed with him. I didn't have any idea what to do. I felt completely helpless. I told him I needed to

use the toilet and in an effort to get away from the carriage. That's when he grabbed my wrist below the table. You're not going anywhere, he said in a hushed tone. You're staying with me. I'll keep you safe. He said in an extremely chilling voice. I couldn't even bring myself to scream out in that situation. The only other passengers in the carriage were at the opposite end, and I was terrified that if I screamed, the man would hurt me or my nephew. He wouldn't let go of my wrist and repeatedly began saying,

Just act natural. The remaining part of the journey seemed to last a lifetime and I knew even then and there that there was no light at the end of this tunnel as this man would not let me go. The train finally reached Aberdeen and the man told me to wake my nephew, not to alarm him and to tell him that we were staying at this nice man's house for the evening. He held my hand as we got off the train and my worst fears were coming true as I knew what would happen when this man got us back to his house. All of a sudden, I was knocked to the floor in a heap of bodies. The police had tackled the man and were now arresting him. As he got to his feet, I grabbed my nephew's hand and ran only a couple of yards before completely breaking down. The police comforted me and told me that the young man who was reading his book on the other side of the carriage

had noticed what was going on and sent a text to the British Transport Police, whose number is all over the walls of the train on posters. It took me a couple of minutes to process everything, but I managed to gain enough composure to thank the police and express my gratitude towards the man who had sent the text. I only managed to say a few words to him but I'll forever be grateful to him as he saved me from what would have been a night of terror and very possibly saved me and my nephew's life. The police very kindly took me and my nephew back to Dund I am traveling late at night that I am accompanied by someone and never run the risk 90s, early 2000s. I spent a lot of time outside and I loved all animals including bugs, frogs, lizards, etc. My little brother played a lot of sports so on weekends I was always dragged to his games and after school I often had to attend his practices. It was soccer season and I had to

go with my mom to one of my brother's soccer practices after school on this day. I was probably 8 or 9 at the time. It was a local park surrounded by some wilderness and hiking trails. I liked this park because off to the side of the soccer field, there was a creek with frogs and other things. I would love to go over there, look at them, and try to catch them. It was evening time and the sun was setting, but there was still plenty of light left.

I told my mom I was going to go down to the creek and catch frogs. I was down the hill slightly from the fields and obscured by some bushes and shrubs but there was a clear dirt trail that had ran alongside the creek. So I scurried on down there and was carefully studying the creek, looking for frogs when suddenly a man's voice startled me. What are you looking for frogs when suddenly a man's voice startled me. What are you looking for? I looked up and saw a middle-aged man dressed in typical office and business wear, button-up shirt, slacks, dress shoes. He was standing on the trail, blocking my route back up to the soccer fields,

looking at me and smiling. I was a shy and cautious child, so I just looked at the man and didn't reply at first. My spidey senses were already tingling and I remember feeling nervous and uneasy. I sometimes saw hikers on the trail by the creek, but his outfit and appearance told me that he wasn't a hiker. He then asked me, Are you looking for butterflies? I saw some down there. And he pointed further down the trail, away from the soccer fields. I just said no and started looking around at what my options were. I felt the need to get out of there quickly,

but as I mentioned, he was standing on the trail which was my route back to the fields. There were thick bushes on the hillside between the route back to the fields. There were thick bushes on the hillside between the trail and where the fields were. I started making my way up the rocks to the side of the creek toward the trail, further down from where he stood and to my alarm he started moving down the trail toward me saying, do you need some help? I was now starting to panic. Although nothing had happened, and he seemed friendly, it just felt wrong to me. I just got stranger danger vibes. I remember feeling a burst of adrenaline and fear, and I shouted no, and booked it up the rocks, across the trail, and crashed my way through the bushes towards the soccer fields. I remember the branches scratching me, but I didn't

care. I literally scrambled my way through them until I came up to the fields and then sprinted over to where my mom was watching my brother's practice. I probably looked like hell, so she, of course, asked what the heck just happened and I told her. I felt like she thought that I was being paranoid, though. I'll never know if this guy posed a real threat or not. He could have just been getting some fresh air on his way home from work. Who knows? I just know that it felt last night at around midnight. I was on my phone, pulling up something to show him when we parked,

when he whipped around and asked me if I saw that out of his window. I said no, and asked what. I live in a quiet suburban neighborhood. We have some deer and other small wildlife. The most dramatic human activity was several years back when a car was speeding and crashed through the living room of the house at the bottom of the hill. He said that there was a girl on all fours in the driveway, waving her hand and phone light at us as we drove by. We slowed down to discuss if we should go back, is she hurt or in trouble, trying to flag help for someone inside or filming a TikTok. I was worried that this was some ploy to make us stop so someone else could jump out and get us. We both thought it was weird and decided to go back in case she needed help.

Our windows had been down to get some fresh air that night, so we rolled them up when we went back. When we went back, she was no longer on the ground and ran up to my window very quickly. She looked like she was in PJs and was in her teens. My boyfriend went nope and swerved around her and drove out of the neighborhood as another car was driving in past by her. We were both pretty rattled at this point because it was so unusual and decided that we'd do another loop back. This was the only way into the neighborhood so we really didn't have a choice. If she was still there after the other car had driven by, he would talk to her since she'd been

on his side again. We drove back and she was standing in the middle of her driveway, waving her arms with her phone light again. He slowed down with his window down and asked her if she was alright. She said yes and started running at the car again, almost in front of another vehicle driving by. We were a bit at a loss and very uneasy about the whole thing but figured there was nothing else we could really do at that point. She said she was fine and had a phone to call 911 if something was going on. He dropped me off and said that she wasn't there when he drove back out, so I have no idea what that was all about,

but I found it very unnerving. Oh! Excuse me. To be continued... two pairs of glasses from $149 and, oh, you'll like this, one can be a pair of prescription sunglasses. Sounds great! Where's the nearest store? Not far. Come on. Let's hurry then. To my count. One, two, one, two, one, two, one, two. Visit specsavers.ca for details. Mom, Mom, did you see my

race? Of course I did, darling. Look, you did your best. You tried. The thing is, it's not about winning. It's about taking part. Next year you might do better. But I did win, Mom. You did? When it's sunny, make sure you can still see. At Specsavers, get two pairs of glasses from $149 and one can be prescription sunglasses. Hey, the sun won't wait. Visit Specsavers.ca for details. Conditions apply. A few years ago, I worked in a busy but dangerous area of Rio de Janeiro. There are just too many streets where local criminals can ambush pedestrians,

mug them, and effectively run into hiding. One day I worked until 7pm and my fiancé picked me up. The streets were already deserted so we decided to find a safe spot and call an Uber. We quickly found two men watching the entrance of a store. One of them was a doorman in uniform while the other one was wearing regular clothes and speaking into a walkie-talkie. So far, just regular Rio stuff. The second guy and I had some small talk about how dangerous the area was, after which we all went silent. The Uber was taking some time, so he eventually asked if I was sure that it was coming. I checked him confirmed, and he decided to explain his curiosity. Well, today will be an especially dangerous day.

We want to do something about these lowlifes. As a cop, I find it distasteful. I immediately hid the shiver that came down my spine. Vigilante death squads are a big deal in Brazil and a word to the wise is enough. I took a deep breath and played dumb to be sure. Are you a civilian or a military cop? He smirked and answered, today I'm neither. More or less after a very long minute, the driver arrived. We said goodbye and left. On the following day, I saw almost no homeless people in the area. I knew why they didn't want to be seen there. Nothing ever appeared on the news. When I was about eight years old, we had a gardener who came by regularly to look after our garden,

as well as other people's gardens in the neighborhood. He was a good man, nothing weird about him, but he had an apprentice, we'll call him K. He was about 30 I guess and was a bit weird looking, but nothing more. One day I was playing with a friend of mine around the same age and we went outside the house, I think to get a ball that I'd fallen or something, I don't really remember, and that's when we saw Kay across the street. I knew him, I had told my friend that he was our gardener and that he also went to other houses so I didn't see anything wrong with him being there, but then he started calling my name

with an unusual voice, like when you talk to a little baby or cute animal. After that he called us over with the same voice saying, Little kids, come over here. We approached him and he started talking to us. He said that he had some cute little puppies in his home. He lived nearby about a block away and asked if we wanted to come over and see them. We said that we weren't allowed and he insisted a bit but not very much. And it got even creepier. He asked us if we had boy parts. We said yes and then he asked us if he could see them but we said that our mothers

don't let us show them. Have you seen mine? He asked and proceeded to pull it out. We hadn't seen an adult one before and this situation was really creepy so we just ran away. I didn't tell my parents anything but luckily my friend did tell his mother and she told mine. Of course my parents banned him from ever coming near us again, even though in the beginning he kind of tried to deny everything and of course the gardener fired him. I think my parents went to the police but I'm not sure what happened because I was little and I didn't know how these things worked. I didn't know what predators were back then. I didn't know anything like that existed. I didn't even know how the whole process

of procreation was done at that point. And two years ago, when I was 18 years old, I was walking down the street and saw Kay in a yard since he went to the other houses. He also saw me, looked at me with a creepy but also stupid smile and tried to wave at me. I wasn't a kid anymore, so I shouted over, Hey, why don't you mind your own business before I make you mind it? And he stopped. I was pretty tall at this point and strong whereas he was actually a pretty small dude and seemed to be pretty unnerved when I said that. Now I haven't seen him again

but I genuinely hope that he's in prison or dead. I grew up taking regular vacations with my family. Not that I have my own family, I like to keep that tradition alive. And every summer, when my kids get out of school, we take a trip somewhere. We don't usually drive more than eight hours, and more sometimes than not, we'll stay in one of the coastal cities since we live on the east coast. This specific year, my kids were seven and eight, and my husband and I figured that they were mature

enough to drive through the night. This way, he could arrive at our destination in the morning and not waste an entire day driving. We started the 8 hour drive to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina at around 11 at night. After stopping for bathrooms and gas, we planned on arriving at our destination at around 7 in the morning. The plan was, when we arrived, we would take an hour or two nap and then spend the rest of the day at the beach. However, we almost didn't make it to Myrtle Beach. At some point during the night, it started to downpour outside.

It was raining so hard that it was almost like driving through a snowstorm. You literally could not see two feet in front of the car, not to mention that it was pitch black on the highway. Add these two together and you have a very dangerous drive. I was also starting to notice that my husband was kind of swerving back and forth a little bit. Thankfully, the girls were sleeping because I wouldn't want them to have seen me like this. I was a wreck during this part of the drive. After some quiet arguing, I finally convinced my husband to pull over and wait out the rain. I could tell that he was annoyed because he just wanted to get there, and he hated it when he was behind schedule. But our family's safety is more important, and he realized that eventually.

While we were parked, I suggested that we switch spots. I told him while it was raining, he could shut his eyes and nap for a little while. I told him that if it stopped raining, I would drive to the nearest rest area and that we could switch back. He agreed and within seconds, he was already snoring. I put on my headphones and started to listen to an audiobook while I waited out the rain. I would occasionally lift my head up and look around to see if the rain subsided, but it never seemed to stop. While I was sitting there, I noticed a light in my rearview mirror. They were those super bright halogen lights and they seemed even brighter as they reflected off the rain on the wet back window. I knew that it wasn't a cop because I didn't see any flashing

lights. I made sure that the doors were locked just in case and I continued listening to my book. I honestly didn't think anything of this vehicle with bright lights that was now parked behind us. I just assumed that whoever this person was, they were doing the same thing that we were doing. About 10 minutes passed and the lights turned off behind me, alerted my attention. I looked up at the rearview mirror and I could see that the vehicle was still there because my red flashing hazard lights were still lighting up some of the area behind our vehicle. I was trying to see if I could make out any details of the driver, but

the rain was still coming down too hard. As I was looking, I noticed the door of the vehicle whip open. My heart started to race as I was thinking about what I would do if someone walked over to the door. Then, my worst fear was becoming a reality. A huge person seemed to emerge from the driver's side of the vehicle. I continued to look in my rearview mirror, and as the person started to approach our vehicle, I turned on our car just in case, as the car turned on, the man was now standing right next to my window. He lightly tapped on the window and gestured for me to roll it down. I cracked it and asked if I could help him. In this deep voice, this man said,

Oh, yeah. My car broke down, I just need a ride to the gas station. You think you can help me out? I told him that I would call the police and they would be able to help him. I pointed to the back seat and told the man that I had my kids back there and there wasn't any room and that I was sorry. The man bent down and looked into the vehicle. He looked into the back seat and saw my two sleeping children and in that same voice says, oh, you have children? Never mind then ma'am, you have a good night. And then he walked back to his vehicle and I kid you not, he just drove away. His car was not broken down, and for some reason he lied to me in order to gain access to my vehicle. I was sick to my stomach thinking about

what reason he could have had for getting into my vehicle. I shook my husband immediately and told him what had happened, and then we decided to call the police. I didn't really know what to say other than that it was a very strange encounter. I told them it was a black truck and that was all I could tell in the rain. The cops kind of brushed off what I said since I really didn't have any evidence and technically the guy didn't do anything wrong I guess. I was just worried that whatever intentions this man had, someone else may fall victim to his game. Not long after speaking with the police, the rain subsided and we continued our trip. We decided not to tell the girls about this strange man because we didn't want to freak them out before the vacation even started.

And this was a few years back and I still haven't told the kids. I plan on telling them someday, but right now, I just want them to enjoy life and not worry about creeps in the night. I don't care how old I get, I love taking vacations with my family. I'm in my early 30s now and I still look forward to going away with them every year. It's even more enjoyable now because my brother and I bring our families as well. Of all the years that we ever went on a trip together, only one year did I have an experience that was less than stellar. When I was in my early 20s, I can't remember the exact year, we took a trip to Maine. This was probably the last vacation I went on with my family where it was just my brother and I and no girlfriends.

This was the first vacation where we didn't go to some beach town which I was totally okay with. I love the ocean and the beach but sometimes it's just crazy in the summer. I was really looking forward to a relaxing getaway in a secluded main town. Before arriving at the house rental I only had the pictures to go by and let me tell you, the place looked incredible. When we were pulling into the long driveway, the pictures were becoming a reality. It was a giant white house that was tucked way back into the woods. There was a huge wraparound porch that wrapped all the way to the back of the house and the porch in the back overlooked a body of water. I believe it was a river that

actually flowed into the ocean. When we arrived, we were greeted by this man named Henry. An older man, but he seemed super friendly. He was the owner of the house and he was just letting us know that he lived right up the road and if we needed anything, to just call and he'd be right down. One night I noticed right away that everyone in Maine just seemed incredibly friendly. Maybe it's just because I'm from New York, but I just feel like every person I talked to while I was in Maine was just incredibly happy and pleasant. The first day and evening were great. We ran into our first issue that first night before heading to sleep though. We noticed that none of the doors had locks. The front door was an older wooden door with these worn out metal doorknobs that didn't

contain any sort of lock. The back of the house had all windows that overlooked that body of water and at the end of the windows was a sliding door that led to the back deck and there was no lock on that door either. We were creeped out, but just kind of shrugged it off. My dad said that he would talk to Henry in the morning and try to figure out some solution. Morning came, and my dad and I walked down to Henry's house. My dad voiced his concerns and inquired how to go about locking the house at night. Henry laughed like he had just heard the funniest joke of all time. He then said in a sort of upbeat voice,

This is Maine. We don't lock our doors in Maine. Me and my dad looked at each other and then my dad continued speaking with Henry. And basically the conversation went nowhere and we just made peace with the fact that we wouldn't be locking our doors during our trip. A few nights passed and I have to be totally honest, I didn't sleep very well. Maybe I'm just a paranoid person but knowing that the doors were unlocked was giving me huge anxiety. One night I heard a weird noise coming from outside the bedroom that I was sleeping in. My brother and I were sharing a room since it was a huge room and it had multiple beds. Because my brother was only a few feet away, I woke him up and asked him if he could hear that strange noise.

He was annoyed that he was awake now, but he admitted that he could hear the noise as well and he also thought it was strange. I got up and slowly opened the bedroom door. I started to make my way down the hall to the kitchen. I noticed that there was a light on above the stove and this didn't sit right with me. I was always the last one to go to bed and I knew this light wasn't on when I went to my bedroom for the night. I didn't completely freak out because, after all, it was possible that one of my parents woke up and grabbed a drink of water or something. I continued to tiptoe through the kitchen and make my way to the living room. Even though it was pitch black outside, the moon was bright so I was able to slightly see outside of the windows.

As I scanned every window, I swear that I saw someone run by. I jumped back and sort of gasped out loud. I started to duck down and continued looking out the window and I didn't see anything. It was entirely possible that my eyes were just playing tricks on me though, but I swear that I saw someone. I went back and told my brother who basically told me to just shut up and go to sleep. He was convinced the noises were just the house and that my imagination was tricking me into thinking that I actually saw someone. Nothing happened the next couple of nights. And then on the last night, I could hear the strange noises again. This time, I quietly snuck out of my room and as I looked down the hall, I saw someone running out of the house and closing the sliding door in the living room.

This time, I know I saw someone. I woke up the entire house and I told them that someone was in the kitchen and honestly, they didn't seem to believe me. My dad still called Henry, even though it was in the middle of the night, and told him that I had seen someone in the house and asked if we should call the police. Henry said he'd call them and that he was going to head over to the house right away to we should call the police. Henry said he'd call them and that he was going to head over to the house right away to make sure that we were okay. When Henry walked in, I felt sick. I no only caught a glimpse of the guy fleeing the house, but he appeared to be wearing the same thing Henry was wearing. I didn't speak up, but writing this now, I kind of wish I had.

The police showed up and my dad and Henry spoke to them. I don't know what they said or did and it didn't matter too much to us since we were leaving in a few hours anyway. Thankfully nothing happened the rest of that night. And as I write this now I'm 100% confident that I saw a person in the house that night. My gut tells me that it was Henry, but I don't have any evidence to back that up. I have no idea what he was doing or if he even planned on doing anything. It is possible that this guy was just some sort of creep who liked to spy on people voyeuristically. Either way, I'm happy it's a distant memory now and after this trip,

I'm happy to sticking with just the simple beach towns. Taking a vacation and visiting cool and exotic places is awesome, if you can afford it. Unfortunately, when I was in my late 20s, I could not afford such a luxury. I worked 40 to 50 hours a week to basically just pay my bills. I know that's a super scary in itself, but not the story I'm about to share. Instead of spending money, I didn't have to travel somewhere. I decided to use my first ever paid vacation from work to have what they call a staycation. If anyone isn't familiar with that word, it's exactly how it sounds. It's a vacation where you stay at home. I planned on using this time to actually catch up on work around my house,

and for the record, I rent this house, I don't own it. I would get all my cleaning and laundry done. I would catch up on some shows that I had been neglecting, maybe even play some video games and catch up with friends that I hadn't seen in months. It all sounded so good, but better than anything else was just the fact that I didn't have to wake up at 4.30 in the morning to go to work for an entire week. The first few days, I admit, I didn't do anything, and it was glorious. On Wednesday or Thursday, I don't remember exactly, I noticed a bunch of teenagers outside

of my house in the early evening. I was a teenager once, so honestly I didn't care if they were just kind of lingering outside. As long as they weren't messing with my stuff, I could care less. I was getting ready to leave at around 7.30 to meet some friends for drinks, and as I was leaving, I noticed the teens were still outside, just doing their thing. It was probably at least 10 kids if I remember correctly. As I was backing out of my driveway, I noticed a few of the kids standing at the bottom of my driveway. I rolled down the window and very nicely asked if they could move for a second so I could get out. Well, apparently this question was way out of line. One of the

kids marched right up to my car and yelled at the top of his lungs, no. And all the kids laughed and I just started to feel annoyed. As my mood was starting to shift, less polite now, I said, come on guys, can you just move? They all started to laugh again. They sounded like a bunch of coyotes cackling. The same little punk that spoke last time spoke again and said in this mocking voice, Um, no. Us guys cannot just move. And the laughter was spreading among all these teens like some sort of virus. I realized that I was getting older when I resorted to saying, Okay, well, maybe I'll just call the cops and we'll see what they do about this.

The punk kid just stared at me with this horrible look. One of the other boys shouted from the back and said, Yo man, let's just get out of here. Within seconds the whole group sort of dispersed, but the last one to leave was that stupid kid who was mocking me, and he ironically blew me a kiss as he ran off with his friends, and I just peeled out of there. I was insanely annoyed at this point, and I just peeled out of there.

I was insanely annoyed at this point, but I was just happy that whole ordeal was over. That night at the bar, I was telling my friends about the encounter, and they all sort of groaned. They proceeded to tell me how much they hated the teenagers around that area, and all I could think about was that one song, Teenagers, by My Chemical Romance. And we all hung out for a little while, and then I headed home at around midnight. Once I was home, I started getting ready for bed, and my doorbell rang. I stood still for a moment, trying to think that there was any reason why my doorbell would be ringing at this hour of the night. I thought maybe it was one of my friends, but that didn't make sense,

since they would have called or texted me. And seconds later, the doorbell rang again. I had all the lights off downstairs so I felt comfortable sneaking around knowing that whoever is there wouldn't be able to see me. I looked out the window of the living room and standing there on my doorstep in the middle of the night was that kid from earlier and two other kids. Now my first instinct was to go out there and just give them a piece of my mind but that's when I noticed it. One of the teenagers standing there was holding a bat behind his back. If this kid had a bat then the other two must have had something as well. I didn't feel like getting jumped by a bunch of kids,

and I did the other thing that I could think of at that moment and just called the police. I just let them deal with this issue. Standing right on the other side of the door, I called the police and left the line on speakerphone as I informed the dispatcher of what was going on. My logic was that these goons would hear me call the police and maybe flee, knowing that I meant business. Oh, I could not have been more wrong though. Once I hung up with dispatch the kids started going nuts, claiming that I was a coward and

a few other choice words, and then all three of them started to bang on my door with the bats that they were carrying. That punk kid from earlier took his bat and used it like a pool stick and drove it right through the window of my door. Thankfully, the police showed up right after that and I saw those kids flee into the night. The cops weren't able to apprehend them and I just gave my statement and told the officers a description of those teens, ones that I remember seeing. They told me that they would be on the lookout for them and that they would handle it. I'm not sure if they handled it or if

the kids just never came back because after that night I never saw them again. But I always wondered though, what were their intentions that night? Did they just want to scare me? Or were they truly some evil kids? Truthfully, I'm happy I don't know that answer. I only stayed at that house for another five months before I eventually moved out and I consider myself lucky in those months. I never saw those teenagers in my area ever again. I love the beach, and I wish I could go more. Last year was the first time in years that I was able to take a trip with my family to a small town on Cape Cod. This was exactly what I needed in my life at the time. I was just feeling depressed.

I don't know if it was because of the state of the world or the fact that I had been single for like five years at that point, but whatever the reason, I just needed some freedom and peace of mind. My brother's wife's family owned a house that was right on the ocean and this place was amazing. It was quiet and peaceful. All the houses on the street that they lived on had their own private beach so you could legitimately go to the beach wherever you wanted. I would wake up at 6 am and drink my coffee on the beach and

then after dinner I would go down to the beach and just stare at the moon and stars reflecting off the ocean. This was my routine just about every day on that vacation. One night I went down to the beach a little after 11pm. I set up my chair and just listened to the waves crashing. I kept turning around because I thought that I could hear a sound of something shuffling. My first thought was that some sort of animal was digging around in the sand for food. I remember one time visiting this house and I saw a few foxes a few times that lived somewhere near there so I was thinking maybe it was a fox. I kept squinting into the darkness but I didn't see anything. It became apparent to me that whatever I was hearing it was nothing to worry

about. The night continued and periodically I would hear the noise again and every time I would turn around I would see nothing. A little before 1am I headed back inside for a minute to grab a drink and use the bathroom as I planned on staying out there for this one last beer. When I got back to my chair outside, I felt like the chair had moved slightly, but I couldn't be sure. I sat down anyways and tried to focus on the beauty of just nature itself, the moon and the ocean, but something just kept nagging at me. I'm not one to give into my emotions or anything like that but I did feel off for some reason. I remained outside for probably another

15 minutes or so and during that time I heard that weird shuffling noise at least two more times. I decided it was finally enough and I was going to go inside and just try to go to bed. I grabbed my chair and started walking toward the house. When I was only about 15 feet away from the back door, I noticed that there were footprints in the sand and they led from a sort of sand dune pile to the house. I knew for a fact that these footprints didn't belong to me or anyone in my family. The footprints stopped short of the house and they looked like they turned around and ran back to the beach. And my mind started running wild. I started to think about the weird noises that I had heard that night. I couldn't shake the idea that whatever I had heard was possibly a person. And then I had the

crazy thought that when I went inside to grab a drink, that's when the person made their way to the house and then must have noticed me coming back so they turned around. I freaked myself out and now I really couldn't relax. I was paranoid that a person was outside the house and I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to wake anyone up because for all I know, I was being crazy and nobody was out there. I triple checked that all the locks were locked and I sat up in the living room watching Disney Plus all night. I started binge watching the Marvel movies just to try to get my mind off the paranoia of someone outside the house. At some point, I fell asleep and woke up a while later because of the TV. I turned the TV off, feeling much better than I did a little earlier.

I was lying on the couch, now in complete silence. I was just about to slip away back to sleep when I thought I heard something. I listened for a second, and I thought that I could hear the sound of a doorknob. I grabbed my phone and shone the flashlight at the door. The doorknob was shaking back and forth, and this was undeniable. I quietly walked over to the door and looked through the peephole. It was a man, and he was wearing something on his head, maybe a hood, and he was just standing there trying to turn the doorknob. The scariest thing about this though was that he seemed to be looking directly at the peephole. He obviously would have no idea that I was looking at him and

yet it was almost as if though he were making direct eye contact with me. I quietly ran back to the couch and decided to phone the police. As I was searching the couch cushions for my phone, I looked back and the doorknob wasn't shaking anymore. Before I could feel any comfort though, it was instantly ripped away when I looked over to the window. And now, what was very clearly a man, was looking through the window with cupped hands. I could feel myself trembling. The man was only there for a second and then he walked away. I called the police and told them a second and then he walked away.

I called the police and told them what happened and then I immediately woke up my family. I told the cops everything and I remember the cops being in that area for the next few days until we eventually left. From what I understand, they were never able to get this guy. Some people in this world are just nuts I guess and do things for the sake of doing them. We didn't know this guy and he had no reason to break into our house but he still tried. I never went back to that ocean after sunset on that trip and going forward I have no desire to visit that beach after sundown. I'm supposed to be returning to that Cape Cod house again this summer. I'm a little scared but I think the chances of encountering this creep are slim to none. If anything crazy happens, I'll be sure to write an update and let everyone know that I'm okay and safe. Oh, excuse me.

Why are you walking so close behind me? Well, you're a tall guy. You throw a decent shadow when I'm walking in it to keep out of this bright sun. It hurts my eyes. Okay. Well, you know what? Specsavers, you can get two pairs of glasses from $149. And oh, you'll like this. One can be a pair of prescription sunglasses. Sounds great. Where's the nearest store? Not far. Come on. Let's hurry then. To my count. One, two, one, two, one, two. Visit specsavers.ca for details. Mom, Mom, did you see my race?

Of course I did, darling. Look, you did your best. You tried. The thing is, it's not about winning. It's about taking part. Next year you might do better. But I did win, Mom. You did?

When it's sunny, make sure you can still see. At Specsavers, get two pairs of glasses from $149, and one can be prescription sunglasses. Hey, the sun won't wait. Visit Specsavers.ca for details. Conditions apply. This is a really weird and strange story that happened a few years back. It's not the scariest thing in the world, but due to its strange nature, it definitely was unsettling, to say the least. I ended up going on a vacation with a buddy of mine.

Well, I used the word vacation loosely. When I think of vacation, I think of maybe hiking and camping, and I know most people usually think of beaches or pools. I went with my friend Colin who was one of my newer friends. It's actually really funny how we became friends. I hated him at first. We worked at the same place and we both liked the same girl. We both would flirt with her constantly and she would string us both along. I talked a lot behind his back and he talked a lot about me behind mine. Well, the joke was on us because she ended up ditching both of us for some other guy. But because of this though, he and I got

talking one day and we ended up discovering that we had a lot in common. It didn't take long for Colin and me to start hanging out all the time. When I tell you that we had the same exact interests, I mean exactly the same. We both even liked the Tennessee Titans, even though we lived in Pennsylvania. One day he and I got talking about taking a trip to the mountains and just hiking. Getting away for a while and taking a vacation away from reality. We found a great place to hike and there was a town nearby that we stayed in. Colin did a bunch of research and found some awesome trails. One day we started a long hike that was going to take us most of the day to complete. About an hour in, we heard something.

We turned around and a very strange and short man was power walking by us. His arms were in full swing and he just swooped by. He was wearing the shirt that was like a windbreaker material so he was super loud as he passed us. We both laughed because this just looked really absurd. The only way I can describe this guy is that he reminded me of like a cartoon character or something. Another few hours went by and I completely forgot about the guy. As we continued walking, Colin gasped. His sudden panic freaked me out so I asked what was wrong. He didn't say anything, he just pointed. And some of the thick bushes that lined this part of the path was the man's windbreaker shirt. I admit I laughed when I saw it. In my mind I was thinking to myself, what the heck is this dude doing? But Colin had a completely different idea.

Because of how the shirt was ripped and thrown into the bushes, he expected the worst. We talked it out for a few minutes and Colin decided that he wanted to call it in. Due to where we were now, we had no cell service whatsoever. We were about halfway, so I told Colin that we should just finish the hike with some pep in our step and keep checking our phones to see if we get service. He agreed and we started to move quickly along the trail. Probably 20 minutes after discovering the shirt, we could hear a noise. We both paused and tried to focus on the sound. Within seconds, it was clear. It was the sound of running.

As we looked up, we see the strange man from before, but now he was running towards us at full speed. We both kind of went into a defensive position, not really knowing what was going on. As he closed in on us, he kept yelling something like, I'm gonna get ya! I'm gonna get ya, and he just kept saying it. When he was really close, I was ready to start swinging if I needed to, but he just ran right by us. As he started to fade into the distance, we just hear the echo of his voice for a few more minutes. We both just started to burst out laughing how outrageous this was. We decided to walk back the way we came and follow the path of this insane guy.

Our logic was that we were being good people by making sure this man made it out of the forest without hurting himself. When we were probably about an hour away from the trailhead, we were suddenly stopped by that strange man. He seemed to jump down from a tree and was now standing right in front of us, waving around this thick tree branch. Colin tried pleading with this weirdo, but he still kept saying, I'm gonna get ya, I'm gonna get ya. I started to feel tense just standing there with this guy because I didn't know what to do. Clearly this guy wasn't right so I didn't want to hurt him but the flip side of that is that this guy was ready to hurt us it seemed like. The shirtless guy then swung the tree branch and hit Colin in the arm and ran

through us again still shouting and as he ran away I noticed in the waistband of his pants was the grip handle of what looked like some kind of hunting knife. I told Colin that we needed to go because I didn't want to encounter this creep anymore. It was only a matter of time before he introduced us to that knife, and that was something I did not want to experience on my vacation. We basically ran back, and as soon as we hit the road, Colin called the park ranger and told her everything that we had just experienced. She sighed and said that this was the third call that they had got this week about a strange man running around in the woods, but they haven't been able to track this guy down. And it wasn't until months later that I was home and thinking

about this day where I was really thinking about how creepy and messed up it was. The idea of some mentally deranged dude just running around the woods with a knife is not a comforting idea. I hope they caught the guy because it's clear that he needs help. It may have been an unsettling occurrence, but it's for sure one vacation that I'll never forget. About seven years ago, I went on my first cruise with a group of friends. I was going to be rooming with my friend Sarah, who had been my best friend since we were six years old. I had never been on a cruise before, so I was both excited and nervous. I know a lot of people get motion sickness while on cruises, so I was worried that I wouldn't feel good and would have to spend the entire trip in the room. We had the fast check-in for the boat, so we were able to pretty much get on the ship in less than an hour.

The first night started out really fun. We had some good drinks, checked out our rooms, and started touring the ship. We sat down for dinner, and we were actually able to get a table with the eight of us who all knew each other on the ship. We sat down for dinner and we were actually able to get a table with the eight of us who all knew each other on the cruise. I could tell Sarah was being quiet though, but when I asked what was wrong, she said she was fine. About ten minutes later, she said that she was feeling nauseous and was going to go back to the room. I told her that I would go with her and she said, no, really, I'll be okay. Stay and have something to eat. And so I did.

I stayed and had dinner, but had my mind on Sarah the entire time. I asked the waiter if I could take a meal to go for my friend who couldn't stay for dinner. And he said absolutely and gave me one to bring to the room. I remember it was just like chicken and vegetables because I asked for the blandest option they had. And thankfully Sarah was feeling a little better when I got back to the room and she did her best to try and eat some of her dinner. She took some motion sickness medication that we brought just in case and slowly but surely she was feeling better. We decided to join everyone for trivia later that evening. Everyone was happy to see Sarah feeling better and back with the group.

Trivia was really fun. One pair from our group won and got a little trophy shaped like a cruise ship for winning. Everyone else was going to stay out and drink, but I told Sarah that I'd go back to the room with her and that I was tired anyway. She asked if I would grab a few drinks and some food from what we referred to as the food court. There were a few places open late to get pizza, a sandwich, and other things like that. If those were closed, then there was always room service. I told her I would grab something and head back shortly. While I was waiting in line for a sandwich, I was tapped on the shoulder. Assuming it was one of my friends, I turned right around, but when I did, I noticed it was a complete stranger. It was a younger guy, maybe in his mid-twenties.

He had patchy facial hair and a very excited expression on his face. And he goes, I noticed you during trivia. You seemed really smart and you're pretty easy on the eyes as well. I said thanks and turned around and then he goes, hey maybe we could grab a drink. I turned around again and told him my boyfriend was waiting over there for me. I grabbed the food that was ready and left the rest and walked away. I hurried back to the room but was starting to not feel well myself. The hallway was long and I felt like I was swaying side to side while I was walking.

As I got to the room and tried to regain my composure to unlock the door, I looked to my right and about halfway down the hall, I saw what I thought was the same guy from the food court. I shuffled into the room, locked it, and gave the food to Sarah. She was pretty tired, but said that she wanted to try and eat something else. What I guesstimate was five minutes later, we both jumped and I got to look through the keyhole and see who it was, half expecting it to be one of her other friends, but instead, it was the same guy that I had just

seen minutes earlier. I looked out and he was just standing at the door and he didn't say anything. He seemed to be just standing there sort of staring. After about 45 seconds he left and then Sarah said, who was it? I lied and said that I didn't know and it must have just been someone at the wrong room. The next few days went without issue and we were actually having a pretty good time. I think it was the fourth day and we were going to be getting back on the fifth. We went to one of the one ship shows, kind of like a short Broadway production type thing. When it was over, it was still somewhat dark, and trying to get out of the

rows of seats was a little difficult. I then heard someone say, hey, funny meeting you again. I turned my head, and it was the same guy from a few days earlier, wearing the exact same clothes, I think, too. I just kind of tried to ignore it, and then I heard, hey, I'm talking to you. At this point, all my friends turned around and my friends Jesse and Mike asked who this person was. I told them I didn't know and he kept following me and trying to talk to me. They told us to go ahead out the aisle and they would talk to him. Once they made it back out, they said don't worry about him and that he won't be bothering you again. Appreciating that, I was still uneasy and at this point just wanted to get off the boat and go home.

I couldn't sleep that night. I was anxious to wake up in the morning and gather to begin the process of letting everyone off the boat. Every time someone walked by the door, I held my breath thinking someone was going to knock. I also could swear at different points in the middle of the night that I heard scratching at the door but I'm sure that was just my mind playing tricks on me. The next day we got off the boat and I was very excited to just be back on solid ground. We spent a few days in the city we cruised out of and that let me leave the vacation on a high note. I still would like to go on a cruise someday but haven't been in a rush and don't see myself going anytime soon. Back in 2019, I won tickets backstage to one of my favorite bands.

Only because I don't really know if I can get in trouble for legal reasons, I'm not going to mention the name of the band. It was one of those radio call-ins, and if you were able to answer the question first, you would get free backstage passes. I considered it a sign at the time. That's the main reason why I called into the radio station that day. For starters, I never listened to the radio, but I accidentally clicked off my Bluetooth and the radio came on automatically in my car. And then the host asked the question and I actually knew the answer. So, I called and I couldn't believe that I got through. I answered the question and sure enough, I was rewarded with backstage passes to the concert at the end of the month.

I was pumped honestly, since I never really do anything out of my comfort zone. The next day at work, I gave them notice and told them that I was going to be taking my vacation time at the end of the month and thankfully they were cool with it. The concert venue was about an hour from where I lived and I decided to make a weekend vacation trip out of it. I arrived there on Friday and spent the day in the city and went out to a local bar that night. Saturday night came and I had to be at the show at a certain time. When I arrived, I was blown away. Being backstage at one of those shows was almost indescribable. There was a bunch of us there backstage and we all mingled and hung out for most of the night. We were going to meet the band but we would have to wait until after the

show. There was some lady who was directing us all night. I'm not sure if she was like a manager or a publicist or something. I'm honestly clueless in this world so I have no idea what her title was. After the show we were told that the band was going to party with us and I was even more stoked. Not only was I at the show but now I was going to have the chance to hang out with one of my favorite bands. This was honestly a dream come true. During the show I was talking to one of the girls that was backstage. Her name was Morgan and she was a wild chick and I was all about it. We bonded throughout the whole show, sharing our love of the same music, movies, and even anime.

I know this sounds premature, but I felt an instant connection with her. We exchanged numbers and even set up a date to hang out after all this was over. She had lived about 30 minutes away from here, which was about 30 minutes from where I lived, and that wasn't far for me to drive, especially for this chick. The concert ended, and without even going to shower or anything like that, the band made their way to this private room that we were all hanging out in. They were pouring sweat, but this was such a surreal moment. Standing inches from me was a handful of my idols. Just as I was getting ready to talk to them, Morgan stepped in front of me and introduced

herself to the band. She kept rubbing the lead singer's arm and he wasn't having it. I could tell that he wasn't trying to be rude but I could tell that he didn't want to be touched. He kept awkwardly shifting around. Then Morgan said probably the weirdest thing she could have said in this moment. And in a confident voice, she just says, Oh, don't worry about him. She pointed at me and then continued saying, That's my husband. He's okay with me touching your arm. You don't have to be creeped out. I didn't even say anything out loud.

I was just so confused that she called me her husband. The singer of this band just sort of laughed and said in a sort of upbeat voice, Okay, right on, brother. And then he awkwardly walked away smiling. Minutes later, the band left the room. A few minutes after that, the manager lady came in the room and said that the band was having a long way to travel, so unfortunately, they needed to go. I was so upset. They were supposed to party with us, but they'd only hung out with us for like five minutes.

But even more upsetting was the fact that I didn't even get to talk to them. Because of Morgan's weird creepiness and the fact that she spoke for me, I didn't even get to say hi to one of my favorite bands. Obviously everyone in the room was upset, but that was life I guess and we all started making our way to the exit. But that's when Morgan lost it. Without any warning, she threw a punch at the back of my head and knocked me to the ground. She got down on the ground and started to verbally roast me. She claimed that it was my fault that the band left and that if I wasn't so creepy, I wouldn't have scared them off. I jumped up to my feet and tried to move quickly to the door.

I didn't want to deal with any of what was going on. She started to follow me and she continued to verbally harass me, saying things like I was a piece of garbage and telling everyone there that I'm the reason why the band left. It got ugly and eventually I was escorted out by security. Yes, I was escorted out. All the witnesses there were confused as to why I was being forcibly removed and not Morgan. But I didn't care though. I was just happy to be free from this chick. I remember going back to my room that night and thinking about how strange that night had been.

Like when I really think back to the details, it just kind of blows my mind. The next morning, I left early to head home and I had about 23 text messages from Morgan when I woke up. Every message was different. I would get a message about how sorry she was and wanted to know if I was okay, and then one minute later the message would just be her cussing me out. I blocked this crazy person's number and made my drive home, trying to just focus on the good memories from this trip. When I got home, there was a car in my driveway that I didn't recognize. I was confused and slowly approached the door. When I got there, I noticed that the door was slightly ajar.

Instead of instantly calling police, I decided to peek inside and I couldn't believe my eyes. Sitting in my recliner, with her eyes closed, was Morgan. I have no idea how she found out where I lived. Maybe I told her at the concert or something, I don't remember, and she must have been asleep because she didn't see me. I stepped back outside and went all the way to the road and called the police and told them what was happening. They showed up pretty quickly and escorted her out of the house. As she was being detained, she was screaming that this was all my fault. I was so terrified and disturbed by this

that I ended up staying at my parents' house for a couple of weeks. And I never did see Morgan again after that morning. And hopefully, I never do. To be continued... and maybe even hear your story featured on the next video. And if you want to support me even more, grab early access to all future narrations for just $1 a month on Patreon, and maybe even pick up some Let's Read merch on Spreadshirt. And check out the Let's Read podcast, where you can hear all of these stories in big compilations and save huge on data,

located anywhere you listen to podcasts. Links in the description below. Thanks so much, friends, and I'll see you again soon. Mom, Mom, did you see my race? Of course I did, darling. Look, you did your best. You tried. The thing is, it's not about winning. It's about taking part.

Next year you might do better. But I did win, Mom. You did? When it's sunny, make sure you can still see. At Specsavers, get two pairs of glasses from $149. And one can be prescription sunglasses. Hey, the sun won't wait. Visit specsavers.ca for details.

Conditions apply.