The Lets Read Podcast - 257: EXPLORING AN ABANDONED PSYCH HOSPITAL | 22 True Scary Stories | EP 245

Episode Date: September 17, 2024

This episode includes narrations of true creepy encounters submitted by normal folks just like yourself. Today you'll experience horrifying stories about private investigators, Halloween parties & and abandoned psychiatric hospitals. HAVE A STORY TO SUBMIT? [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 This episode is sponsored by Betterhelp and The NoSleep Podcast

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Valid email address required. Terms apply. See pennzoil.ca slash offer for details. MasterCard is a trademark of MasterCard International Incorporated. Despite putting some 26 years into policing and receiving a medical retirement at age 48 thanks to some wannabe gangster with an itchy trigger finger, I wasn't nearly ready to quit working. The way I saw it, I was faced with two choices. I could move out to the sticks and hope some small town sheriff's department has room for a crazy old deputy with a limp, or I could follow an ex-partner of mine into the wacky, well-paying world of private investigation. The idea of starting all over again in what is most definitely a young man's game was not appealing in the slightest.

I'd work my butt off to get to a level of relative autonomy, and losing that would mean a big hit to both my ego and my style of investigation. Whereas on the other hand, going to work with my ex-partner would mean better pay and more professional freedom. And when I thought of it like that, it didn't seem like I had much of a choice at all. One of the first things I was told was not to expect the same level of excitement or intensity as regular policing. I figured that went without saying, but when my first assignment involved getting to the bottom of some industrial sabotage at an up semi-retirement, so I really was only being sarcastic when I was told how boring PI work could be. Besides, putting me to work on a bunch of old-timers, real old-timers I mean, was exactly the kind of assignment I'd been hoping for. Anyway, the job went a little something like this. Over the last few months, a whole bunch of stuff had been either malfunctioning or going missing at this one particular retirement home.

Management claimed it was industrial sabotage, and that it ranged from petty annoyances to dangerous errors with medications. They'd contacted the local police department several times, but each time they'd been told it was an internal issue that needed to be resolved through human resources. Sure, taking the wrong meds had the potential to hurt someone, but until they did get hurt, or someone was caught dead to rights switching meds with malicious intent, there wasn't much the cops could do. My job was essentially to go in there, figure out who was causing all their problems, then give management a name. That was never going to happen

exactly as described as unless I too caught someone red-handed, the best I could do was draw up a short list of the most likely suspects and then leave it to management's better judgment. They tried figuring it out themselves, but as one nurse told me, they were medical professionals, not detectives, so as much as they had their suspicions, they couldn't act on anything without being rubber-stamped by management. But as it turns out, the solution that management had in mind was me. It billed itself as a retirement community, but the reality was it was anything but. Everyone seemed to dislike everyone else. Nobody really wanted to be there and the place felt more cliquey and tribal than a high school. I thought that that might make things more difficult on my end as in a situation like that,

people tend to pin blame on each other for personal reasons, not logical ones. But strangely enough, almost everyone named the same person who I asked who they thought was guilty of the sabotage. At this particular retirement home, which shall remain anonymous, lived an old man we'll call Mr. Grouchy. Mr. Grouchy hated everyone and everything, but that wasn't the reason that people thought that he was the guilty party. People thought that he was the saboteur because apparently he told people that. Word was that Mr. Grouchy regularly threatened to break stuff, hide stuff, even toss stuff out of the window if he could, so naturally I decided to get his side of the story before making any accusations. When I first talked to him,

Grouchy was just as ornery as people had described. He had no interest in talking to me until I mentioned being formal law enforcement, but even then, he only warmed up a little. He totally denied any wrongdoing, but when I politely asked him to propose an alternative explanation, he got to being all thorny again, before telling me to take a long walk off a short pier. It took a while to get him to start talking again, and at first, it was only to rant and rave about how much he hated living at the retirement home. But then after a while of just hearing him out, Grouchy made a kind of admission. Although he had indeed been threatening to vandalize the retirement home,

it wasn't Mr. Grouchy that had been tinkering with the boilers, switching medication and causing leaks in the building's roof. Only, he didn't mind that everyone thought that it was him because he believed it'd end with him getting kicked out. He wanted to leave the home, on account of the substandard care causing unnecessary deaths, but since management was so proficient at concealing the problem, his son wouldn't withdraw him from the retirement home as it meant losing the yearly fees that he'd already paid.

Essentially, despite being right on the cusp of manufacturing some scandal or crisis, Grouchy hadn't actually performed any sabotage. But according to Grouchy, the real crime wasn't commercial sabotage, it was the extreme negligence of management which he claimed had caused many a resident to pass away before their time. Talking to Mr. Grouchy was the first I'd heard of any medical negligence on the part of the management or staff and since it tied into my reasons for being there, I decided to press him on the issue. He was only able to give me one name, that of a woman we'll call the widow, but one was all he needed. When he first arrived, Grouchy had heard rumors that the nurses and care workers could be neglectful, but

being the kind of man that he was, he figured they amounted to nothing but whining and griping. It wasn't until he saw it happen with his own eyes that he started to believe it. In the weeks before she died, the widow was feeling just peachy, but then one afternoon, she started complaining that she hadn't been given her medications. Grouchy conceded that plenty of the residents had become forgetful in their old age and would sometimes complain of not being given something when they'd received it less than an hour ago. Medications, lunch, bath time, you name it. Things would just slip their mind and it'd take a polite reminder from one of the care team to jog their memory.

This meant that when she first complained of having not been given her meds, many assumed the widow was just being forgetful. It was only when she started to appear visibly unwell that the widow's fellow residents started to take her seriously. They did, but the nurses didn't. The widow got worse and worse, but whenever she complained, the staff would tell her what a crybaby she was being and would simply wheel her off to her bedroom for a nap. Grouchy said almost everyone could hear her crying for help But again, only the bare minimum of care was provided A few days later, she was dead

Grouchy said most residents treated the widow's death like an inevitable tragedy Old people pass away in retirement homes That's just a sad fact But a handful of residents knew otherwise Grouchy had been trying to escape ever since and had tried to raise the issue of the widow's death with several people, his son included. But almost each and every person had told him that he was overreacting or figured it was just a manifestation of his own mortal fears. I'll admit, I didn't quite know what

to make of the accusations at the time. I wasn't about to throw my lot in with Mr. Grouchy, no matter how compelling a story he had made. I was there to find the saboteur, or if I wanted to get paid, I had to find him, and everything else could wait. I hate to disappoint, but there is no short and satisfying conclusion to this story. I didn't actually find the saboteur, I only got to drawing up a handful of suspects, Grouchy not included, before the situation took a dramatic turn. From what I could tell, most incidents of sabotage, such as med switching in particular, had occurred during the early morning or late evening times when most of the residents were asleep or in their rooms.

There were also instances, such as the damage to the roof, that were well beyond the physical capabilities of an elderly person or infirm person to do. That meant that whoever was doing the damage, they were either a member of the care team or one of the contractors who came in to cook meals, make repairs, or deliver supplies. I was pursuing this line of inquiry one day when suddenly there was a commotion among some of the residents. I was making my way toward the scene of the disturbance when I spotted a number of nurses rushing out of the main entrance and into the parking lot outside. I followed them, but what we found was one of the most terrible things I've ever seen. The head of the care team, who we'll call Nurse A, was lying in a horrifically unnatural position in the parking lot. Residents said it looked like she had fallen from one of the second floor windows, and she had the injuries to match.

But in reality, she hadn't fallen from a second floor window. She'd fallen from the roof. And you see, she hadn't just accidentally fallen. She'd been pushed. Just a few hours after the commotion started, my work had to be temporarily paused. What had once been the subject of my small-time investigation quickly became a full-fledged crime scene, and despite my credentials, I knew the cops wouldn't appreciate me hanging around and potentially slowing down their investigation. But before I departed for the day, I made sure to hang around long enough to give one of my crisp new business cards to the first cop who showed up. I told whoever ended

up getting the case was welcome to give me a call, as I had some things that they might want to hear going on. I was working on the assumption that the nurse wasn't going to survive the fall. It certainly looked that way at the time. But miraculously, she did survive, and just a few weeks later, she was able to give a full account of what happened that day, along with a detailed description of the person who pushed her off the roof. In the end, my input wasn't needed at all.

The suspect was tried and convicted on witness testimony alone, but I did feel a sliver of satisfaction knowing that I was almost halfway to finding my saboteur. Nurse A said that since the most recent of the sabotage incidents had been damaged to the roof, she thought it suspicious when she noticed one of the contractors heading to the roof all alone. She waited a while, then followed him up there, only to find that he was ripping up tiles and putting holes in the roof under the pretense of making repairs. Nurse confronted the man having never expected to be tossed off the roof like she was, and when he grabbed and shoved her off the flat section of the roof, she thought it was the end of her.

But one of her final thoughts before being thrown to what she assumed was her death, was why. The suspect, a handyman who'd only been hired less than a year prior, had never shown any signs of being the saboteur. He'd always come to work, kept his head down, and did his job, and since everyone assumed the motive was personal, no one had ever considered him the culprit. No one except me. As I said, the only people who might blend in, while also having the means and tools to vandalize the property, were the contractors who came in once or twice a week to perform maintenance tasks. I had him down as a circumstantial

suspect. I just had no idea why he might want to make life difficult or even deadly for the residents and staff, and even less of an idea why he might want to kill one of them to cover his tracks or otherwise. It was one of the cops who managed to figure it out. Then, all of a sudden, it makes sense why the perp seemed content to keep his mouth shut before pleading guilty at the hearing. This guy didn't care about going to prison for what he'd done, and it took one small piece of information for it all to make sense, or rather, what little sense there was to make. Although they didn't share the same family name, the handyman turned attempted murderer was none other than the biological son of the widow. He knew something wasn't right about his

mother's death, but no one had offered him any help, especially not the management or staff of the retirement home. So instead of pursuing justice through the regular channels, he decided on a different course of action. Since he didn't share the same family name as his deceased mother, the handyman simply waited until there was an open position at the retirement home, then made an application. I heard handymen and various other contractors were always coming and going, so it didn't take long for the widow's son to get himself a place on the retirement home's staff. His plan was to bring the whole place down piece by piece. He didn't just blame one or two people for his mom's death.

He blamed the whole system and everybody inside of it, residents included. I guess Nurse A must have become the focal point of his rage, probably after having found out that she ran the care schedule and was generally responsible for everything pertaining to resident care. When she followed him up onto the roof like that, I suppose he just saw an opportunity and took it. Like I said, I was never able to prove that the handyman was the saboteur, not by any kind of professional standard anyway, but I'd like to think that this attempted murder

was essentially an admission of guilt. I still handed in my list of suspects, but obviously it came with a caveat of sorts, explaining that I was 99.9% sure that the handyman was to blame for almost all incidents of vandalism, sabotage, and theft. Since the contract was fulfilled, we got paid, so that was the end of that. But the case has always stuck with me as one of the most bizarre and convoluted that I ever worked, including those that I took as a private investigator, there was only one job that I truly regret taking. In my experience, private eyes are a pretty unscrupulous bunch. As long as the job doesn't entail overtly breaking the law, you can expect that they'll get it done for the right fee, and even then, I've known one or two that didn't mind bending the rules if it meant getting their pay packet just that little

bit faster. They don't care if their findings get someone sacked or ruin their marriage or any of the other things that can happen when a harsh truth comes to light. All that matters is getting paid. I can't say I conducted myself much differently during the second phase of my investigative career, the first being bound by the rules and regulations of the Metropolitan Police, but I was definitely pickier than most concerning which jobs I did and didn't take. A good example would be the heartbroken mother who paid me on three separate occasions to find evidence of her son's drug use. The fourth time she asked me, I refused to take her money just to come to the same old conclusions.

She needed to spend her money on an addiction counselor and not another detective for hire. Aside from that, I was okay with almost anything that kept the checks rolling in, but then came the day when I discovered where my line was, and it's something I've never forgotten. One day I got a call from a gentleman who asked if I was free for a job. I asked him for a brief description of what he wanted me to do, and he told me the following. Ever since his wife had passed away, his 19-year-old daughter had been suffering from some increasingly severe mental health problems, and as a result, she'd fallen in with a bad crowd. By bad crowd, I thought that they meant some kind of people who went out drinking, smoking some hashish, and generally just making a nuisance of themselves. The man then confirmed that his daughter had been drinking

and using drugs. That wasn't strictly the issue, though. The issue was that she'd run away to join what he described as a cult. His daughter had been in a terribly vulnerable state following the death of her mother, and the gentleman who called blamed himself for not being able to provide the right support due to his own grief-induced depression. The result was his daughter seeking paternal support elsewhere and, as it happened, she'd thrown her lot in with a group that was actively exploiting her for their own gain. I essentially cut him off at that point, as I'd already made up my mind to take the job. I then invited him down to my office to give me a more detailed rundown of the situation while providing me with any recent photographs of his missing daughter.

The man who arrived at my office the next morning was about as unremarkable as you can imagine. Mid-forties, graying hair, fleece jacket, average as can be. But when you got a look at his face, I mean really looked him in the eyes, it was almost like you could see how the grief and stress had been eating away at him. At least, that's what I thought it was at the time. He provided me with some photos of his daughter in her younger years, but then he showed me some more recent photos and the difference was night and day. She looked incredibly unhealthy with big dark circles under her eyes.

The picture had been taken from social media so she was posing and smiling in it but you could tell how much she was suffering just from how pale and frail she looked. The man's daughter was posing with a friend of hers but when I asked, her father said that she wasn't part of the suspected cult and that he'd be happy to put me in touch with her. The girls had been friends ever since they were children, but his daughter had become increasingly withdrawn from her regular social circle prior to her disappearance. This meant that, although she wanted to help, the friend had no idea where the man's daughter might have gone, only who she might have left with. The girl showed me a fairly recent group photograph that had been taken at some kind of party. Not everyone was facing the camera and in the background was a boy that the missing girl had apparently been dating in the run-up to her disappearance. Her father had asserted that the boy was part of whatever cult she'd joined and had in fact been the one to convert or induct her.

The girl's friend said that she wasn't aware of any cult, but admitted that the boy had a lot of dark interests, and had once boasted of an extensive collection of books related to serial killers and other such crimes against humanity. He'd also seemed very possessive and protective of the missing girl, something which struck the girl's friend as what she referred to as a red flag. Since her disappearance, the man's daughter appeared to have purged her social media presence, but her new boyfriend had not, and since he was classed as an open register on the local electoral roll, I was able to get a hold of his last known address with relative ease. Now, this isn't strictly how I got his address, but I'd rather not incriminate myself publicly, thanks. I then found myself at a small run-down council estate, one that was made up almost entirely of what were at the time new-built flats. You can always get into these places by just buzzing every buzzer. Someone's always

expecting a pizza or a visitor or something, and even if they're not, they'll buzz you in out of sheer curiosity. I suppose that's why all of these things have got cameras now. You can only let so many burglars in before the technology is forced to advance. Anyway, I got up to this guy's flat, knocked on the door, and I'm there banging away for a good few minutes before a neighbor comes out and tells me that the occupant has moved on. I asked the neighbor if she had any idea where, but she didn't. She told me that she barely spoke to the boy, and then one day, all of his stuff was in bin bags or boxes, and he and the girl had been loading them into a van.

I then showed her a picture of the man's daughter and she confirmed that it was the same girl who had helped her neighbor move out. Anyone else might think that the trail had gone cold but since I had his name and since I knew the lad was claiming benefits, it was once again relatively easy to get a hold of his new address. I simply called up the local job seekers, told them that I was a potential employer but that I needed his address for a background check, and Bob's your mother's brother. I knew where he lay his head. Again, misrepresenting yourself like that isn't strictly legal, at least not when it comes to obtaining what's referred to as protected data, so trust me when I say it's not something I make a habit of. But like I said earlier, I felt absolutely heartbroken for this

guy and his missing daughter and I say that as the father of daughters myself. Every family goes through hard times and every parent makes mistakes, but the guy had lost his wife and he was about to lose his daughter. If I could put myself in the way of that, it'd be worth more than the pay at the end of the job. So I bent the rules a bit and I found this lad's address. I did a few days worth of surveillance on his block of flats, but I didn't see the missing daughter either enter or exit the building. I also followed the boyfriend around town for quite a bit, keeping an eye on

who he met with, places he went, stuff like that. But as far as I could tell, he wasn't meeting with the missing daughter. He also didn't seem to be attending any kind of cult meetings either. He visited a local pub, did his shopping in a local supermarket, occasionally went drinking with friends in the city center, but otherwise kept himself out of trouble. It reached the point where not only was this potential boyfriend obviously not part of any cult, but he might also be concerned for the missing girl and might even be interested in helping find her. The only other prospective scenario was that the missing daughter had stayed in this lad's flat for days on end without leaving, and as far as I could tell, he was only buying enough food for one person. But again, appearances can be deceptive. He could have just as easily been

keeping the old prisoner, maybe feeding her very little, all part of some deranged course of brainwashing to induct her into the cult. I know it might sound a bit dramatic, but trust me, I've heard of much worse things, even seen a few with my own eyes, too. And part of the reason I regret this case so much is that I broke the private investigator's golden rule. You never, ever engage with a target, or anyone they're associated with that isn't privy to the investigation. People aren't stupid, and if they're on the run, they can be extra paranoid.

Seeing a stranger hanging about, let alone one that asks questions or seems a bit too interested in them, can cause them to flee the area before you've ever had a chance to report them. And that's what this job consisted of. It was a location game. You return to the client with not just one address, but several, detailing where their missing person is, where they spent their time outside of their residence, things like that. Getting all that info takes time, and if you burn yourself, as some people call it, you have to start from scratch instead of just getting paid.

It's like being meters away from the finish line at the end of a marathon, then watching it move another twenty-something miles ahead of you. I hate to over-explain the point, but I need you to understand that in approaching the lad I had believed was the missing girl's boyfriend, I knew I was taking an unorthodox approach. But at the same time, I believed that I was facing an unorthodox situation, so I made the mistake of believing my methods had to match. I approached the boyfriend at the bar of the pub he liked to frequent, hoping a few pints might loosen his lips. He turned down my offer of a beer or two, then when I approached him a second time just after the pub closed, he became downright aggressive when I brought up the prospect of him having some female company at home. I didn't ask in a seedy

or disrespectful way. It was something along the lines of, you have a wife or girlfriend that's going to be angry, you stayed out for a few drinks? He said no. Then when I probed a little more, he became extremely aggressive and accused me of one or two things I'd rather not repeat. My first thought was causing a scene to deter me from asking any further questions, which only renewed my suspicions that he was keeping the girl captive. This resulted in me casing his place for a few more days, brainstorming ways to look inside his flat, but then one night, the entire case climaxed with what was one of the most horrifying evenings of my entire life. I was parked opposite the boyfriend's block of flats, not immediately outside of it, but still in a position where I could see everyone going in and out. A taxi pulled up outside, so I grabbed my binoculars

to get a look at whoever was getting out or getting in, when out from the block of flats steps a person I'd never seen before. I'd been keeping track of anyone and everyone who walked in or out of that front door, working out who lived there, who was just visiting, what time certain people departed for or arrived home from work. So when I saw this brand new person, all of a sudden, it caught my attention in a big way. I didn't get a look at their face thanks to the dark, oversized hoodie that they were wearing, but I was almost 100% certain that physically speaking, they matched the description of my missing female. She gets into the waiting taxi.

I rush to get in position to follow, then I tail the cab all the way into the town center where the girl gets out. I overtook the stationary taxi, making sure to get a good look at the person who got out, and when I saw her face, I recognized her immediately. It was the missing girl, the person I'd been hunting for for the better part of a month. It's always a massive adrenaline rush when you finally make that big find, so I was in a cackling good mood after that, having no clue at all what was about to happen just a few minutes later. I had to keep driving for a bit before I could turn around to head back, but when I saw her walking up the pavement towards me, I pulled over to the side of the road on the opposite side to her, got out of my car, then crossed the road to intercept her. All I did was offer her help and tell her that her father missed her very much. She froze, looked me in the eye, and asked me if that's who'd sent me,

her father I mean. And when I said yes, she turned, waited for just a few seconds, then threw herself under the wheels of a passing car. The sound it made as it drove over her is something that will haunt me for the rest of my life. I stood there in shock for what felt like a very long time, staring at a girl that had been alive and talking just moments before, but was now twisted up, barely recognizable, and almost certainly deceased. I think I took my phone out and dialed 999 almost subconsciously because when I heard the operator's voice in my ear, it's like it brought me out of a deep daze. The ambulance crews arrived as quickly as they could, but from what I could tell,

there was nothing they could do for the poor girl except cart her off to the coroner. She was gone. There was no bringing her back. As much as I could have let the police do their job, I took it upon myself to deliver the bad news to her father. I'm not sure what I was thinking, and this last part only adds to the deep sense of regret that I feel regarding what is undoubtedly the worst case I've ever dealt with. But it wasn't the act of telling him that I truly regret. It was seeing his reaction.

I called the girl's father and insisted that we meet in person as soon as possible. A few hours later, I was knocking on his door, with his home being situated in a well-to-do borough of London. He invited me into his sitting room. I asked him to sit down, and when he did so, I delivered the bad news as delicately as possible. In my experience, people react to the news that a loved one has died in a variety of different ways, but without a doubt, the worst reactions come from parents who find out that they've lost a child. It's a pain I can barely even imagine, but when I told my client that his daughter had been in an accident of her own creation and that she was most likely deceased,

he barely batted an eyelid. I could tell that he was trying to conceal his emotions, but if those emotions were grief, it was unlike any type of grief I'd ever seen before. If I'm being honest, it looked a lot more like relief or satisfaction than shock or grief and to this day I'm very haunted by it. I think I was too shaken up at the time to really think about what I was seeing. Despite my many years in policing and PI work, I'd only ever seen one person killed before that night and it wasn't anywhere near as brutal or shocking a fashion, so it's safe to say that I wasn't in my usual frame of mind when I delivered that news. I apologized for being the bearer of this bad news, told him that

I wasn't expecting any kind of payment, and then departed his property and went back to my hotel room. But before I left, he said to me, thank you. And by God, he meant it. He was glad that she was dead, and I know that now, and the weapon he'd used to kill her was me. It was only the next morning, once my head had properly cleared, that I realized what exactly it was that I'd done. I hadn't been rescuing a girl from a cult. There was no cult. I think a deeply abusive father had hired me, or more accurately, tricked me into tracking down his daughter, who'd made a very courageous bid to escape him. Then, when she'd realized that he'd never just let her go, she decided to take her own life rather than face the prospect of seeing him again.

Now I know what you might be thinking, and trust me, I've asked myself the same question many times. Why not just move on somewhere else? Why opt for taking your own life instead of continuing to evade him? I don't have a straight answer for that myself. I think I could investigate for 20 years and still never really know what happened in that family. The father would never willingly talk about it and the only two witnesses were buried next to each other, having taken their secrets to their graves. I'd like to tell you that I've since dedicated myself to bringing that girl to justice and exposing whatever evil was being

inflicted on her by her own flesh and blood. But real life isn't like films or books, and I'm not in any sort of position to be working a long-term job like that for free. I suppose I could try and maybe crowdfund it or something. I hear that's very popular these days, but I've learned over the years that there are some cases that you never get any answers from. Best thing you can do is just forget it and try and move on. After all, there's always another case, another mystery to obsess over. Checking off your to-do list?

Here's an easy one from Pennzoil. Get up to a $30 MasterCard prepaid virtual card with the purchase of 10 liters of Pennzoil Ultra Plat up to a $30 MasterCard prepaid virtual card with the purchase of 10 liters of Pennzoil Ultra Platinum at Canadian Tire. Maximizing engine protection and getting a reward for it? That's two checks on your list. Pennzoil. Long may we drive. Offer ends 831.25, valid at participating locations only, valid email address required. Terms apply, see pennzoil.ca slash offer for details. MasterCard is a trademark of MasterCard International Incorporated. On the afternoon of September 16th, 2015,

Susie Flanagan attempted to call her husband on a cell phone. 55-year-old Greg Flanagan was on a business trip in East Texas, having been charged with negotiating mineral rights on private property 55-year-old Greg Flanagan was on a business trip in East Texas, having been charged with negotiating mineral rights on private property for gas and oil corporations. His work took him on the road a lot, so Susie was accustomed to her husband's brief but frequent absences. But he always picked up his phone whenever she called. Or if he didn't, he made sure to call her back at the first available juncture. Yet after checking into room 348 of the MCN Elegante Hotel during the previous evening, Greg had been completely silent, having failed to pick up or return any of his wife's calls.

Susie tried calling one of her husband's co-workers, only to hear that Greg hadn't shown up to a morning meeting. Susie then begged Greg's co-workers to drive over to his hotel to check up on him, and with the help of the manager, they gained access to his room. Greg was lying prone, just inches from his bed. His face was buried in the carpet while his skin had turned a sickly grayish blue, and pinched neatly between two fingers of one hand was a burned out cigarette butt. No one needed to check his pulse to know that he was dead, and the group was shocked into stunned silence for a few moments before heading out of the room again in a state of near catatonia. The next person to walk into room 348 was an officer of the Beaumont Police Department, and at first, Officer Scott Apple spotted no signs of foul play. Greg's wallet appeared untouched, his watch and cell phone were present, and there were no signs of any forced entry or violent struggle. To all outside observers, Greg's death was entirely natural, and even his wife agreed that his lifestyle verged on self-destructive.

He smoked excessively, he drank like a fish, eschewed all forms of exercise, and sustained himself almost entirely on cold cuts and grilled cheese sandwiches. Susie also maintained that at the time of her husband's death, he hadn't been to a doctor in almost ten years. She warned Greg time and time again that one day his contempt for his own health was going to catch up to him, and now it appeared that he'd been forced to pay the piper. Greg's autopsy was performed by Dr. Thomas Brown, a highly respected and regionally renowned physician with almost 40 years of experience. He noted an inch-long abrasion on Greg's left cheek,

most likely from where his face hit the carpet following loss of consciousness, along with a tiny laceration near his groin. These wounds were consistent with someone who died a sudden but natural death, yet inside his body, the cause of Greg's death appeared anything but natural. There was extensive damage to Greg's internal organs, including lacerations to his liver and stomach, tearing in his intestines, and catastrophic damage to his heart. Almost every single one of Greg's internal organs had been crushed, smashed, or otherwise damaged in what could only have been a sustained act of

physical violence. The news came as a huge shock to Greg's friends and relatives, who were almost certain his unhealthy lifestyle was to blame for his death. The idea that someone had gained access to his room, then beaten him to death, was almost incomprehensible. Greg might not have had the sunniest of personalities, but he had no enemies. So who in the world would want to take his life in such a blunt and brutal fashion? And how had such devastating internal injuries been incurred without a trace of external damage? Now faced with a homicide investigation, Officer Apple got to work piecing together the case's many details and in doing so,

discovered a clue of huge potential value. During his last night on earth, Greg attempted to microwave some popcorn but only succeeded in tripping the fuse for his entire floor. So in the wee small hours of September 16th, he called down to the hotel's front desk and requested a maintenance man. According to the clerk on duty that night, a maintenance man was sent to Greg's room and the situation was resolved. Yet it presented Officer Apple with an interesting prospect. The maintenance man had quite obviously accessed Greg's hotel room, potentially making him the last person to see Greg alive and therefore a prime suspect in his murder.

This maintenance man staunchly denied any wrongdoing, but he was later discovered to have prior convictions for indecent assault. Greg hadn't been violated, nor had his body been desecrated, but the involvement of a convicted felon could never be entirely ruled out. For a brief period, police considered the involvement of two area electricians who had been called out to the hotel on the morning after the power outage. Both visited Greg's room, but neither mentioned any violent struggle or dead body. Sadly, despite her number of suspects, the investigation into Greg's murder began to stall, and as time went by, it became one of East Texas' most puzzling cold cases.

As months ticked over into years, Greg's widow grew increasingly impatient with the lack of justice. Although she had taken the news of the natural death in her stride, the revelation that her husband was murdered had filled her with a grim determination. No matter how upsetting it proved, she needed to know what happened on the night of her husband's death. Convictions and justice be damned, she just wanted to know the truth, and her search for answers brought her to the doorstep of one of the most storied private detectives of our era, Mr. Ken Brennan. Due to his long career in law enforcement, 60-year-old Brennan was no stranger to suspiciously sudden deaths, and he knew if they wished to track down Greg's killer, every little detail mattered. He grilled Susie Flanagan on the circumstances of her husband's death,

prying into his personal life in the hopes of uncovering some small but significant attribute. In the end, it was two minor details that Brennan began to fixate on. The first was that, at the time of Greg's body being found, the air conditioning unit in his room had been switched off. September temperatures in Beaumont can reach the mid-80s, and Greg was known to crank his AC nice and high during the year's hotter months. Whoever had killed him wanted to accelerate the decomposition process, possibly as a way of desecrating his body, and possibly as a way of ensuring that it would be found quickly. The second detail involved Greg Flanagan being right-handed. Susie confirmed that her husband always held a cigarette in his right hand, but when his body was found, the burned-out butt

was pinched between fingers on his left hand. To Brennan, it seemed very possible that the cigarette had fallen out of Greg's right hand during the attack, only for his killer to place it in his left hand, in the hopes that it might burn up the hotel room and remove forensic evidence. As the investigation progressed, it looked more and more like Greg Flanagan had been murdered by a professional, a contract killer who'd been given the task of making his death look either natural or accidental. The only other suspects were the two electricians who, rather than visiting the hotel to make repairs, had actually been guests in a room right next to the victims. Hotel staff confirmed that the off-duty electricians had been heavily intoxicated

on the night of Greg's murder, and Brennan suspected that an argument between the two parties may have been the catalyst for Greg's murder. Brennan reached out to some of the hotel's other guests, but rather than implicate themselves, one of them offered up a very compelling piece of information. One of the guests mentioned hearing a gunshot in the early hours of September 16th. He admitted to being half asleep at the time, but claimed that he was 100% certain that a gunshot in the early hours of September 16th. He admitted to being half asleep at the time, but claimed that he was 100% certain that a gun had been fired in the hotel. This report stood in stark contrast to all those who claimed that there had been no disturbances on the night of Greg's murder.

And when Ken Brennan initially chose to investigate such assertions, it was merely to prove that the guest was either lying or mistaken. But he was not lying, and when Brennan drove back to room 348 of the Elegante Hotel, he found what he was looking for. After noticing a small divot in the wall behind the hotel room's door, Brennan initially dismissed its damage resulting from the door handle hitting the interior wall, but after opening the door fully, Brennan discovered that the handle impacted the wall to the far right of where the divot was located. The small hole hadn't been caused by the door's handle, and upon further investigation it appeared to have been filled in and patched with something that smelled like dried mint toothpaste.

It wasn't just a small piece of cosmetic damage. It was a bullet hole. After shining a laser pen through the hole, Brennan quickly determined that the bullet's trajectory lined up almost perfectly with where Greg was thought to have been sitting at the time of his death. But if he had indeed been killed by a single bullet which tore through the wall of his hotel before entering his body, how had the county coroner failed to notice such a significant detail? To confirm his theory, Brennan had to petition for Greg's body to be exhumed and re-examined, but to his frustration, he learned that Greg had been cremated shortly after his funeral service.

Instead, Brennan reached out to Dr. Thomas Brown and urged him to take another look at the photographs taken from Greg's autopsy. Dr. Brown agreed that, at least in theory, a bullet could have caused the same amount of damage to his internal organs, but it wasn't until he remembered the small wound near Greg's groin that he realized just how much he'd missed the mark. Since the skin near a person's groin is soft and easily bent, the wound didn't stand out as an obvious entry wound, but in light of the mysterious damage to Greg's internal organs,

little else could explain such a mysterious wound. Brennan believed that the trajectory of the bullet meant that it could have only been fired from room 349, the same room the two electricians had been staying in. Lance Mueller and Tim Steinmetz had never been completely ruled out as suspects, but in light of the story they'd already given, it was doubtful that they were the guilty party. However, in light of the new evidence regarding the bullet hole, the two men were re-interviewed by Brennan, and it was then that a shocking admission was made. On the night of Greg's death, Lance Mueller admitted to having been playing with a 9mm pistol whilst intoxicated. The gun accidentally went off, but since the shot was greeted with nothing but silence, the two men figured no one had heard the shot, let alone been wounded or killed by it. That night might well have remained silent, but a terrified Mueller returned to his car,

hid the pistol, and then spent the night at the hotel bar before checking out at the first available juncture. Both men had noticed swarms of police officers when driving past the hotel later that day and both had wondered if their presence was related to the accidental gunshot. It was only when contacted by Brennan that they realized that there was no point hiding anymore. Their stupid drunken mistake had cost a man his life and it was time to own up to what they'd done. Lance Mueller was later charged with manslaughter, and after pleading guilty, he received ten years in prison. At his trial, Susie Flanagan was given the chance to read a victim impact statement to her husband's killer, and it reads as follows.

I have waited over two years to look you in the face, eye to eye, and simply have the chance to speak directly to you, she said. You would never have come forward with the truth. You murdered him. No, you didn't intentionally seek out to murder him, but you murdered him. With every lie you told, with every intentional selfish deception, with every cover-up, over and over again. You saw his body taken out of the room in a body bag the next day. You knew you killed him. He meant nothing to you.

But you've met your match. I would have spent the rest of my life tracking you down. And I found you. Greg's murderer. I brought you to justice. Mueller was said to look stunned as his victim's widow delivered her speech. Susie Flanagan was said to have only barely contained her rage. But as Susie herself later said,

it wasn't anger that had her eyes bulging and her hands trembling. It was the adrenaline of knowing justice had been served when, for so long, it seemed as though her husband's murder would go unsolved. Detective Ken Brennan might have been the facilitator of that justice, but it was Susie who pushed for it in the first place. It was she who applied for a tax extension so she could afford Brennan's fees. It was she who refused to accept a life of hopeless wandering. And although it was the bang of a judge's hammer that signaled the beginning of Mueller's sentence,

it was Susie Flanagan alone 1964 in Alameda County, California. After graduating from high school, she studied computer science and electrical engineering at the Southern Methodist University in Dallas, Texas. She was described as intelligent and outgoing, but her academic success was no doubt due to the relentless hard work that she was known for. Angela would often stay awake until the small hours of the morning, poring over textbooks, reviewing papers, and reading through seminar notes gleaned from juniors and seniors. Yet somehow, she still maintained an active social life and was popular among her peers. On the evening of October 12, 1984, Angela and two friends visited the Texas State Fair before moving on to a night club known as the Rio Room. The trio danced until the early hours of the following morning whereupon

a perfectly sober Angela gave them both a ride home. She then briefly stopped at her boyfriend's place, then made her way back to her own apartment on Amesbury Drive in northeast Texas. Angela's boyfriend, Ben McCall, had asked her to call him once she'd arrived back at home. But when the call came at around 1.45 in the morning, Angela sounded terrified. She told Ben that there was a man in her apartment and that he was demanding to use her phone and bathroom. Ben asked how the man had gotten into her apartment and if she needed him to call the cops. Angela didn't answer either question and told Ben that she'd call him back before abruptly ending the call. He never heard from her. Again.

In the minutes that followed, Ben paced back and forth in his bedroom, slowly descending into full-blown panic. He tried calling Angela back, then again and again and again. Ben paced back and forth in his bedroom, slowly descending into full-blown panic. He tried calling Angela back, then again, and again, and again, but each time, his phone calls went unanswered. Ben McCall then immediately contacted the Dallas Police Department and rushed over to Angela's apartment to meet them. Officers found Angela's door unlocked, and when they walked inside and searched the apartment, they found Angela's lifeless body. She had been stripped, violated, and then stabbed to death. Police began to heavily suspect that Angela's killer had been the male friend she took to the Texas State Fair that night.

Russell Buchanan admitted to being heavily intoxicated on the night in question, but despite his claim that he went straight to bed after being given a ride back home, he had no solid alibis for the hours that followed. Some officers speculated that Buchanan had been a secret admirer of Angela's, and then after a night of drinking and dancing, decided to walk over to her place for a romantic proposition. Then, enraged by her rejection, he attacked, violated, and ultimately killed her. Buchanan staunchly denied the accusation, but despite there being no solid proof of his guilt, a dark cloud of suspicion

seemed to follow him wherever he went. As far as the police were concerned, Russell Buchanan was innocent until proven guilty, but in the court of public opinion, he was a pervert and a murderer. After receiving news of her murder, Angela's roommate found herself paralyzed with guilt. Sheila Wasaki had been visiting her mother on the night of Angela's murder and believed Angela would still be alive had she remained home. Sheila found herself unable to return to Dallas Southern Methodist University and for 20 long years, she was haunted by the prospect of being partly responsible for her roommate's death. Then, sometime in 2004, Sheila experienced something that would change her life forever.

One night, after a long period of Bible study, Sheila claimed that she experienced a kind of vision. In this vision, she was visited by her long-deceased roommate, Angela, and although no words were spoken, Sheila understood what was being asked of her. In the months that followed, Sheila dedicated herself to the study of Angela's murder. She researched arrests for similar crimes that occurred around fall of 1984, and after consulting with officers from the Dallas Police Department, Sheila came to a compelling conclusion. She discovered that at the time Angela was killed, a 36-year-old man named Donald Bess had been released on parole after serving a 25-year sentence for kidnap, assault, and violation. Dallas PD had Bess' DNA on file, and thanks to advancements in forensic technologies, they would be able to compare the DNA samples recovered from Angela's bedroom to those on Bess's file.

Yet by some horrendous twist of fate, just days before the DNA analysis was set to be performed, a freak flash flood rushed through the city of Dallas and destroyed huge portions of their DNA evidence, including those pertaining to the murder of Angela Samoda. Sheila was devastated and questioned why God would allow Angela to appear to her only to snatch away their path to justice at the very last moment. But according to Angela, the flood was akin to a biblical test of faith, as just weeks later, she received yet another surprising phone call. It was a member of the Dallas Police Department,

one with incredible news to share. Some of the DNA records pertaining to Angela's murder had accidentally been misfiled then sent to another department. That department then audited its DNA files, discovering the discrepancy, then contacted Dallas PD to return the evidence. It was nothing short of a miracle and within days the DNA samples taken from under Angela's fingernails were compared to those on Donald Bess' file. It was a perfect match. Following Bess' arrest, multiple women came forward to claim that they too had been victims

and at his trial it became evident that the man was a highly dangerous serial predator who had been hunting for potential victims on the night he found Angela. Bess pleaded not guilty, but was found guilty of first-degree murder and then sentenced to death by a jury of his peers. It was a day of incredible relief for Russell Buchanan, who had finally been publicly exonerated. In a statement to the press, he thanked the Dallas PD but reserved a special thank you to Sheila Wasaki, who was most certainly the driving force behind Bess's eventual conviction. To this day, Sheila continues to work as a private investigator and has since based her business in the state of Tennessee. She credits Angela with being the inspiration behind her work and considers solving cold cases her God-given purpose.

I can't turn back the clock and stop what happened to Angela, she told one journalist, but I can help catch the kind of people who do something so evil. Every investigation I conclude makes the world a better place, and to me, there's no surer path to glory than that. Checking off your to-do list? Here's an easy one from Pennzoil. Get up to a $30 MasterCard prepaid virtual card with the purchase of 10 liters of Pennzoil Ultra Platinum at Canadian Tire. Maximizing engine protection and getting a reward for it? That's two checks on your list. Pennzoil. Long may we drive. Offer ends 8-31-25. Valid at participating locations only. Valid email address required. Terms apply. See pennzoil.ca slash offer for details. MasterCard is a trademark of MasterCard International Incorporated.

Last November in 2021, my roommate and two friends and I went to our first concert since the lockdown in downtown Seattle. We had quit smoking during that time, but as it was a special occasion and an old tradition, we decided to split a pack to share. It was a post-punk concert, The Idols, and it was more frugal to indulge in tobacco rather than the criminally overpriced drinks at the bar. The show had a late start as the lead singer was suffering from a case of food poisoning, but he later pulled it off like a champ, a real pro. By the time the show was about to start, it was getting late, and the roommate and I were halfway through the pack of cigarettes. We would go off around the block of the venue to a quiet corner on the sidewalk

of an intersection with a four-way stop and crosswalks, where a few surviving bars were still open across the street. This was the tail end of lockdown, so there were far fewer people wandering around. Now, neither roommate nor I normally smoke cloves as our nicotine of choice. At the gas station, I asked for a pack of menthols, but then I impulsively switched to clove cigarettes, which had a fewer in pack and were slightly more expensive to save at the flavor. My roommate wasn't as thrilled about my selection, but hey, we could give the extras away rather than take the rest home and restart a bad habit.

The show was finally about to start after a 45 minute delay. It was just the two of us alone without any fellow smokers on the sidewalk of the intersection as we indulged in destroying our lungs and throats. We were both reminiscing about past shows when a man in his early 40s walked past us to cross the street with a green crosswalk glowing brightly in the chilly November night. The man took one step into the streets and paused, one foot on the sidewalk and the other in the road, long enough for both myself and roommate to take notice and wait for a reaction to this odd behavior as this was kind of part of a rough neighborhood. Then the man abruptly turned around

and approached us with a sort of sheepish grin to ask if he could bum a cigarette. Roommate and I relaxed as the man's behavior was him losing the battle with temptation, as we admittedly did ourselves. As I held out my smokes, a sports car blew through the red light. It was right at that moment the man would have been halfway across the street. I have no doubt in my mind that he would have been killed instantly, or both Roommate and I would have been killed instantly or both roommate and I would have been dead or horribly injured if the driver had tried to swerve and lost control of the car. In two blinks, the sports car was gone, peeling down the street like a complete idiot

at around 60 miles per hour in a 20 mile per hour zone. It was a real, did that really just happen moment and roommates and I exchanged a stunned W2F look each other as the man rambled, and I quote, how he hadn't smoked clove cigarettes in 15 years, and the scent was too much to resist. The poor guy never heard the speeding car, nor realized how close he was to becoming a bloody smear on the pavement. He thanked us for the clove and finished crossing the street, still with a solid green crosswalk light, happily smoking away as he made his way into one of the bars. If I had not given into my last minute impulse to buy cloves instead of menthols, that man would have been dead with roommate and me caught in the crossfire. The car was driving so fast that nobody had heard it coming, and my roommate and me caught in the crossfire. The car was driving so fast that nobody had heard it

coming, and my roommate and I have quit since smoking, and we still occasionally talk about it, how vivid that moment has ingrained into our minds of that man standing with one foot in the road and the other on the sidewalk, a moment when an invisible coin was tossed with the three of us, and that stupid driver's fate all in the air. And I still get chills thinking about it. I'd like to start by mentioning that I'm a 33-year-old male, currently working as a superintendent for a downtown condo building in a large city. I have been threatened, yelled at, kicked countless unsavory types of people off property, and cleaned up things I'd rather not talk about. Having said that,

I would still consider the following story one of the worst times of my life. This might be a little long-winded as it happened over a few years, so please bear with me. This is not a creepy or terrifying story like most here, so if that's what you're looking for, this isn't that story, but when I think back on it, it still gives me anxiety and quite a bit of a shiver. This story is about mental and emotional manipulation from someone I thought that I could trust during a time I was exceptionally vulnerable. In 2016, I was single, living in a big city with one of my best friends. I was unknowingly desperate for validation and throwing myself out there on dating apps as much

as possible. Looking back, it's easy to see how I let insecurities and traumas manipulate my actions, but self-awareness is never as easy as we want to believe. I sought validation from anyone I was at all attracted to, regardless of whether or not we were really compatible, and I honestly prioritized it much higher than I should have in my life. I was getting dates here and there and seeing someone casually, but neither of us were committing, and alas, my search continued for more women to validate my worth. So, one day, I received a friend request on Facebook from a seemingly random woman. Her name will be Maria for the story. After further digging, I found that Maria and I had a mutual friend, a good friend of mine who lived in another city nearby and will call her Sarah.

So, naturally, I inquired with Sarah about who this person was. It turns out Maria was a single mom friend of Sarah's and one day, while they were hanging out, Sarah had gone through her Facebook friends looking for possible dates for Maria. I guess I had caught Maria's eye and she found me on Sarah's friend list later. Sarah had nothing but great things to say about her so I accepted her request and we almost immediately started talking daily. We had minimal interests in common but conversation with her came so easily and she was cute. Put this together with her showing genuine interest in me and all my younger self's boxes

were checked. The chemistry seemed unmistakable and it wasn't long before we planned a day to meet. She found a babysitter for her son for the night and even offered for me to stay the night so we could have a few drinks. We had some wine at her place while talking some more about ourselves and then went out for dinner at a restaurant she recommended for some great sangria. The whole night was amazing. We were both definitely feeling the booze by the time we went to bed but neither of us were drunk. We started making out and things seemed to be going further. At this point, I felt this sense of duty to let her know that I was seeing other people but

nothing serious. She seemed a bit disappointed, but also understood. Things kept progressing, and we could all assume what happened from here. Afterward, though, she was suddenly very upset, saying that I lied to her and didn't mention any other girls before. I tried to explain to her that I was waiting to see where this went, as we had been playing things off very friendly and that she also had not asked before but this wasn't a reasonable excuse for her. Like she wasn't kicking me out but all of a sudden she was accusing me of betrayal and dishonesty and she eventually calmed down but it did ruin the night and the mood. We went to sleep and I left the next morning with a bit of an awkward ambiance around

us. This should have been more of a red flag, but, you know, validation. We continued to talk and the whole incident seemed to disappear. Her expectations of where things were going were moving very fast and this was apparently more of a deal breaker for me than the sudden outburst. Tie that together with how far and unavailable she was and we slowly drifted apart. However, we did stay Facebook friends. Time goes by and I move to another city in another province. I'm living there for a little under a year. The girl I was seeing broke up with me and to make it worse, an actual quote from her was, I don't know if I like you or if you're just all I have. After this, I slowly realized that I'm not happy there. I'm feeling very lonely and unknowingly. My need for validation is higher than ever.

Then, out of the blue, Maria starts messaging me again. The conversation comes as easy as before, and it's not long before things become very flirty. Neither of us are jumping into anything, especially with a kid involved, but the idea of me moving to her city did become a popular topic. It was easy to justify it as it was close to my hometown, but still a larger town where I can gain work experience. Eventually it was decided that I was moving there. The next thing to figure out was how. So I started looking at jobs and apartments but this was fairly difficult being about six hours away. However given that I was fairly experienced and skilled in my profession as a chef it wasn't long before I had several to choose from. This left the only problem to finding a place to live. Not to mention I had another year on my current lease, so I had

to find a sublet. The job I found was expecting me by the beginning of April. I had a serious application for the sublet at my place, but the process was taking a long time and I still hadn't found a place in the new town. The time crunch was getting real. And this is when Maria and I made a decision that would set up all the terrible things to come. We decided that I would stay with Maria and her son until I found a place to live. We figured it would give us more time to get more acquainted and see where things go as well. She could also see how her son and I were together with him, thinking I was just a friend visiting. Meanwhile, I panicked with the sublet and gave him the keys early since I didn't want to come all the way back and I saw

no reason for him to be denied. The apartment hunt was much harder than expected, but the first couple of weeks or so were going so well anyway that neither of us minded. Her son seemed to love me too. She insisted on doing all the cooking and cleaning as she only worked part-time. I occupied her son while she was busy. We had time alone while her son slept and everything seemed perfect. Everything changed when I received a call from the property company of my old apartment. The guy who I thought was a sure shot to take the apartment had been advertising the place on Airbnb, which was absolutely not allowed. So, of course, he was denied the sublet and the apartment was still on me.

I didn't have time to go back to show it to people, so the company offered me a deal. I paid four months' rent and they would cancel my lease. Given my limited options, I took the deal. However, this sent me back in my apartment search as I couldn't afford two apartments so my stay with Maria became extended. Fortunately, no one seemed to mind. We were all getting along really well and although reckless and unorthodox, this made us think that I might not need to find an apartment. Oh, how blind love can be. It wasn't long before the fairy tale slowly started to unravel though. It started off with small things. I'd come home to her in a rage for no indicated reason. She was drinking a bottle

of wine almost every day. Her mood and personality were just getting generally hard to predict. It was hard to bring up any touchy subjects as she would be immediately defensive and hostile. Eventually though, the incidents escalated. One day, we both had the day off and her son was at school so she suggested that we go day drinking by a waterfall nearby. It was a beautiful day so this seemed like a good reason to enjoy it and we had a lot of fun. We talked about various subjects, some casual, some deeper. At one point, we talked about her childhood and parents.

Her dad was emotionally abusive. Another relative actually abused her intimately and her mom was bipolar. And before I could even ask, she told me that she was tested for bipolar disorder and that she was clear. She was tested for this while she briefly checked herself in for mental instability. And this was all news to me. Yet instead of raising any sort of red flags, I just felt bad for her and thought that she was well adjusted for what she went through. One subject we got on, though, was about to make a real problem. Kids. We started talking about kids and names. We joked that if we had a girl, we would name her Barbara and Gordon as her middle name after Batgirl. It all seemed very light-hearted until she suggested that we try to have a child. Keeping in mind, we had been seeing each other for maybe two and a half months. However, I was quite buzzed and apparently susceptible to

opinions, so I agreed. We were sober before her son even got home and I was already regretting that conversation, especially knowing how confrontational she can be. The next I realized her decision was not inhibited, not by the alcohol anyways. She announced that she was already off her birth control with a huge smile on her face. And for a day or so I tried to rationalize this as a good choice, but nothing about it seemed right. So I told her how I felt and that I think it was the alcohol talking before. Not that I didn't want to have a baby, but I didn't want to rush into it. Well, to tell you she wasn't happy would be the understatement of the decade. She absolutely flipped on me, guilting me about already stopping her birth control and

how I wasn't serious about her and I. Through all of this, she somehow convinced me to change my mind or at least go along with her decisions to stop birth control. It basically became whatever happens, happens situation. A few times I actually had a hard time actually getting excited during intimate moments and she would immediately guilt me about not wanting her to get pregnant. And she was absolutely right, but that doesn't help the situation, and it definitely didn't help me sort of feel anything. I know it's probably hard to believe that I put up with this, but she really made me feel like I was the problem, and I thought I loved her. Not to mention,

I felt that I had nowhere to go. Now, Maria also took some other medication daily. I knew one was for IBS, but the other I wasn't sure and I decided to let her tell me when she felt up to it. I found out later that it was an anxiety disorder medication. I did read the label at one point though and it said not to drink on this medication. When I asked her about this I got some half-bottom answer about how it was nothing to worry about and once again I ignored a very obvious red flag. Sometime in early June we've been frequenting the dispensary nearby for weed cookies and we've been learning about CBD as treatment for illnesses in place of pills. Maria gets the idea that this could be a

great replacement for her medication. We both try some CBD oil as I deal with anxiety as well. I don't really notice any difference, but she seems pleased with the results. It's not long before she stops her meds completely and switches to CBD oils. She's in a great mood and seems to be thriving. I assumed that she had consulted her doctor about this at some point, but I was very wrong. Within 24 hours, she was really ill, to the point that she had to call her doctor. It turns out she was displaying typical signs of withdrawal from recklessly stopping her meds cold turkey. She had to spend the next couple of days recovering, but I

unfortunately had to go to another city to write my red seal test for cooking. This test was to qualify me for a certification in my trade and it took months in advance to book. I couldn't rebook it. I stayed with some good friends of mine the night before since the test was scheduled for 8 am the next morning. That night, I'm hanging out with my friends when I get a call from Maria. She says that her son wanted to say goodnight to me, but she sounds off. She's pretending to sound happy, but doing a really bad job at it. After I say goodnight to her son, she's still acting kind of strange. She's asking me what I'm doing, asking if I'm doing anything else while

I'm there. I say, nope, just hanging out here like I mentioned. She asked me some other cryptic questions and then said goodnight. It seemed weird and left me feeling a bit uneasy. I didn't want to trouble my friends though, so I pretended everything was fine. The next morning, I go to write my test. This test can take upwards of three hours and you have to turn off your phone for the duration as a measure to cut back on cheating, so after roughly two hours, I emerge from radio silence, feeling very unsure of my efforts in the test. What makes me more uneasy, though, is the numerous missed calls I have from Maria. She left a message on my answering machine asking me to get home as soon as possible. She didn't answer the phone when I tried to call back, so I rushed back as fast as one can on public transit. The commute back was two hours of agony, wondering what I might come

back to. I burst through the front door and into our bedroom, and she was in bed lying down, emotionless, like she had not just left me distressing messages a few hours prior. Apparently the withdrawal was hitting her hard for a bit, and it was hard to take care of her son at the time. She was annoyed that I didn't pick up, even though she knew that I was writing my test. When I said I rushed back as fast as possible, she didn't seem to believe me. I apologized and assured her that I didn't even stop for food or a bathroom before saying I was there now and I can take care of whatever. She told me not to worry about it, in a very cold tone. The pride I felt finally writing

a test to further my career was completely overshadowed by the feeling of letting Maria down. It wasn't until a few days later that I found out what she was actually upset about while I was out of town, and this is how she told me the story. Her son wanted to say goodnight to me while I was at my friend's for the night. He grabbed my tablet from the nightstand thinking it was Maria's. He then opened Facebook Messenger to find my name before Maria realized that he was doing it and took it. At this point, the tablet was open to my Facebook Messenger and she started looking at who I had been talking to. And this apparently was what upset her, and she brought it up a few days after the incident.

It should be noted that I had knowingly left my tablet with no lock on it because I only used it in the house and I had nothing to hide. So after trying to ignore it, she breaks down and confronts me about it. She's accusing me of flirting with girls from then till before I even moved there. I tried explaining each instance to her but she wouldn't listen. One was an argument with an ex that I had about why she could be just friends with me. I was the one saying that we could stay platonic friends by the way. Each instance was either before we were dating or not flirting at all but she wouldn't hear it. She continued to cut me down about how disrespectful it was and

how she let me into her home and that's how I treated her. She finished by saying that I should probably find another place to live as soon as possible and asked for her key back because I couldn't be trusted there alone. I somehow ended up feeling like I had messed up. I even texted our mutual friend Sarah to tell her that I messed up big and I feel so terrible and that I was sorry I hurt her friend. To my surprise, when I explained it, she didn't see how I did anything that bad. She said that she would talk to Maria, but it did little to help. The next couple of days, I was sleeping on the couch and desperately looking for temporary housing until I paid the rest of my old apartment off. I felt so

uncomfortable being in the apartment with all her guilt on me. I guess I felt I deserved the discomfort though. The uncomfortable living situation was shorter lived than I even I expected though. A couple of days later, Maria isn't feeling 100% but she is feeling a bit better about me that particular day. She asks if I'll pick her son up from school. The school is only about a 10 minute walk away. About two blocks away with a park between the two blocks and eager to regain her favor I happily accept. Sometimes she lets him play in the park after on the playground but she told me to just bring him straight home that day. So I meet him at the school entrance and we started heading home and with no surprise he wants to go to the playground. I tell him no. His mom said that we

have to come straight home. I wasn't worried as he was generally a very well behaved kid. Besides a little pouting, he usually understands that he needed to listen to his mom. Today though, today he had a full blown meltdown. He cried, argued, walked really slow. I tried to console him, but nothing worked. Anything short of playing in the park was not good enough. When we got close to the far side of the park, about 10 feet from the sidewalk and road we had to cross, he stops and just refuses to move. I tell him we need to go and he starts crying and screaming, telling me I'm not his dad and that I can't tell him what to do. I cannot tell you how scary the situation was on its own. I'm in a park with a

small boy, screaming and saying that I'm not his dad. I thought the cops would be called on me. Well, I'm trying my best to coax him in the direction of home, so I put my hand on his upper back and try to guide him. He steps forward dramatically and says that I was trying to push him in the street. He then starts walking home. There's a split second of relief until he informs me he's telling my mom that I tried to push him into the street. I think, well, this is another annoyance but Maria can diffuse it. There's no way she'll believe I would do that. I think you can probably guess that I was dead wrong. We walk in the door and the son runs to Maria immediately telling her what he claims I

did. I could not believe it when she looked at me with the most disgusted look asking if this was true. I of course told her it was absolutely not true and explained the situation to which she responded asking why her son would lie about this. Well he's a child who's upset that he didn't get his way. You don't need to be a parent to know kids are like that sometimes. She wasn't having any of it though. I should mention this isn't the first time she's snapped at me for calling her son a liar. She sends her son to his room before telling me I needed to leave. She said she couldn't trust me and I needed to find somewhere else to go, and I was speechless. I had no idea how to even defend against such unreasonable accusations, and eventually I had to accept

my fate and look for somewhere else to go. I had no other close friends in the city with room for me, but my friends who I stayed with for my red seal tests offered their couch. So I packed as much as I could carry and headed there as quickly as I could manage, all the while trying to keep a strong front up like I wasn't at an all-time low in my life. I still feel one of my biggest mistakes was covering the worst parts of the situation. If more of my friends, more than just Sarah, knew the full extent of what was going on, they probably would have made me see some common sense. There were three of my friends living in this apartment, my best friend

since grade 8, his girlfriend, and his brother. All had cars they didn't always use, so between them, they usually had a car for me to use, since I was still working in the other city. Otherwise, I would make the long commute by bus and train, and I'm feeling like a worthless human at this point, basically homeless, stuck in a situation where I can't even afford my own place, and I feel like I've single-handedly messed up the relationship. At the same time, Maria is still in contact with me, making me feel that there is still a chance to fix things. However, she's keeping me at arm's length and making me feel like I'm not trying hard enough if I'm not readily available to come by or talk over the phone.

One day, I had to work at 6.30am the next morning, so I planned a crash at Sarah's uncle's place where she's currently staying. My friend lent me his car and I headed out that night only to find out that she wouldn't be home for some reason. I didn't know her uncle at all so I couldn't just show up. I have a hard time asking anyone for help as it is so I told her it's no problem and I can find somewhere else. This was a lie as I had nowhere else to call but I didn't want it to be her problem. So when I thought I was already at my lowest, I found myself parking at the same park that I walked through to pick up Maria's son. Only this time, it was a place to sleep. I felt fortunate to have the car, but I still felt ashamed.

I didn't tell anyone about that night for a long time, as I didn't want any more pity. Fortunately, I did find room to sublet for July and August at a cheap rate. Then by September, I would be clear of the other apartment. Maria was still holding hope over my head like an animal being coaxed to run on a treadmill, putting in the effort but unknowingly making no progress. Simultaneously, she was beating down my self-esteem, gaslighting me, emphasizing any mistake I made, constantly bringing up that she can't trust me with everything I did. She made me believe it all, for some time. At one point, she told me

her building had found out that I was living there when I moved my stuff out, and they charged her $300 for it. I had no way to prove this but it made a bit of sense that she lived in a geared to income housing. Not to mention I still felt like trash and felt everything was my fault so I didn't fight it at all. The thing that makes me question this now is how mad she was at me at this time but still only asking for half the money. Knowing how ruthless she could be, I find it suspicious that she would take any responsibility and suggest splitting the cost. Even though I was holding out hope for Maria, I once again felt that I needed for validation,

more than ever, now that my confidence was beaten into the ground. I started using dating apps again, looking for anyone who would boost my ego and self-worth a bit, even though I was still hung up on Maria. I did manage to connect with a couple of people. One woman in particular became a regular talk and hangout. She was also in another city with no car, so it was easy to justify keeping it casual. Well, one day, I dropped by Maria's to give her something and she asked if I wanted to stay for a bit. I desperately wanted to, but I had already made plans with this other girl. I couldn't bring myself to lie when Maria started prying about my plans. When I told her I had plans

with another girl, she saw this as more proof of how untrustworthy I was. She said that if we were ever to work, I couldn't see other people. Keep in mind that Maria and I were not romantically involved at this point. We didn't talk often. We barely saw each other. There were no dates or talks or romantic plans. She just didn't want me dating anyone else while she toyed with me. Of course, I couldn't see through this though, so once I again left feeling like I messed everything up. I didn't cut the other girl off completely but I definitely kept my distance hoping that I could still make things right. By September Sarah and her boyfriend had offered for me to live with them

as they were getting a place together so we found a two-bedroom apartment which happened to be only two blocks from Maria. Sarah had originally tried to stay neutral through this whole situation but as time went on she saw how Maria was. Maria would accuse Sarah of hiding with me or being a terrible friend among other things. Then she would flip and leave her messages saying that her son missed Auntie Sarah and that they should hang out. Sarah had enough and just cut her off, said she was using her child as manipulation and that was the last straw. Although I didn't realize it at the time, Sarah's disconnect from Maria and overall support really helped me distance myself from Maria.

It wasn't overnight, but I remember starting to realize how terrible she was little by little. It wasn't easy cutting off someone I thought that I loved, and it became easier as her disguise unraveled. Eventually, we got into an argument one day, and I said that I was done with her. Her defense was trying to use her son again, saying that I couldn't just leave him like that. This really solidified it for me. I was happier. I was meeting other women. A big weight was lifting off my chest. Admittedly, I didn't block her at first. She was not in a great financial situation and I sometimes lent her money. Even after I told her off, she still reached out once in a while saying

that she needed money for something for her son. Even though I knew it was more manipulation, I couldn't help myself, and this took another year to quit. It's worth noting that she always said that she would pay me back and never did. When I finally did quit this, I blocked her. A few months later, I got a call from a private number. My best friend had his number as private, so I answered. I'm sure you can guess who it really was. Maria greeted me on the other end. It turns out that setting your number to private will get you around your number being blocked, although she claimed it was set to private for another reason. She went on to explain that she

had been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, which explained a lot of what was happening with her. However, she went on to say how this showed that the way she treated me wasn't her fault. It was the BPD. There was no apology, no regrets, none of that. At this point, I'd lost it on her. She thought a diagnosis wiped the slate clean of any guilt, and I made sure that she knew that wasn't the case. A disorder explains your behavior. It doesn't excuse it. She still owed me an apology. At least, but she refused, still claiming it wasn't her fault and that my actions were still somewhat to blame. I asked if she was taking anything or getting any help, and all she said was, I struggle to work through it every day of my life.

I assumed to make me pity her, and I said that I was done. If she couldn't own her mistakes, then she wasn't any better with that diagnosis. I told her as much, and then I hung up for good. I didn't realize at the time, but I think I needed that closure. It felt empowering to tell her how I felt about everything that happened, and then deny her any forgiveness or access to my life again. It may sound heartless, but if things had gone differently, I would have been happy to forgive. I'd like to preface this story by acknowledging that the truthfulness or reliability of asylum or escaped mental patient stories tends to be questionable in my opinion. The reason why I'm skeptical of those stories is that large-scale closures of asylums began in 1967 through the 1980s and were completely decommissioned by 2015. So I raise my eyebrow whenever someone talks about spooky asylum stories that happened within the last two decades or so. Still, I will be sharing my story as factually as my memory allows

and refrain from exaggerating any aspect. I often visited my grandparents' home in Traverse City in northern Michigan during the summers with my parents. Traverse City is a beautiful place, produces 75% of the world's cherries, and was home to the Traverse City Regional Psychiatric Hospital, which operated from 1885 to 1989. Since the United States federal government officially deemed the hospital worthy of preservation for its historical significance, the buildings on the hospital grounds were guarded by patrolling security guards.

The T.C. TC psychiatric hospital was massive, including 70 or 80 buildings of various sizes. Some buildings have now been converted into restaurants, gift shops, tourism traps, cafes, etc., but many remain empty and abandoned. Underneath the hospital is a sprawling brick tunnel system which the hospital staff used to safely transport the patients from building to building in the frigid winter temperatures. I am sure that there were instances where the patients underwent cruel treatments or were subjected to the care of horrible doctors, but the TC Psych Hospital had a great reputation.

Many teenagers, including myself at the time, were unashamedly fascinated with the hospital and its history. As a result, we would often break into abandoned buildings through unbarred windows or doors with pickable padlocks. While there were a few cases where teens would get caught and charged with breaking and entering, as long as we were stealthy, stuck to our safe entrances, and paid attention to the guards' patrol patterns, we could go in and out without worry. I'm not advocating or trying to justify any criminal activity or breaking and entering, but breaking into the old hospital was almost a rite of passage for the TC teens. The hospital's interior was terrifying. There was old, stained and broken equipment and furniture, crumbling floors and walls, vandalism, strange old building noises,

and complete and utter darkness in the tunnels, basements and lower floors. Using flashlights was too risky with guards patrolling, so we often navigated the hospital by memory in our dimly lit phone screens. As you can imagine, our frightened youthful imaginations ran wild with horror stories, which is pretty ironic considering we made up most of those stories. Unfortunately, during my last trip inside, I encountered something that terrified me to the point that I swore off ever returning. The story takes place at around 10pm. The moonlight was dim and most patrol guards left for the day. Clad in black, my friend Jason and I entered through the same window we always used

and followed our regular path to one of the tall jutting spires to sit by the windows that overlooked the entire city. There was only one thing different about this venture from our others. A new faint and unexplainable smoky odor. Not smoky like fire, but something more akin to incense. The smell was so faint that we almost thought that we were imagining it, but it grew stronger as we got closer to our destination. Rather than taking the stairs that led to the spire, we followed the smell down a different hallway until we reached a room with a deep red glow emanating from the doorway. Rather than doing the smart thing by leaving immediately,

we couldn't resist the urge to walk closer and investigate. When we finally reached the room, I audibly gasped and felt Jason grip my wrist so hard his nails left marks on my skin. We found a large ring of red votive candles and burning incense circling a drawing of a pentagram with the sigil of Baphomet. In the center of the drawing was a dead, bloodied bird surrounded by black feathers. Bear in mind that I was raised devoutly Catholic, so seeing this image filled me with a sense of fear stronger and more paralyzing than any ghost sighting ever could. Later on that night, Jason told me I immediately started mumbling prayers, but I personally don't remember doing that.

I wouldn't be too terribly surprised, though. While the duration felt infinite, I'm not sure how long we stared at this sort of occult scene before hearing a man's low and ominous voice behind us saying, Welcome. I promise you that there was absolutely nothing friendly about the way that guy greeted us. Jason and I immediately screamed bloody murder, whipping around, and saw two nicely dressed but frazzled looking adult men seemingly smiling at us. The man in front of me held something in his hand, and while I can't say for sure what it was,

I remember thinking it might be a knife, which couldn't be too crazy of a guess considering they recently sacrificed a bird. Jason and I sprinted past the two, and I felt someone's fingers grab the back of my shirt. Thankfully, these two didn't have a solid grip on me because I ducked and managed to escape their grip. The men shouted for us to stop running. We obviously could not do that. We heard their footsteps chasing after us for a little while, but thankfully Jason and I had broken into the hospital so many times that running through the unlit rooms, hallways, and tunnels was pretty much like knowing the back of our hand.

When we finally reached and vaulted through our escape window, these occultists were nowhere to be seen or heard. We kept running through the hospital grounds until we reached Jason's car with no concern for the patrol guards. We would have rather gotten caught by the guards than these occultists, and I ended up puking twice in the parking lot, whether the cause was fear, sprinting non-stop for a mile and a half, or a combination of both. I'm not sure what would have happened if these two had caught us, but I know for certain that they weren't going to crack open a beer and sing kumbaya by the candlelight. Now, I'm not familiar with cultic practices or satanic rituals, so I'm not sure what the men were trying to do or if they were summoning something or

whatever. Jason and I never returned to that hospital during that summer or any of the following summers. While we aren't close now that we're adults, I know that horrifying experience will keep us cemented in each other's memories until we die. To be continued... about Jeffrey Dahmer until the show. After each episode, I realized Dahmer wasn't this crazy genius serial killer, but instead just some sick monster that got lucky with every murder because no one, especially the police, took any of the signs or calls serious enough to catch him from the first murders. To think he could have been stopped early on, but wasn't due to police negligence, is something that will never sit right with me, but that's not what I'm writing about. This series reminded me about a time in my life I unknowingly dated a literal serial psychopath. I can't go as far as to call him a murderer because

he didn't actually murder anybody successfully. For protection, I'm changing names and leaving out a few details to not give away my identity. I was 22 when I met Kevin. He was older than me. I always dated men a bit older than me, but Kevin was 44 when we met. Now I know what you're thinking. No, he wasn't a sugar daddy ordeal. I met him through a friend whose job he frequented and he most certainly didn't look 44. He was tall, fit, wore stylish clothes, super handsome, the whole nine yards. He looked maybe 36 to 38 at most, which is still a big age gap, but I didn't mind the gap. Anyway, she gave him my info as he was always very kind, handsome, and vented to my friend about wanting to date after his divorce but didn't know how to start. Friend gave me the heads up and although I was annoyed, after I saw what he looked like in a photo, I wasn't upset anymore.

He was sweet, had good humor to him, and overall had an inviting personality to him so we arranged a date after talking for a week or two. He asked me to drive over and meet him at his place and he'll drive me to the restaurant. I know, seems sketchy but I figured that he would be stupid if anything and I had my location on and let a few friends know about what I was doing and with who in case something were to happen. I drove into an incredibly nice neighborhood and found his house, and all I can say was, wow. He greeted me and said, come inside, I'll pull the car out right now. I entered and waited for him to bring the car out of the garage,

past the truck in the driveway. He pulled out this supercar, a model that would set you back $150,000. I was shocked because I wasn't expecting to get into that kind of car. He noticed my surprise and said, I know, it's a lot, but I never have an excuse to drive it, so I figured tonight would be a good night to bring it out. I chuckled and we were off for our date. We arrived at the restaurant and he had reservations

there and as soon as we walked in, we received some very curious stares. It seemed strange but I guessed we'd look like an odd couple so I let it be. Throughout dinner, he was genuinely engaged in our conversation and interested in what I had to say. He spoke gently, focused entirely on me, and was very respectful. He wasn't in the least bit creepy or pervy, and overall, he was great at conversation. About an hour and a half passed, and he started opening up about his ex-wife. He told me he ended his relationship just shy of the eight-month mark. It had been a 90-day fiancé situation where he fell in love with a woman from another country that he met on a spiritual yoga retreat.

However, it didn't work out after they married a stranger following a month-long vacation together. Shocker. Apparently, she had been draining him of a lot of money, starting fights, and they realized that they didn't have much in common. She ended up going back home after he had to pay thousands of dollars in divorce paperwork. I wasn't sure how to react, but his honesty made me trust him a bit more. The best way to describe this man was a complete charmer to provide some perspective. After dinner, we went back to his house for a glass of wine. Immediately upon entering beyond

the entrance, I noticed cameras everywhere, in the corner of every room. It was weird, but I figured it was for extra protection and security. He poured us some wine, and after just two more glasses, he fell asleep on the couch next to me. I was completely confused and weirded out so I just quietly left and went home. I immediately told my friend, laughed it off and just went to bed. The next morning I woke up to a ton of texts from Kevin apologizing and expressing how embarrassed and shocked he was that he fell asleep. He wanted to redeem himself. I told him it was okay, understanding that we all have those days and embarrassing oneself when sober feels terrible. A day later, we went on our date again, following the same routine. After dinner, we returned to his place to chat away from the crowded bar.

We were relatively sober, about three drinks in, when out of nowhere he asked, What are you into? I asked for clarification and he proceeded to inquire about my physical preferences, any kinks, etc. If it isn't already obvious, I'm into the daddy thing and dominance in a man, physically, financially, and emotionally. I told him it was mostly due to my actual daddy issues and he excused himself to fetch something. He returned from the kitchen with a large leather suitcase. Before I could ask, he brought out chains, whips and paddles of all sorts, revealing,

this is what I like. My face turned a bit pink. I wasn't expecting that. He, the sweet, wholesome yogi, liked whips and chains. Alright, I was into it, the best of both worlds. He then informed me that for our relationship to progress, I would have to sign three legal documents. I understood why he might want an NDA given his work, but I was curious about the other two. I'd had experience dating a man up there, so NDAs weren't new to me. When I asked about the other forms, he explained that both were consent forms, and one was a binding document stating that I couldn't sue him or press charges

for anything that happened in the bedroom. I stared blankly at him, not sure what to say at that moment. We both glanced at the clock, realizing that it was late and agreed to discuss it further another time. I gave him a hug and headed home. During the entire drive, I replayed the last hour of our date in my head. The suitcase, his body language, the look in his eyes when he brought up the contracts. It all felt incredibly sinister. It was a feeling I'd never gotten from him, so being myself, I conducted a background check and I couldn't believe what I discovered about this man. Now warning, the following information may be disturbing to some

listeners. I'm unaware of his serious and casual relationships, but I do know that he was married twice and divorced twice. His first marriage lasted several years, I don't know the exact timeline, but his most recent, second marriage lasted only a few months, including the engagement period as this was the wife on a spousal visa. The first documents I found on this man were his traffic records. Everyone gets a ticket, not a big deal. However, he had enough DUIs and DWIs to completely suspend his license for a couple of years, suggesting that he had a drinking problem. After the never-ending traffic records, I found several of his social media profiles and his company website. Pretty normal so far.

And then I stumbled upon the court documents. Every single trial, hearing, court case and charge. Everything was detailed. I didn't even know where to start. I guess I'll begin with the less severe stuff, but if you could even call it that. He used to tie up his ex-wife with silk ropes and bondage, not for consensual bedroom stuff, though that's how it started. Instead, he'd leave her tied up, defenseless, and watch her struggle for hours. He once left her tied up for so long that she had severe bruises and bloody blisters on her hands and ankles, and she was severely dehydrated.

It was sickening. I won't use the R word as I'm sensitive to it, but there's no need to delve into the details of how many times or the severity of it. Yes, he assaulted his wife and ex several times. At this point, I felt myself going pale. I couldn't imagine what it must have been like for those women. That wasn't even the worst part. He had her email, social media accounts, and her actual cell phone tapped. He even bugged the front-facing camera on her Android to turn on and off at his discretion.

I couldn't fathom how he managed that. His possessiveness didn't end there. He tracked her location, bugged her phone and car, and showed up at her job, girls' dinners, and family homes, both during and after the relationship ended. He recorded many of their intimate moments and had a significant collection of his wife's personal photos, some consensual, but most were not. After a fight between them broke out, he leaked an intimate photo of them on his and her socials. If the said social site deleted the image after violating the terms and agreements,

or it was reported, he would simply re-upload it until the threat of permanent account termination. As if that isn't already disgusting and evil enough, he went as far as to mail intimate Polaroid pictures of his wife to her mother and father, attempting to tarnish their daughter's image. What kind of sick person would do that to their own in-laws? I paused after reading that, unable to imagine what her parents must have felt, having their son-in-law betray their daughter in their trust like that. God, and that wasn't even the worst part. As I mentioned earlier, he had his license suspended in several DUIs and DWIs.

As a result, he had to report regularly to a parole office. However, he wasn't on parole because of the DWIs. He was on parole because of the attempted murder of his ex-girlfriend. Yes, attempted murder. It wouldn't be long until he attempted the same with his ex-wife. I won't go into detail. I don't want to relive it and I don't want to give away details, but just know that she was very lucky the neighbors got involved. There was a restraining order and protective order against Kevin by his exes and every member of their family. From the documents alone, I don't know how they're doing, honestly. I know the ex-wife went back to her home country, and his other girlfriends I have no clue about.

Crazy enough, this person didn't serve almost any jail time or prison time. I know he paid a lot in damages and I know his lawyers weren't cheap. He had to do a lot of community service, take several behavioral courses and I know he served behind bars for a few months through the years. I don't think he was punished enough. I don't think he suffered enough. I don't think he ever realized the severity and impact of his actions. He permanently ruined the lives of these women and he just got a slap on the wrist. He's still driving his dream car, living in his dream house, and somehow managed to keep his dream job. And these women? God, I hope they're doing okay.

One thought kept repeating over and over in my head. I was inside this man's home. I was alone. I was three feet away from potentially experiencing the trauma some of his exes went through. I thought he was charming. I thought he was wonderful. He was and still is a monster. I'm so thankful nothing happened and we didn't even share a kiss. God was truly watching over me that day. And after reading over the last few pages of the court documents, I felt nauseous, a little lightheaded and pretty much speechless.

I didn't know what to think, what to feel, excepting that as my reality versus some story I read on Reddit left me shocked. Really, I think I'll make a part two to this story as I'm getting pretty tired and I can only handle talking so much about this. Needless to say, I caught all contact with him, WintGhost, and he didn't bother with me much after that, but we did run into each other at the supermarket once and I felt paralyzed as we locked eyes. A monster, not some crazy fictional beast or ghost or evil spirit, just an everyday guy capable of unleashing real evil onto this earth. A man so sick and demented, he perfected being a master manipulator and charmer. I pray for the safety and health of those women from his past and I pray Kevin gets what he deserves in this life.

Thank you to everyone listening and be careful. You never know what the person standing in front of you is truly capable of. Let me start by saying that I'm a big fan of Let's Read and I've been listening for a while now. Just recently I watched your video about EMT and other emergency service stories and decided that I wanted to share some of my own stories. I'm a male in my 30s, an RN, and I've been working in a pediatric ED for almost a decade now. Most people who meet me outside of work hear that I work in a kids ER and assume that I deal with runny noses and boo-boos all day. While that certainly comes with the territory, we are still an emergency room and on top of that, we are designated a trauma center.

This means that we get all types of crazy cases either walking through the front door or being flown in by helicopter. We're talking about a toddler who shot himself between the eyes with his dad's roommate's handgun, a narcissistic preteen taking pictures of his unclothed little sister and selling them on the internet, and a car accident so bad that the driver's limbs were almost completely severed. All of these stories deserve lengthy explanations in themselves, but I'd like to share a case that I experienced when I was a newer nurse working in our trauma zone. While I wasn't directly assigned to the trauma rooms that day, I was stationed close enough that I could see and hear everything that was going on. It started with an EMT radio call about a six-year-old boy who got his arm caught in a meat grinder. The EMTs were bringing the boy along with the meat grinder

so you could guess it was more than just a little stuck. I had a clear view of the gurney while the paramedics rolled through the ambulance bay and I could see that the word caught was a gross understatement. This boy's arm was completely through the meat grinder all the way up to the elbow, maybe even a little further. On the other end was just a little jumble of thin ribbons of flesh. I looked at the boy's face and he had just a blank stare, not making a sound. I could see the complete shock, his brain unable to comprehend the situation yet, and when I say meat grinder, I'm not talking about one of those old hand crank ones you get at Walmart. We're talking about an industrial strength electric meat grinder bolted to the kitchen counter.

The EMTs had to unbolt the machine from the counter before they could load the kid into the ambulance. There wasn't much bleeding with the grinder still in the arm and the kid was stable, but the trauma surgeon made sure the OR was ready upstairs in case the grinder was removed and the arm started gushing blood. but the trauma surgeon made sure the OR was ready upstairs in case the grinder was removed, and the arm started gushing blood. We had to call the maintenance team just to disassemble this thing piece by piece. The arm didn't start bleeding profusely once the machine was removed, thank God, but the kid was sent directly to the OR. After the dust settled, we get word of the whole story. Turns out that the kid was at his grandmother's house and the grandmother had the terrible idea to have the kid help her grind up meat to make a meal. This lady was having this six-year-old boy shove chunks of meat into an industrial-strength meat grinder.

Well, when this grandmother heard the boy screaming and turned her head to see his arm being pulled halfway through the machine, she quickly hit the kill switch and called an ambulance. While waiting for the ambulance, she became so distraught and guilt-ridden with the whole situation that she picked up a kitchen knife from the counter and started stabbing herself in the chest. When the ambulance arrived at the house and went into the kitchen, they found the grandmother with a knife in her chest and had to call in a second ambulance to take her to an adult trauma center. Picture this six-year-old boy standing there with his arm through a meat grinder, watching his grandmother stab herself in the chest. Just a few weeks ago, I actually spoke

with a traveling nurse at our facility who was on the team back then that worked on the grandmother. I found out, probably unsurprisingly, that the grandmother did not make it. This happened to me on New Year's Eve of 2021 when I was 17 on a now-deleted app called It's Me. It was an app where you can talk to people from all around the world without the fear of showing your face as you created your animated avatar. Looking back, the app was a really enjoyable experience because I met people I'm still friends with today. However, most people who used It's Me could agree that it could get toxic. Many users, including myself, trolled parties, which were basically live streams, where a host could allow three other people to talk with them,

and the party's guests could comment in the chat. One time I was trolling a party when I was new to the app, and the host was, unbeknownst to me, quite notorious on the app and already had a large following. Before this, I'd never heard of the host, although I knew a couple of her friends. Her name was Kehlani, and mine was Salinas, not my real name. Usually, the people I trolled didn't have the reaction I wanted, i.e. arguing back, but this host started arguing back and we went back and forth for a while, with the party getting many guests and the comments were kind of going wild. After the party, I texted her on the app, going back and forth with her again until we were full on beefing and I asked her to meet up. Honestly, I didn't want to fight this girl because I was only arguing with her for fun, but she was taking me seriously. She told me she lived in Chicago and I lived in

Milwaukee, so I thought that there was no point in driving one hour and a half just to fight a girl I'd never even met. At the time, I was stupid and still had the mindset of a hood rat, so me pulling up to this girl wasn't far-fetched. It got to the point where she wouldn't shut up, so I did something I still regret to this day. I told her that I'd meet her at her place if she was with it, and she accepted. I hopped in my car and put her address in the GPS. Not gonna lie, the apartment building she lived in looked sketchy and ghetto, but I didn't really care because I also was from the hood. I brought my twin sister with me just in case Kehlani had people with her to jump me. As we pulled up, I saw a girl who looked Hispanic, had sneakers and a hoodie on,

so I presumed it was her because of her accent and her clothes. I told my sister to wait in the car because she looked to be alone. I ran up to her and we started fighting. Not to brag or anything, but I've been in many fights growing up in the hood, so I do know how to defend myself properly. To be honest, I was getting the best of her when out of nowhere, some guy proceeded to pick me up and try to separate us. At first, I thought it was some kind of security for the apartment building, but he wasn't wearing any kind of uniform or anything. Actually, he looked quite a mess looking back, and he reeked of alcohol too. He managed to somehow separate us even though at this point I was going insane crazy and Kehlani was still trying to get little hits in. By this time, my sister came out of the

car when she saw the guy getting involved and presumably Kehlani's friends who came from inside the building trying to hold her back. After we were separated, the guy literally started dragging me to a rusty beat up black Honda that was parked nearby. I started fearing for my life and screamed my sister's name. She came sprinting but the guy had already opened the trunk and threw me in, trying to shut it. I was kicking and screaming but he was really strong and managed to shut the trunk. My heart practically stopped when I felt the car speed off, and I can still remember my sister's screams for help. We drove for maybe five minutes, and I'm claustrophobic, so I'm frantically trying to get out of the tiny trunk. I was texting my sis, and luckily she informed me

that she called the police already, and she was following the car. After a few minutes the car stopped and he lifted the trunk and dragged me by the hair into some house that looked run down and dirty from the outside. He practically threw me into the house and I saw my sister running after the guy with a baseball bat we brought just in case anything bad was to happen. She managed to get one good hit on the man with the bat but he kicked her off and locked the door. Even though I heard sirens nearby, I was still terrified of what he was going to do to me. He dragged me into some room in the back of the house and the whole time I was fighting him off as best I could. The police then burst in a couple of seconds later and tackled the man.

Surprisingly, he didn't resist and was quite calm, letting them handcuff him. I was reunited with my sister and in that moment, I realized how precious life can truly be. Ever since that day, I changed for the better. My sister and I no longer beef with anybody and we've definitely grown up in the past year. After the incident, Kehlani left the app. I decided to call it Quits Me soon after as well because many people I was cool with started moving on and I wanted to leave the memory of that day behind. I never told anyone on It's Me what happened, not even my friends, as I was afraid no one would believe me. So if there's anything to take away from this story, it's not to make dangerous decisions like I did that day, pulling up to a sketchy neighborhood to fight a stranger. The It's Me app was shut down on

August 10th of this year and was replaced with a new app called Codename. Recently, I moved back to England with my sister and we both go to an amazing college here. I just hope that all of you stay safe and try to grow and be wise. A few years ago, my sister, mom, and I decided to go on a girl's trip to Jamaica. I had just turned 18, so I was super excited to be able to legally drink during my trip. The majority of our trip was amazing. We spent most of our time drinking and hanging out on the beach. We stayed at a resort so we had a private beach and aside from some stairs from a few creepy old men and resort workers, my sister, mom and I never felt unsafe and we had a great time.

However, this changed at the end of our stay. The day before we were supposed to leave, we had just returned to our room after spending the morning and part of the afternoon on the beach and walking around the resort. The hotel room phone suddenly rang, which we didn't think much of since we assumed it was the front desk asking about our department from the resort. My mom picked up the phone and it was the front desk. They told us that we had a visitor at the gate and the entrance to the resort. My mom asked the staff to describe the visitor or tell her their name since we weren't expecting anybody. The front desk person kept dodging her questions and kept repeating that someone was asking for my mom at the entrance and was refusing to leave and I started to internally panic. Eventually my mom hung up and she looked

and sounded pretty freaked out. About five minutes after the phone call we heard a knock at the door. My mom asked who it was and the person behind the door said it was room service with a male voice. She checked through the peephole, and the person was not dressed in any hotel uniform and didn't have any cart or items indicating that they were with room service or the hotel staff. She said that the man was wearing normal street clothes and looked very scary. We didn't answer the door, and when we checked again, the man was gone. My mom called my dad who was back home in the United States and told him everything that had happened. That evening, my dad arranged for security to take us back to our room after we went to dinner.

He also informed the hotel staff and security about the situation. They escorted us to our room and showed great concern. They were very kind and helpful, making us feel a lot safer. We didn't receive any phone calls or hear any knocks at the door for the rest of the night. We left the next morning and we still don't know the full story regarding who the visitor or the man at the door was nor their intentions. Maybe they knew that it was just us three girls on the trip without a male and were trying to rob us or worse. I had a great time on that trip but that situation really scared me and made me hesitant about traveling without a guy. Which is kind of sad when you think about it.

Stay safe while traveling everyone and always be alert. You never know what can happen. Now, I never leave the house without my gun. I always have some type of protection on me or around me at all times. I still get very jumpy from loud knocking at the door and I never walk alone at night. All because of a few experiences that happened to me in the fall of 2015. For reference, I'm a short and small framed female. At the time I was 17 years old, attending a technical college, working as a waitress, and had just moved into my first apartment.

I never worried about living on my own, and I never really thought anything weird or creepy would ever happen to me. The day I moved in, I went to the leasing office to sign some paperwork, and that's when I first saw him. The maintenance man was an extremely tall, slightly older man, probably in his late 40s with dark short hair, dark bags under his eyes, and tan, aged skin. I couldn't help but notice him trying to discreetly watch me while fumbling in the leasing office fridge trying to look busy. He gave me the weirdest feeling and looked at me and other women in the office like pieces of meat.

I tried to ignore it and went back to my new apartment to unpack. Unfortunately for me, I ended up with an apartment on the third floor, so getting everything up the three flights of stairs was quite a chore. However, I did enjoy the view the apartment's balcony had of the city. That week I began working as a waitress for a restaurant in the shopping center next to the apartment complex. I was so grateful that I worked at a place so close to where I lived because not long after I started there, the crappy car that a sleazy car salesman tricked me into buying, a car that was older than me, broke down again, and this time beyond repair. I'd have to walk to work every day until I got a new car.

I didn't mind the walks at first. It was only a five-minute walk. I liked the early autumn air, the leaves on the ground, and the few minutes to think before and after my shifts. After a few late shifts, I started feeling uneasy on my walks home. I just had an ominous feeling in the back of my mind, like I was being followed or watched. I tried to rationalize my fears by telling myself that it's just the eeriness of walking in the dark alone, and when I'd look around around I would never see anyone. Seeing as I had to walk from the front of the parking lot to the very back to get to my place didn't help. I thought I'd get used to it eventually and tried to shake it off. Those feelings went on for a couple of weeks until I decided to take an extra day off from my usual schedule and spend the day out with my boyfriend.

When we got back to my place, all the lights were off. How I left it, except the one in my bedroom towards the back. We didn't notice at first and continued our conversation as we walked in the door when all of a sudden we heard someone say, Uh, maintenance. And the tall dark figure of the maintenance man came out of our room and stammered about him checking on something walked past us and left quickly how did he just get in i thought maybe i left the door unlocked and would make a point to make sure it's locked from now on

if that were to happen to me now again i'd probably tell him off and report it or something. But I was young and didn't think much more about it. Two days later, after I finished the closing chores at work at around 11.30pm, I was walking home deep in thought about the day that I just had. I burned my hand on a plate of fresh food and then dropped two plates all over the floor in front of the customers and was yelled at by my boss and picked on by my co-workers all night. It was an awful shift and I was so embarrassed and just wanted to shower and crawl into bed. I entered the apartment parking lot when all of a sudden I was spooked by the sound of a can rolling on the ground and some type of sweeping sound. When I looked behind me, I saw the maintenance man at the front of the parking lot sweeping

and occasionally glancing up at me. I didn't think much about it at first and turned to face forward again. As the noise of the sweeping continued, I realized how weird it was that he was still at work so close to midnight. When I turned back to look at him, he was now closer and sweeping as he walked towards my direction. I thought it could just be a coincidence at first but started walking faster because it was starting to freak me out. I glanced back again and to my horror, he didn't have the

broom anymore, had one hand in his pocket, and was walking straight at me very quickly. I just started running. But when I made it to the stairs that led to my apartment, I didn't slow down. I ran up all three flights of stairs as fast as I could. I felt my heart pumping in my chest as I raced up each step. When I finally got to the top floor, I looked over the railing, and he made eye contact with me from the bottom of the stairs as he reached them. He had a look in his eyes that sent chills down my spine. It was a mix of desperate, angry and,

I don't know, something darker. After that brief moment he started running up the stairs after me. I ran over to my door, all while hearing him grunting as he worked his way towards me. I cursed at myself for fumbling the keys in my hands and turned the lock as fast as I could, swung the door open, and slammed it shut and locked it. At a breath, I put my back against the door and tried to process what had just happened. I got rides home from work for several days afterwards, but I didn't want to keep asking for help, so I told myself that I was overreacting and that it would be fine. Two weeks had passed since the incident happened with the maintenance man. I had almost forgotten about it because I hadn't seen him around at all since.

One night off work I was home alone and studying for some classes and waiting for my boyfriend to get off of work at 2am so he could spend the night. I took a break to make some tea when I thought I heard a sound like breaking glass outside. I didn't pay too much attention to it. I had rowdy neighbors but they were always so nice and young like I was and I'm not one to complain. I sat back down with my tea and continued to study. About 10 minutes later, I heard a knock at the door. I got up to answer it and as I reached for the handle, I stopped when I got that familiar creepy feeling that I get when walking home. I looked through the peephole and it was completely dark out there and my porch light wasn't working so I couldn't see who it was. I flipped the switch a few more times and thought

that that was very strange. I shouted through the door, who is it? But no one answered. I pressed my ear to the door and could hear that someone was there when they shuffled a bit. I shouted again, if you don't tell me who you are, I won't open the door. After I said that, the person started pounding loudly. I yelped and went into survival mode. The only weapon I could think of in the heat of the moment was a crowbar that I had from the closet and said, I'm going to call the police. And that's when the pounding stopped for a moment, but then I heard a sound that can only be described as like a body being thrown at the door, and then a big, loud bang. It happened again, and then again. I screamed and ran to my bedroom and locked the door, and threw myself against it and dialed 911.

Holding the crowbar in one hand and the phone in the other, I'd loudly told the operator what was happening, but by that time, I didn't hear the banging anymore. Ten minutes later, an officer came. He knocked and announced himself. Still full of adrenaline and nervous to open the door, I opened the door to a very nice and helpful officer. The officer asked me what happened and after hearing my story, he asked me if any of the bangs sounded lower on the door. I looked at him confused, thinking maybe he was trying to size the person up or something and I answered, I'm not sure why. And that's when he opened the door to reveal several large boot prints in the middle of the door and my porch light smashed.

I now knew what that crashing sound was. The cops told me, luckily who did this didn't kick right by the door handle because I'm afraid if he had, he would have been successful in kicking the door down. And he pointed to the pathetic little screw that had moved from its socket to the door frame. I don't know why I never told the officer about the maintenance man when he asked me if I could think of anyone that would do this. I might have just been too freaked out to make the connection. Officers patrolled the area that night and a report was filed but they never found anyone acting suspicious so there was nothing else that could be done. I later

installed extra locks, and my brother-in-law put a screw that was three times as long in the door frame, and I got rides home from work until I moved shortly after. And that's why I always keep protection on me. I had never been in such a scary situation in my life, and haven't since. It really changed me. Who knows what would have happened to me if that man had been successful in breaking in. What if he had a gun? Would I even be alive to type this? And sometimes I wonder if it really was that creepy old maintenance man that followed me home that night. Isn't Halloween the best? I was never a huge fan of Halloween until I got to college.

Me and my girls would get all dolled up and have these massive parties every year. It's something we've continued well into our adulthood. Well, let me rephrase that when I mean by dolled up. We take Halloween very seriously. We don't just wear skimpy costumes for the sakes of being cute. We get extremely dressed up and go all out. Several years ago, my fiancé went as Wolverine and I went as Rogue from the X-Men. Our costumes were homemade and I would argue better than the films.

Last year, he went as a post-apocalyptic Willy Wonka and I was a zombified Oompa Loompa. So yeah, when I say dolled up, I mean we go all out. I don't remember the exact year, but it was definitely more than five years ago and I was in my twenties. I hadn't met my fiancé yet, so I was still a single lady, as Beyoncé would say. The specific year's Halloween costume party was going to be at my friend Bella's house. She had gotten married that summer and this was the first big party she was having at her and her husband's new home. It was a big beautiful home with a ton of land. He was a lawyer or something like that and she had some government jobs so they did alright financially. Every year since we started the costume party tradition, my friends and I would come up with a theme for our costumes.

That year the theme was morbid fairy tales. I was dressed up as Little Red Riding Hood, except I had just butchered the Big Bad Wolf, so my costume had a lot of fake blood and I was wearing a lot of grotesque fake wounds. As always, my costume was getting a lot of attention. I loved the attention because I always worked really hard on my costume. And earlier in the night, I noticed someone standing in the kitchen. It was a person with a smaller frame and they were wearing slightly baggy jeans, a navy blue sweatshirt, and they were wearing a Frankenstein mask. I pointed out this detail about the person in the kitchen because it felt like the person was kind of just staring right at me. And I don't mean that kind of stare that I get on Halloween because of my costume being intense. This stare felt almost weird, a little malicious. You can say what you want about feelings, but I had a feeling

in my gut about that person. So much of a feeling that I left the area and went to stand in the living room on the other side of the house. A few hours went by, tons of mingling and talking to people and then I noticed that person again. This time they were standing on the back porch and it still looked like they were sort of staring at me. I don't know why it made me so unnerved and uncomfortable, but it did. The way Bella's house was set up was that the living room was all windows except for a big sliding door. The door opened to a huge wraparound porch and people were outside on the porch drinking and having a good time since it was a beautiful night. Except this Frankenstein person who was just standing against one of the wooden railings on the porch, staring inside the windows,

still seemingly directly at me. I tried to get Bella so I could ask her who that person was, or at the very least I could see if I was just kind of being paranoid. Unfortunately, I couldn't get Bella alone and I didn't want to start any issues at the party. I walked away and tried to focus on having a good time. Thankfully, not long had passed and I had sort of forgotten about old Frankenstein. The people at the party started to thin out at around midnight. At this point during the night, I had completely forgotten all about the masked person and I really wish that I hadn't because I was about to be reminded of them in the worst possible way.

Bella's house is on a small hill. The basement of the house has a door that leads to the backyard. The way the house sits, the backyard is level with the basement and the front of the house is elevated from the hill. I know that may sound confusing but it's the best way that I can describe the house and it's important to know for this next part of the story. Outside of the basement door and the back of the house underneath the wraparound porch was where Bella kept all her trash and recyclables. I decided to stay a little later and help Bella clean since the house was a mess. I told her that I'd take down all the boxes from the kitchen and throw them in the recycling bin.

Now if I had remembered how uncomfortable I felt earlier in the night from that masked person I would have never done this alone, but as they say, hindsight is always 20-20. I made one trip down to the basement and out the door with no issues. When I re-entered the basement from outside, I thought that I heard some shuffling in the basement. I listened intently for a second, but didn't hear anything. I didn't know the house that well, so it's entirely possible that the house was just making some weird noises. That's what I told myself anyway. I went upstairs and grabbed another load of recyclables. When I got downstairs, I noticed the outside door was shut. I knew I left it open because I didn't want to have to set down all the

recyclables to open the door. Assuming it was the wind or some kind of draft, I just set everything down so I could open the door again. As I was putting the boxes of bottles down, I happened to look to my right, and I saw that green Frankenstein mask reflecting some light. In that moment, I was immediately reminded of how I felt earlier in the evening. The worst part was that they didn't move. I don't think they noticed me right away.

I tried to move slowly and calmly to the doors so I didn't bring any attention to myself. As soon as I grabbed the doorknob, the figure charged from their hiding position. I screamed, but I don't think anybody heard me since Bella and a few people who were left upstairs were blasting music while they were cleaning. The person put me in a bear hug, but as I said earlier, they were on the smaller side, so I was able to shake them off. It freed me up for a second that I needed to open the door and run into the backyard. I was still screaming, hoping that somebody would hear me. I looked back while I was running, and they were chasing me. What a horrible memory that is burned into my mind.

I must have made enough noise in the backyard because Bella's husband saw me from the kitchen and ran as fast as he could to chase that Frankenstein person. He tackled the person to the ground, and the grunt I heard surprised me. Bella ran outside already on the phone with the police and her husband ripped the mask off and it was a woman underneath the Frankenstein mask. She was screaming and crying. She looked crazy and ten times scarier with the mask off. The police showed up and did apprehend the woman. Bella asked if I knew the woman, and not only did I not know her, but I had never seen her before in my life. After some time had passed and we got the entire story, we realized how messed up it was. This poor woman attacked me thinking that I was somebody else. You see, she had recently separated from her husband and thought that I was the woman that her husband was now seeing and potentially cheating with prior.

And in some weird coincidence, me and the woman that she thought I was share a name. She found me on social media and saw me posting about this party. I don't know what she planned on doing to that poor woman and thank god I'll never figure it out. Now I understand a broken heart can make you do some insane things but this is something I never expected to happen and at the end of the day I just hope this woman gets the help that she needs. At least now I'll always have a crazy Halloween story that I can share. So let me be the first to acknowledge that in my mid-twenties, I was a dirtbag. I was a single man that basically was doing whatever I wanted. And when I think back to that time in my life, I tend to kind of cringe.

I did a lot of bad things, hurt a lot of people, and truly I was just a piece of garbage. There were a few times, though, that I was just a piece of garbage. There were a few times though that I was served a nice big piece of humble pie though, whether it was the cops arresting me or being knocked out because I overestimated my ability. However, one late October night I was served the biggest piece of that humble pie I mentioned. I hate Halloween and I always have. I was the kid that went trick-or-treating with my friends without a costume, and I was the same kid that would cuss out the person giving out candy that wouldn't give me any because I didn't have a costume. I told you, I was cringe.

This hate for Halloween continued into my adult years. I would date girls that wanted to dress up, and I just refused. And it got to the point where I wouldn't even go to the parties around Halloween because I just didn't get it. One year though, I had a change of heart. Not because I magically started to like Halloween or anything like that. Instead, obviously, it was because I met a girl. Her name was Bree and she was my type. I just casually met her at the bar on a random Tuesday night in October and we got to talking and, of course, her love for Halloween came up and she could see my disgust. I told her all of the stories and went on and on about why I hated Halloween and she seemed to kind of understand but then said in an almost seductive voice, I really think you need to reconsider.

Now being the condescending jerk that I was, I laughed and told her no way. She pointed to the corner of the bar and there were three other girls over there. Much like Bree, all three of these women were my type. Bree waved and the women waved back. I was trying to put the puzzle pieces together in my mind but I couldn't figure out what Bree was getting out. In that same sort of seductive voice, she then says, those are my girls. We're going to a Halloween party in the middle of the woods, and none of us have dates. You should be our date tonight. I kid you not, that's exactly what she said to me. All I did was smile and continue laughing, mostly ironically, and Bree started to rub my hand and gave me all sorts of

good vibes. And without going into details, Bree talked me into this Halloween party. The kind of person I was back then was never going to say no to this type of implication. When I was leaving the bar that night with all of these beautiful women, it never occurred to me just how many red flags there truly were. For starters, who has a Halloween party on a random Tuesday night? Was it possible? Of course, but not very likely, I guess. Also, who just trusts some random dude at the bar to escort them to the woods? They didn't know me at all. I realize people meet each other in bars all the time and go to parties and gatherings, but the circumstances here just seemed very strange. But I was an ignorant guy and the way that I saw it was that I got to spend my

evening with four beautiful women and I had a full night of fun on my mind. I drove my car with Bree and one of the other girls. The other two women drove separately. I was instructed to follow the other car because she knew the way to the party. This was before GPSes, so this was my version of a GPS that night. We drove for a while, long enough that I was starting to have doubts about my decision making. Bree was smart and attentive though. Every time I thought of doubt pass through my mind, it was like she kind of knew. And that's when she'd kiss my neck or start saying some wild things, and the doubt would all disappear just like that.

And finally, the car in front pulled over to the side of the road, and I followed suit. Wherever we were, there wasn't a light to be found. Two of the girls pulled out flashlights and sort of gestured for me to follow them. There was a small path that almost looked hidden in this thick brush on the side of the road. The three women walked in front with the flashlights and Bree and I followed from behind. I was trying to listen for any type of noise like music or talking but just heard nothing but the sort of quiet stillness of the forest. Without any notice the girls in front started to sprint. Now Bree held me back.

At this point I was just going along with anything. She started to guide me back towards one of the trees and was so dark that I could barely see. There was just enough moonlight that I could barely make out the details of her face. When I finally felt the tree on my back, Bree looked up at me like she was going to kiss me. I closed my eyes and sort of leaned in for a kiss and that's where everything changed. Instead of locking lips, I was hit in the head with the backside of what I think was a flashlight. I covered my head instinctively because it hurt really bad and that's when another shot from the flashlight

came down on top of my head. That strike got me down on my knees. I didn't realize that Bree had a purse when we were walking. When she was guiding me toward the tree, she quietly pulled it out and I didn't notice it until she struck me in the head with that as well. While I was down, I could hear the sounds of footsteps rapidly approaching and I glanced from my near fetal position and saw the girls from before coming directly at me. Instead of helping me like I thought maybe they would, they started to beat me down with the flashlights as well. And before long, I was in the full fetal

position trying to cover my head. All four women were beating me with the flashlights while throwing in some high-heeled kicks in the ribs. They took my wallet and they took my cell phone. Now at the time I was broke and it was just some crappy flip phone but at least if I had that I could have called the police. After they grabbed the wallet they kicked me a few more times and ran back the way they came and I even heard the car drive away and I just laid there down on the dirt ground for a long time. I finally got up and I walked towards my car. It felt like a truck had just hit me. Thankfully they couldn't find my keys but they did smash my windshield and passenger side door. I was in so much pain but I drove until I found a 24 hour

gas station and had the lady there call the police. So I ended up giving the names and descriptions of the women to the police, but needless to say, they never found them. Clearly this Bree, it wasn't her real name. The entire time I followed that car, I never bothered to even pay attention to what type of car it was. I didn't even know if it was black, dark grey or even some navy colored car. And it wasn't long after that night that I truly started to make some changes to my life. I'm lucky that I was able to crawl away from that with just a few broken ribs. And it freaks me out sometimes when I think about those girls and realize that they're probably still out there. And even now, in my late 30 worked for has held an awesome Halloween party. Six years ago, the owners had changed hands and the new owners love Halloween. The only other time of the year the company hosts a party is for Christmas and that party is your typical corporate party.

The Halloween party is not at all what you would expect from a company party. The owners go out of their way to make sure the party is awesome. The best catering, open bar and even a driving service so nobody has to drive home after they've been drinking. The coolest thing about the Halloween party, though, is the costume contest. This isn't just your best costume wins type contest. It's so much more. The company incentivizes everyone to partake by offering a $500 gift card and a vacation destination every year.

The owners pay for everything themselves and make sure everyone has a good time no matter what. One of the rules they described after the first year was that the same person could not win twice. That's a bummer for me because I won the second year. Now instead of participating in the contest, I'm one of the judges, which is awesome. It's usually just the upper management team that judges and they're a bit older than everybody else. With me as one of the judges, I'm able to provide a more youthful eye, which is needed a lot of the time because some of the costumes are from pop culture and the older crowd has no idea where it's from.

This year's Halloween costume party almost didn't happen though. The incident last year almost ruined it for everyone and for me personally, I almost lost a lot more than a Halloween party. Last year's event started just like every other year. The company gives everyone the day off on the last Friday before Halloween. If Halloween falls on a Friday, they'll still do it the Friday before so parents can take their children trick-or-treating on the actual day. Instead of working on Friday, we all gathered that night at 7pm. The party formally goes until 11pm, but usually everyone stays much longer. For the first few hours, people were eating, drinking, mingling,

and submitting their names for the costume contest. Of course, you don't have to participate, but most people do so they can have a chance to win that prize. Around 9 in the evening, we gathered everyone in the main lobby. It's a huge lobby that comfortably fits everyone. Whoever is hosting the event will start calling each person up one by one to show off the costumes. Some people come up solo, some doubles, and even some groups came up to present. I saw some awesome costumes.

After everyone presented, we said that we would announce the winner at 10pm. In the meantime, everyone was just hanging out and enjoying the company party. At about 9.45, I realized that I had left my laptop in the office. Instead of leaving my laptop at the office all weekend, I figured that I would just run upstairs quickly and grab it. Admittedly, I was being one of those people walking with my head down on my phone while I was walking upstairs. Since I had a few free minutes from the party, I wanted to get caught up with my social media, my group text messages, and my fantasy football. In other words, I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings. I opened the door to the office and didn't even compute to me that the door was unlocked. I was even holding the key in my hand while I was texting. I just opened the door on autopilot. My desk cubicle was on the far left side of the

office. I didn't turn any of the lights on and just made my way down the row of desks on my left. When I got to my desk, I sat down in my chair and finished my last text. After sending the messages, I came back to my senses. I looked around my desk and I was at a loss for words. My computer, which was right there on top of my desk on Thursday night when I left, wasn't there. I looked around trying to think to myself if I had brought it into the car. The more I thought about it into the car. The more I thought about it, the more confident I became that I was certain I left it right on my desk. While I was trying to solve this mystery, I heard a voice come up from the other side of the office.

It was a deep and bellowing voice and it said, Okay, hurry up. I ducked down in my cubicle and peeked around the wall. I saw three dudes wearing masks. These really weird, generic bunny masks. Nothing unique about them. I watched them for a minute or two trying to figure out what they were doing. I didn't recognize their voices, so right away I clearly knew that they didn't work in any specific office.

I started to focus on what they were doing. They each were carrying two bags and I saw one of the masked men grab something off one of the desks and throw it in the bag. And that's when I realized what was happening. I dropped down fast trying not to bring attention to myself and I accidentally bumped my chair. My heart was about to burst through my chest because I knew it made a noise and I heard that same deep voice say again, what was that? I heard something down there. I didn't know what to do. I thought about running. I thought about screaming. I thought about calling the police. At the end of the day though, I just stood as still as a statue. I could hear them creeping up closer to my cubicle. I didn't know if these guys had weapons or what and I didn't want to find out either. When I heard the guy right near my cube,

I started to crawl around the backside. This way if the other two were by the door, they wouldn't see me. The man shouted to the other guys and said something like, I don't know what the noise was, let's just leave. Then I heard the comforting steps of them walking away. When he shouted that to the other guys, the voice sounded like it was right on top of my head. If he had walked only another few inches, he would have seen me for sure. When I heard the office door close, I called the police right away, told them what happened. They showed up fast, but those masked men were already gone they checked the cameras but couldn't get enough information to actually hone in on them

they had them briefly on camera a few times but they didn't see what vehicle they got into and due to the costumes that they were wearing they were covered from head to toe so there were no specific details that could be seen they robbed my computer as well as a bunch of others from the office. They didn't rob any other office in the building, literally specifically only mine, and that led the cops to believe that whoever robbed us had some relation with someone who works in my office. And now, nearly a year later, they never found them.

I never got that laptop back either, and this experience was truly traumatic for me. I felt like I was playing a real-life game of cat and mouse, and like I said, this year's party almost didn't happen. The only difference this year is that the party will be at a specific location, and I hope above all else, I don't see those bunny masks. I have always loved Halloween. I mean, ever since I was a little kid, I have loved the holiday. I'm not even sure if I'm supposed to call Halloween a holiday, but I am. After last year, though, I'm not sure if I'll ever feel that same love and admiration for it, though. Last year, I moved to this new town in the summer.

Unfortunately, it wasn't close to my hometown, and in fact, it's nearly on the other side of the country. We live in a time, though, where I have to go where the money is, at least while I'm relatively young. And as fall was approaching, I realized that Halloween was right around the corner, and this was about to be the first year that I didn't have anybody to celebrate with. Now, when I was younger, I used to watch horror movies all month long with my grandma. When I got older, my buddy Jason and I would watch scary movies every night and just hang out outside. Now Jason was a smoker, so we used that as an excuse to be outside and we'd sit around the bonfire all night just soaking up that crisp fall air. Needless to say, last year

was the first Halloween that I had nobody to share my time with. I'm not great at meeting people and making friends. Sure, I had my work friends, but they weren't really the sort of hangout outside of work friends, you know. And somehow at work one day, the topic of Halloween came up in conversation. My ears perked up because Halloween is like a drug to me, and the guy that I worked with, I'll just call him Russell, started talking about a Halloween party. Some of the details I couldn't really hear because he wasn't exactly right next to me, but I know I heard the phrase Halloween party.

Now I approached Russell and asked about the party, and he looked at me and smiled and so did several of my other co-workers. Russell put his hand on my shoulder, smiled and said, I don't know if it's really your thing. I got excited and I started talking about how I love Halloween and being outside at night during the fall and all that good stuff. My co-workers were looking at me sort of funny but Russell was just nodding and smiling. He started to tell me about the party this weekend and asked if I could join. So, I was excited, as anyone would be, but I tried to keep my emotions in check in front of

all my new peers. I didn't want them to think that I was lame or something like that. Russell asked if I could drive because the driver wasn't able to go anymore. That was a really way of wording it, but I didn't give it a second thought. Even if they were just using me for a ride, which I thought about after the fact, I was still pumped to get out of the house and actually do something for the Halloween season. I agreed, and Russell told me to pick them up from the work parking lot at about 10pm, Friday night. That was late for me, but I wanted to prove that, you know, I could hang with the guys. Friday night came, and I pulled into the lot a little after 10.

Russell and three other co-workers were already standing there waiting to be picked up. They were wearing these strange orange masks, and Russell had a bag with him, like a sort of gym bag of some kind. They all got into my SUV and Russell started to guide me. While I was driving, Russell said something like, oh, I forgot, take this. I need to make sure that you're covering your face too. I just took the mask and put it on top of my head, sort of like a hat for the time. It was probably too late at this point, but this is when I finally started to feel extremely weird about all of this. Number one, why the heck did I have to drive? If it was to be a designated driver, that's fine, but it was never really mentioned.

And number two, why was I picking them up from work? Sure, it could be for convenience sake, but then that brings me to number three. Why the heck were they wearing these masks, and why did I need one? I could feel my heart beating really fast. You know when you can just feel something is wrong and you're just kind of locked into a situation? That's exactly how I felt. I sort of got quiet and Russell noticed and he started to push me a little bit and said things like, You good, dude? You're looking out of it right now. You having second thoughts?

I didn't really respond. I gave him a generic answer and just kind of smiled. After about 15 minutes of driving, we pulled into some warehouse parking lot. Russell leaned over to me and said, Put your mask on, brother. It's time to party. I got out of the car with my new friends and made my way through the dark parking lot to the sealed door. I knew that there was no party on the other side of the door, but deep down I was hoping to see a raging party when they opened it. And that dream vanished right away when instead of opening the door, Russell started to pick the lock.

I stood there, basically shivering in my boots. I had a million thoughts rushing through my head at once. Like should I run? Should I call the police? Should I just partake in this obvious crime that was about to happen? What I did instead of any of those ideas was just stand there like a deer in headlights. Thankfully I had a mask on because I'm pretty sure that I was crying tears underneath it. And a minute later, Russell picked this lock and we started to walk into the factory. He made some comments like, come on boys, or something like that as we were filing inside the building. No, I think this is what they call dumb luck, but not ten steps into the building we heard someone scream, hey, you guys there, stop.

I looked up and I saw two armed security guards running in our direction. I complied and froze and I put my hands up immediately, and that apparently was the wrong plan. Somebody grabbed me by the arm and told me to run, which I stupidly followed. We ran to the car, driving off. Russell told me to take us all back to his house for the night, which again I did without question, and I was terrified all night. I couldn't stop thinking about the cops showing up. It was my vehicle, so if anybody was getting caught it would have been me.

And I lost sleep for days and even weeks thinking about that night. Thank God I was never caught somehow. I always considered turning them in, but I couldn't help but feel that I would get in trouble as well because at the end of the day I was an accomplice. Now I'm sure one day I'll be served a dish of fresh karma. We never really spoke about that night again. Russell stopped working there only a few months later, and I found out from one of my co-workers that Russell actually used some code name, blank holiday party whenever he actually wanted to rob something. For example, this was a Halloween party. The warehouse was some sort of furniture warehouse

that he used to work at, and he wanted to rob the safe that he knew was there. He was an amateur criminal for sure and he tried to bring me and several co-workers down with him. The other co-workers successfully robbed a few places with Russell before that night, but after almost getting caught they never did it again, another reason why I never turned them in. Now listen, I know I'm partially to blame here and I could have done a million things differently but I didn't. This story has been killing me for the last year so I wanted to share it and just get it off my chest anonymously. I still work at that place and live in that town. I have a few friends now but this year, and most likely forever, I'm staying away from Halloween parties. Every year around this time, I am reminded of the most horrifying event of my life.

When I was around 17 or 18 years old, I was hanging out with my group of friends who, looking back, were a pretty negative influence. I had gone from a small circle of friends to a larger group of friends who were more in the popular crowd and were experimenting with drinking and smoking. My parents were always very strict, so I had to be super careful when it came to making plans. Most of the time I would have to sneak out of the house after they went to sleep. Now getting back to the story, I was currently grounded for I think maybe three months for being caught drinking by my parents before. I remember them being really upset with me and disappointed with how I'd been acting during that time in my life. I got grounded a few weeks before Halloween and my friends were having a huge

party. They were all trying to talk me into sneaking out and attending. I remember feeling like there was no way that I could miss this party and I would regret it forever if I did. Isn't it funny what we think are priorities when we're young? I planned to sneak out and walk to the party as it was only a few blocks from my home. I wasn't going to dress up in case I needed to make a quick return home and pretend that I had been in bed the entire time. The night came and I was feeling guilty or maybe I was getting cold feet about going. I knew my parents would probably ground me for a year if they caught me and I was actually getting along really well with them lately and I didn't want to change that. After

toying with the idea of not going, I changed my mind after dozens of texts from my friends telling me what I was missing at the party. I snuck out of my window quietly and made my way to the party and as I approached it, I could tell that it was super loud, so I figured it was only going to be a matter of time before the cops came and they broke it up. My friends were all excited when I showed up and started handing me drinks so I could catch up. I drank a little bit and then found myself having to go to the bathroom. Most of the party was taking place in the kitchen and out found myself having to go to the bathroom. Most of the party was taking place in the kitchen and out on a screened in back porch. The bathroom that was

closest was in the basement. My friend told me it was down the stairs and directly to the left. There was no one down there when I went down so I quickly used the bathroom so I could head back up the stairs to the group. When I got out of the bathroom, there was someone waiting outside the door, and I sort of said to them, oh sorry, all set. And when I moved to get out of the way, they moved in my direction. This happened once or twice, and I kind of anxiously chuckled, and then just sort of bolted for the stairs. I asked my friend Mariah if she knew who this person in the black robe and white mask was, who was seemingly dressed up. She said she didn't, and I told her about us either blocking each other's path accidentally or him doing it on purpose, but they clearly were being pretty creepy about it. She laughed and said that they probably like me.

The mask wasn't like anything I'd seen before. It was sort of like a Michael Myers mask but with no hair and it had been painted with X's over the eyes and also on the mouth. Now for the remainder of the night I kept noticing the person in this mask. Wherever I went it didn't seem like they were really far behind. If I went to another room they would be there no less than a minute later and the same thing if I went outside. I tried to ignore it the best I could and at that point I wasn't drinking and wasn't really having fun. I told a few of my friends that I was going to head home. They were upset but were too drunk to even remember.

I started to walk back to my house and I remember going really fast and wanting to get home as soon as possible. I got home and made it inside my window without waking my parents up and got into bed. I couldn't help but feel uneasy. I couldn't tell what was bothering me but I was feeling really just anxious. I went up to grab a glass of water. I poured a cup and just chugged it and headed back to my room to see if I could settle down and just go back to sleep. On my way to my room, something caught my eye out of the living room window. It looked like there was something in the road. I got closer to the curtain and tried to make out what was in the road while not really being seen. And to my horror, it was the same mass that I had seen earlier, continuously stepping in and out of the streetlight. I bolted from my room and just laid there, hoping I was imagining things or assuming it wasn't real and that this would just go away.

I made sure my lights and TV were off and just sat there in silence. After about five minutes, I mustered up the courage to look out my window to see if I could see anything. As soon as I looked out the window, I saw that hooded person and that same mask with the paint on it from the party. Before I could even do anything else, I let out the loudest scream of my life. Frozen in bed, my dad came rushing in asking me what was wrong. He couldn't make out anything I was saying so I had to calm down and tell him the entire story. He called the police and reported the incident but to my knowledge nothing ever came of it. I think they did get a name since I could allegedly trace this person back to that party but there was never really any proof. My parents were really upset with me sneaking out and

putting myself at risk but honestly honestly, after that night, I sort of turned my life around, and I focused on school and reunited with my previous friend group. I still have a fear of Halloween and Halloween parties, even though it has been years, and I still feel uneasy when I see someone approaching me with a mask on. My wife and I love Halloween more than anything in the world. We're also fortunate enough to be financially stable. It took me several years of saving and investing, but I was finally able to open a haunted house and hayride attraction. Starting in October, every Friday and Saturday night, we would host the attractions. We'd go all out.

We built sets, hired actors, and did everything we could think of to scare our guests. One thing we did that I didn't see a lot of other attractions do was that we changed our attractions every year. Like, drastically changed them. We gained a following for several years before we decided to close up shop a couple of years ago. Not because it wasn't financially viable, but because of an almost horrible accident that happened on the grounds. Now for legal reasons, I'm not allowed to say the name of the horror attraction site because it still operates every year. Instead of just closing, I sold it to a buyer that kept the name the same. How frightful, wink wink. In case that went over your head, that's as much of a clue about the name the same. How frightful, wink wink. In case that went over your head, that's as much of a clue about the name of the park as I can say. Before selling it, we operated the park for 11

years. I'd like to say that every year was better than the previous, but my wife disagrees. I guess technically she's right because the last year that we were in charge, it ended very badly. Every year on the last night of the attractions, when we closed the park for the evening, my wife and I would hold a massive party for all of the cast and crew. Everyone from the parking lot team to the actors in costumes scaring guests were included. We would have a massive bonfire, cook s'mores, and even have the projector showing horror movies on the side of the garage. Everyone would stay in costume and try to scare one another. I always loved it. I used to look forward to this party every year. This specific year, the party was a little more rowdy than

usual. A lot of these people were a rare breed, so getting a little crazy at the party is not uncommon. Some of the people there asked if they could go through the attractions by themselves. I thought it was a fun way to have the mind scare themselves so of course I said it was fine. One by one a few people were going through the attractions. Even with no actors you could still hear some of the screams from inside. As the creator I loved it. It was validation that I did a good job on the setup. One of the attractions we built that year was designed to look like an old school. I don't know why, but when I was a kid, the thought of being in a school after dark always freaked me out, so I thought, hey, let me bring my fear to

life. When the attraction was up and running for guests, I would have actors inside the school. The first few rooms seemed like normal classes. It was bright and vibrant, and the actor was the teacher teaching children. The guests would only see the black of the children's head because they were mannequins. As you continued down the hall, one of the actors would run out of the classroom screaming and holding their neck. They would claim that the student bit them. The actor would slowly turn into a monster and start chasing the guests. The power would then flick and then the guests would need to escape the school. Then dozens of actors would serve as other infected and we would have the sound effects

of fists beating on doors, implying that the monster students are locked behind doors. It was awesome and just enough interactivity to suspend that disbelief. As cool as that sounds, going into that attraction without the actors is kind of pointless. This was one of those attractions that needed actors to really sell the fear. Even with sound effects turned on, with nothing chasing you, it's just a big dark maze. One of the girls came out of the exit of the attraction and she was shaking. Everyone of course started ripping on her for being scared of her own shadow and that's when she said to me, I hate you guys. A little warning would have been nice. I just didn't expect any other actors in there. You guys really scared the hell out of me.

My wife and I looked at each other. We knew that there were no actors inside the attraction. Everyone was still laughing and having a good time and didn't really pay attention to what she was saying. When she walked away, I pulled her aside and asked her what she meant by an actor. She said that when she was walking through part of the attraction, two people ran right in front of her. She didn't bother to see if they did anything because the shock of it scared her so much that she ran to the end as fast as she could. I decided to turn on all the lights in the attraction and walk through just in case. I was about halfway through when I saw two guys sprinting for the exit. I started to chase after them but they were way faster than I was.

One of the employees was standing near the exit and saw the two men running out. He actually ended up tripping the one guy, which surprised the other guy enough for me to catch him and then take him to the ground. My wife was watching and alerting the police right away, and they showed up, and these two guys were arrested. And it ended up being a really messy situation. One of the guys was the ex-boyfriend of one of my actors, and the other guy was his cousin. They were waiting for her to go through the attraction. They didn't admit to anything, but they were arrested with knives in their possession,

so whatever they had planned wasn't good. The woman who saw them when they walked through resembled his ex, and the police think that the attacker was about to attack until he realized it was the wrong woman. Obviously the woman who was almost attacked and the intended victim that never went through the attraction were both traumatized and in shock. The whole ordeal was just too much and that's what ultimately led my wife and I to sell the property. Some people really aren't wired correctly. I don't know what the plan would have been if this poor woman had gone through the attraction. I lost sleep for a while thinking about that and it's been several years since that night and as far as I know, nothing

like that has happened with the new owners. This Halloween season, if you decide to party, please be careful and maybe don't go anywhere alone. This all started after my mom and dad first got divorced in 2002 when I was four years old. My mom started dating my stepfather who I am very close with to this day and have always considered him a second father because of our love for Star Wars, movies, etc. As for my dad, he started dating my stepmother who will be the focus of this story and will eventually create the childhood trauma me and my older brother had to endure under her. And for the sake of anonymity, if my stepmom or her daughter find this post somehow, it does not get traced back to me. Her name was Rachel. So at first, when my dad started dating Rachel,

he lived in a small apartment complex and one of the days I visited him in 2004, Rachel was there and made a friendly greeting to me and my brother. She also had a daughter who I'll refer to as Kathy. Eventually, Rachel and my dad would get married in 2005 and then move into a house around 5 minutes from my mom's house Little did I know that this would be the beginning of the traumatic experiences I had to endure under my mentally and physically abusive stepmother That would make my childhood a living hell

To start, maybe from 2006 to 2009, Rachel would verbally abuse me and my brother. She would run into the bathroom after me or him got out of the shower and ask if we cleaned our bodies properly, which I know I have. Even when I knew I did, she would somehow believe that I was lying and proceed to either ground me or my brother for the night or proceed to scream at us directly. I was so scared that I sometimes shampooed my hair and cleansed my body about five times. I even sometimes asked my dad to wait for me outside the bathroom because I was that terrified that Rachel would try to scream at me when she heard the running water turn off. The worst moment that happened between that time frame was when I was six years old, bathing in the tub.

Rachel burst in, grabbed me by the hand, and tried to drown me by pushing my head into the water. These could be the worst things that she had done to me, but I can assure you that it does get worse and more sinister. Something else that would happen during this time was Kathy would make me do something to get me in trouble and pin the blame on me, which she did frequently and would result in Rachel screaming in my ear or even beating me. Another incident that occurred happened when I was 11 years old in 2009 when I was quoting something from a movie that I watched that was dubbed in German. She overheard me and asked, what are you speaking? And I replied with German. She overheard me and asked, what are you speaking? And I replied with German. She then mockingly says, gerbil? Which I still did not get why she said that. And later that day, which was the day my stepsister had a soccer game, me, my dad, brother, Kathy, and Rachel and other family members sat to eat lunch before the game and Rachel mentions how I was speaking in a different

language from earlier that she said was gerbil, I then jokingly said that this would be a big mistake on my part. Shut up. Right when I said this, Kathy, who often would try to get me into trouble often, tattles on me to Rachel and proceeded to walk over and grab me by the arm, drag me to my room, and begin to physically beat me. She slapped and punched me while my family was there. She also screamed at me while I bawled my eyes out and wailed in fear.

She did this until she told me to write a sentence of how I would not tell her to shut up and told me that I would write the same sentence until my wrist cramped and I bled. I tried telling my dad about this, but due to his ignorance and blind love for Rachel, he didn't believe me and believed anything she said. I wanted to tell my mother, but because of my young naivety, I never did out of fear at the time that she wouldn't believe me or that she would tell my dad what I said and then Rachel would find out what I told her. The abuse continued when Rachel would sometimes walk into my room while I was sleeping in the early mornings and punch me in the face over and over and verbally threaten me. For the next incident, this would be the one incident that would be the most traumatic, fear-inducing moment of my childhood and one that I will never forget because it would lead to the most traumatic moment of my childhood that I still sometimes have nightmares about to this very day.

And this happened in August of 2011 after I turned 13 a few weeks earlier. I remember that it was storming outside which caused floods to occur in my area during which me and Kathy were playing battleship in the living room. At some point, the basement was flooded and Rachel, I suppose at the time, walked down there and found that a doll had its arms detached from it. While playing Battleship, Rachel tells me to come with her and at the time, I had no clue what she wanted and proceeded to ask me, did you break this doll? Watch, I replied, no, I did not. She then kept pressing me to tell the truth even though I knew for sure I was as I never touched or broke some stupid doll that she had and eventually I had no

choice but to say that I did despite my initial honesty. She pursued to grab me and then punched and slapped me in the face really hard. She said that my family including my mother, grandparents and siblings do not love me. She claimed that my family, including my mother, grandparents, and siblings do not love me. She claimed that I would never find any form of happiness because in her mind I was being dishonest, a selfish person that nobody would want to be around. She then told me to stay in my room while I cried and occasionally came in to beat or scream at me more. This incident would haunt her mind and she would constantly mention it in front of my dad who somehow blindly believed her. It escalated to the point where my brother and I refused to visit my dad again, leading me to seek therapy for my trauma. And this happened in September 2011 when

I first started school and I was reading A Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket. I was reading A Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket. I was always an avid reader, and books had always helped me cope with my trauma, transporting me to another world. While I was reading, Rachel entered my room and said, You're sneaky, and I'm going to bury you alive. And this threat of possibly being murdered terrified me, and I wanted to call my mom to come pick me up. At some point, I asked my dad if I could call mom and he allowed me to do so. As I tried to talk to her, I began to cry and couldn't get the words out.

However, both my mom and dad understood what I was saying and that Rachel had indeed threatened to bury me alive along with my brother. My dad confronted Rachel and a few minutes later, my mom picked my brother and me up to take us home. I remember when I got home, I approached my stepdad, a big gentle giant, and he gave me a big hug, assuring me that everything would be okay. And then my mom hugged me too, repeating those comforting words. My mom later told me that my brother and I would no longer be visiting my dad's house as long as Rachel was around. I could no longer visit my dad while he was still married to Rachel. After that, I did see her occasionally and tried to play nice, but I didn't fall for it.

Unfortunately, this strained my relationship with my dad to the point where I considered estranging myself from him if he remained married to Rachel while attending high school. Whenever Rachel was around, I was always distant because of all the pain and suffering she had caused me and everyone around her. The last time I saw her was about seven years ago when my dad, my brother, Rachel, and I met for dinner at a pizza joint. The following year, when I graduated from high school and prepared to attend a university, my dad and Rachel got divorced. Looking back, I wouldn't be surprised if some of the reasons for the divorce had something to do with the abuse she inflicted on me and my older brother. My dad and I were able to reconnect and start a fresh relationship after their divorce. He told me about some of the things that Rachel had done to him, such as preventing him from visiting my brother and me without her and using other methods to control him.

I'm glad that he was able to see what a truly awful person Rachel is. I'm currently doing well, having graduated from college and secured my first job in software development two years ago. I'll be getting an apartment with a close friend I've known for years this coming May. I also see a therapist to talk about my PTSD, depression, and social anxiety stemming from the ordeal Rachel put me through. And I hope this story helps those who might be struggling with an abusive family member. I promise you that things will eventually work out, and the abuse you're enduring now will come to an end, allowing you to enjoy the happy life that you deserve. As for you, Rachel, if you ever come across this post, you are a truly horrible human being who deserves no happiness in your life. I'll never forgive you for the abuse and PTSD you inflicted on me during my childhood. I hope you find no peace,

and I pray I never have to see you in my life or my family's life ever again. To be continued... of hours so I thought I might as well share the story because I can't get it off my mind. Yesterday was my biological dad's birthday. I'm not sure how old he turned this year. He abandoned my sister and I when we were kids and we were raised by our stepdad but that really isn't relevant to the story so I'll just get back to it. Today was his birthday, my biological father, and my boyfriend A and my younger sister K and I decided to go celebrate with his side of the family. Now my biological father is homeless and he has been for years. The state we live in is very cold and it snows often and today it was 25 degrees all day long. But my biological dad says he likes living this way. His choice I guess.

Usually my aunt AR will go look for him today. We knew that he was staying in some sort of junkyard underneath a camper shell, but when A.R. went there today, she found out that it had been bulldozed and D. was nowhere to be found. She looked for him all over, but he was nowhere to be found, and she gave up and drove the 30 minutes to my Uncle G's house. Even though my biological dad wasn't there, we still celebrated his birthday without him. A, K, and I left after a couple of hours, but before we left, my aunt said that she was going to look for my biological dad again.

It was on her way home anyways. Now, thinking that she would find him, I told her to call me and let me know if she did and A and K and I would meet them somewhere. A has never met my biological dad before and A and I have only been together for seven months and he really wanted to meet him. I was home for less than an hour and then we got the call from my aunt and she said that she found my dad. We all got in my car and drove the 30 minutes to go meet up with them. Since my dad doesn't have a warm place to live and it was already pitch black outside and less than 20 degrees, we met up at Denny's. This Denny's was closed for some reason so we were the only two cars in the parking lot.

As soon as I put the car in park, my biological dad got out of the passenger side door and walked up to my car. The three of us hesitantly got out and said hi. He hugged Kay and I and shook A's hand, and my aunt then said, I have to head home. My kids are supposed to be in bed at eight, and she got in her car and pulled out of the parking lot. My biological dad turns and says, Want to see my old house? I looked at A and K to see if they were okay with this and they just shrugged their shoulders.

The four of us got into my car. My biological dad took the passenger seat instead of A and as soon as I turned on the car and the heat started all I could smell was dirt. I don't mean the smell of after it rains, I mean the smell of dirt being blown through the air. I instantly knew that it was my dad. We pulled out of the parking lot and headed to where dad used to live. When we got there he showed us around and told me that he wanted to show us where he's living now, and we agreed and started driving across town. When we got there, I instantly got a bad feeling. We got out of the car and walked behind the trees into a ditch.

He's showing us all that he's done, and I can't help but feel like something bad is about to happen. I convince my dad to continue our conversation back in the car and he thankfully agrees and we safely make it back to the car but I can't shake this awful feeling in my gut. I immediately lock the door and continue the conversation. I look and D and his eyes are wide while he's talking. He looks like he's planning something. Something I can't figure out. I pretend like everything is normal but my gut is screaming at me to leave as fast as possible. My dad starts rambling about how he's a savior and how the world needs to be cleansed, how people come to him for guidance and that he says something that makes my heart drops. One day I'm going to do something and they're going to shoot me in the head.

I decide to just end it there, and I drop him off at the end of the street. He finally gets out and says, I love you guys, and you too. You're all children of God, which makes you my siblings. A climbs into the front seat and shuts the door. I immediately drive away and burst into tears. The entire drive home, my boyfriend and I, A, talk about what happened, and the crazed look in my dad's eyes, how eerie the whole interaction with him was.

And now it's two in the morning and I can't sleep and I can't stop thinking about his eyes. It was like he was staring into me and reading my mind. Now I know this isn't as scary as the other stories on the subreddit, but I just needed to get this off of my chest, for my sake. The events of this story happened when I was 21 and in my last year of college. I'm 34 now and still having terrifying flashbacks from this Halloween. My friends and I liked to party in college and Halloween was one of the best nights to party. We got to dress up in sexy and not so sexy outfits, not to mention it was an excuse to act a little crazy. My friends were all beautiful and had the boys drooling all over them and I was never considered one of the quote-unquote hot girls but I didn't care. It really wasn't something I ever cared about. I was still friends with all the boys and I loved

hanging out with my girls. Well this Halloween we had a party at my friend Steve's house. Like a lot of the college parties we were basically kids and many people still didn't know how to handle their alcohol. At about 11 the cops were called for a noise complaint and we all ran because that's what everyone did in high school and apparently it carried over to college. My friend Amy told me to jump into a car with her friend Dave and he would take us to another party and I stupidly did. The car ride was weird, just him and I and he didn't talk much. The car smelled like beef jerky and had a hint of body odor. He had a mask but it was on his lap while he was driving. He had a hooded sweatshirt, some

jeans and these brown work boots. He has a scraggly beard and greasy hair and I tried asking questions to make the drive not so awkward but he didn't really answer them. Finally, I asked what school he went to, and he responded, I dropped out of college a while ago. Okay, I thought, I don't want to judge a book by its cover, so I asked, well, how old are you? And he responded in a sort of shaky, almost nervous voice and said that he was 37. Now, this freaked me out a little bit because he's slightly older than I am now, and back then I was 21, and he's hanging out with a bunch of college kids. Trying not to let on to the fact that I was kind of nervous, I asked him, so how do you know Amy? And he responded with the most terrifying answer I could ever think of. In that still shaky and very unflattering voice he said, who's Amy?

And I sunk into my chair, clenching my sides not knowing what to do. She's the blonde who told me to get in the car with you? I said and he responded with this very stoic, oh her, yeah. She told me you were single. I didn't respond. I honestly didn't know what to say. I was furious with Amy, scared stiff of my current situation and confused because it was pitch black outside and I had no idea what we were driving. After about a 10 or 15 minute drive, which seemed like forever, we arrived at a house. It was not a very nice part of town. All the houses on the block looked beat up or abandoned.

I looked for Amy's car or any car I recognized, but it was just too dark to point anything out. We approached a red door with severely chipped paint only lit up by the dull front light, and Dave didn't even knock and just walked into the house. The house was cold and smelled awful, even worse than Dave's car. We walked into the front room, which I assumed would be the living room. It had a dirty and disgusting olive green shag carpet with an old brown couch. The walls were white with chipped paint everywhere you looked. Piles of pizza boxes and beer cans lined the floors, which you may think implies a party had been there, but these

boxes of pizza were very old. The room was only lit by one lamp that was on the floor and it gave off a very low light. On the brown couch there was a man and woman sitting very close, but not really moving. They looked to be passed out. We walked into the kitchen, which was just more of the same. Trash and the horrible smell of garbage. In the kitchen, there was a man probably in his twenties, maybe thirties, and he didn't look so good. I was still trying not to judge, but he was very clearly not in the right mental state. He gave Dave a sort of high five and introduced me to him as Skip. He looked at Dave and back at me and smiled.

He had these weird teeth and bug eyes made my skin crawl. The other man in the kitchen was an older gentleman and he seemed to be in his 40s or 50s, I really couldn't tell, and he said nothing and just looked at me. I felt sick to my stomach and the only reason why I didn't run out of that place was because I had no clue where I was and no clue if these people were capable of anything dangerous. We walked into the back room, which was kind of like a screened-in porch. I felt a brief moment of relief seeing about six or seven people out there. There were only two girls out of the bunch and they seemed like half naked and weighed about 95 pounds. I could feel everybody staring

at me but at least there were a lot of people. I know it sounds crazy but I felt almost safe just being around this larger crowd. But the safe feeling faded very quickly when the two girls walked away with all the guys. They all left this back porch, went upstairs and shut the door. I didn't even want to know what was going to happen in that situation but the conversation they were having outside told me everything I needed to know. As I sat in this screened in room trying to think of my options, Dave finally spoke up and said, I think you're really cute. I said thanks and just kind of shrugged it off. He got up and started to rub my back and started to breathe very heavily. I should say this was behavior that I was not used to. Boys didn't really talk to me like this and certainly they

didn't rub my back like that either. After about five minutes of the most unpleasant back rub I'd ever had, he stepped in front of me and just sort of stared at me. He didn't do anything, he just uncomfortably stared at me and he was way too close to my face. I said to him in a sort of terrified voice, I'm sorry but I'm not that kind of girl, and he says, I don't know about that. I could still hear the seriousness in the tone of his voice. I could feel the tears coming and then nothing short of a miracle happened. One of the girls who went upstairs began to scream erratically and cursed everybody out in the room. Dave, who at this point was inches from my face, ran upstairs leaving me downstairs in the back

room alone. Without even thinking twice, I got up and climbed right out of the window and ran. Not knowing at all where I was, I just planned on running until I found a gas station or something. I was running down the street staying close to the sidewalk trying not to bring any attention to me. I really have no idea how long it was because I didn't have any cell phone on me and I finally approached this 24-hour Walmart. I walked in, had the night manager call my parents and they picked me up. It was about 30 minutes from my house in a small run-down town. The worst part about all of this was when I was waiting for my dad to pick me up,

Dave and his friend Skip walked into that Walmart. They didn't see me, and I couldn't believe it was them in there, and they almost looked as if they were actually looking for something, maybe me. The next day, Amy apologized all day, crying her eyes out, and I did forgive her, but I was still so shaken up by the entire ordeal. Every now and then, I'd see an old, beat-up, maroon-colored Buick parked at my work or school, and I'd start to tremble in fear. It's now been over ten years, and I still haven't yet to get over the mental trauma from that night. I know it could have been a lot worse for me, and I'm lucky that I left with no physical harm, but I still wouldn't wish that experience that I had that night on my worst enemy. I also haven't seen Dave, Skip or any of the people I met that

night ever again. I urge you to please be careful if you choose to go out this Halloween and always know where your friends are because you may end up somewhere you don't want to and you may not be as lucky as I was. This is a creepy story that happened to me a few years back. Definitely more creepy than outright scary, but just thinking about it makes me squirm. It was October and one of the local bars in town was having this sort of joint Halloween costume party. They did it every year and it was always a blast. My friends and I would always go with our boyfriends every year and we'd all try and compete with each other for the best couple

costume. That specific year I didn't have a boyfriend so I didn't even dress up. That night started in a depressing way for me. I had only been recently single so seeing all my friends be lovey-dovey with their boyfriends was not super exciting for me. I ended up popping a squat at the bar and just started getting some drinks. I was talking and joking a little bit with my friends, but I was more focused on my drink, if I'm being honest. I have no idea what time it was, but at some point, some random guy with a really long white beard and long white hair sat next to me. He was sort of wearing a half mask,

like think Batman's mask, but without the pointy horns on top and no back. I tried making conversations with the guy, but he wasn't very lively. A lot of one-worded answers and grunting. I started to get a nasty vibe from him, so I started to give him a bit of the cold shoulder. I was hoping that he was going to get the hint that I didn't want to talk anymore and I thought that I got my wish

because about 10 minutes later he got up and moved to an open bar stool on the opposite side of the bar. To paint a picture for you, the bar was probably 30 feet long and was a giant rectangle so it was 30 feet across from where I was sitting. The masked man was across from me, and probably four stools over. The night continued, and I decided to drink water and just Pepsi for the rest of the night so I could drive home. I still sat at the bar and talked to the bartender and a few guests who were sitting nearby. Every so often I would look up and look like the bearded man was looking at me. I tried ignoring it because I'm used to creeps at the bar and I've gotten good over the years of turning them down.

For some reason though, I couldn't stop noticing this guy. It was probably the mask that he was wearing, but either way, I was just done sitting there. I got over myself and finally started conversing with my friends. We were dancing and hanging out and I started having a great time. Who needs a man anyways? And while we were all dancing, I decided to take a little break and just visit the little girl's room. The bathrooms were in the back of the bar and behind this uncomfortably narrow hallway. I always hated having to use the bathroom at this bar because it was always awkward trying to get around someone standing in the hall. I was so happy when I turned the corner and didn't see anyone in the hall though.

I went into the women's room, did my business, and just touched up my makeup a little bit. It was warm in the bar that night so I had a nice glow of sweat going on. I walked out of the restroom and standing at the end of the hallway was that masked guy with the beard. I don't know why I said this, but the first thing that came to my mind was, Sup, bro? And as soon as it left my lips, I wanted to go back into the bathroom and wash my mouth with soap. I was hoping that maybe he was going to sort of have a sense of humor about it, but instead, he just stood there. Ten seconds or so passed, and it felt

like ten minutes. He turned around and walked into the bar section. I practically jogged back to my friends, and they could tell that I was a little frazzled, but I played it off cool. At least I thought I did. I just told them that there was some creepy guy by the bathroom, but I scared him off with my intellectual vocabulary. The night continued, and I only saw the creepy guy by the bathroom, but I scared him off with my intellectual vocabulary. The night continued, and I only saw the creepy guy one more time. Maybe an hour before we left, I saw him standing by the door. He was leaning in the doorway, staring in my direction. There was a bunch of people there, so he could have been looking at anybody, but given the previous few hours, I totally believed that he was looking at me. Then, like the wind, he was gone. I didn't let his presence bother me before and I sure as hell didn't let it bother me now.

We continued dancing until the bar was getting ready to close. We were friends with the bartenders so we all gathered by the door and waited for her to close up for the night. She locked the door and we all said our goodbyes in the parking lot. I was parked near the back of the lot because they were so busy when I arrived that it was the only spot. When I was maybe 20 feet away from the car, I noticed a sort of strange shadow coming from the opposite side of my car. I stopped in my tracks and really tried to focus on the window. It was that bearded guy and he was still wearing his, and he was trying to break into the back seat of my car. He was slightly crouched, trying not to be seen over the top of the car, and the only reason I could see him was because of the parking lot light that was shining through the windows of my car. He hadn't noticed me yet, so I turned around and flagged down my friend and her boyfriend before they drove off.

I pointed to my car and her boyfriend saw right away what was happening. He got out of the car and immediately called the bearded man out. This guy heard him and just booked it into the night. We called the authorities, but they never really could do anything, and just having that little bit of a mask seemed to keep his identity a mystery to us. It freaked me out that he knew what car I drove. I can't even begin to imagine what he would have done if I didn't notice him breaking into my car when I did. And I'm just so grateful that I caught my friends before they left,

because this could have been the worst night of my life if I didn't. To be continued... to submit them to my subreddit, r slash let's read official, and maybe even hear your story featured on the next video. And if you want to support me even more, grab early access to all future narrations for just $1 a month on Patreon, and maybe even pick up some Let's Read merch on Spreadshirt. And check out the Let's Read podcast, where you can hear all of these stories in big compilations and save huge on data. Located anywhere you listen to podcasts. Links in the description below. Thanks so much friends, and I'll see you again soon.