The Lets Read Podcast - 263: MY TOWN HAD A DARK HISTORY | 25 True Scary Stories | EP 251

Episode Date: October 29, 2024

This episode includes narrations of true creepy encounters submitted by normal folks just like yourself. Today you'll experience horrifying stories about traveling outer space, Tinder & one particular town's dark history 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, Editing & Cover art: INEKT https://www.youtube.com/@inekt Today's episode is sponsored by Dating Detectives

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For example, having a dependable backup power source for your internet equipment can keep you online during power outages. If home internet access is down, mobile phone calls should be reserved for emergencies only. Texting uses less network resources. Be prepared. Stay connected. Learn more at telecomprepare.ca The End Vladimir Mikhailovich Komarov was born on March 16th of 1927 in the Russian capital of Moscow. Nicknamed Volodya by his loved ones, little Vladimir grew up among Moscow's snow-dusted streets with his mother, father, and half-sister. And although his childhood was marked by periods of great political upheaval, little Volodya was happy. But just as he was about to enter high school, one of the largest and most costly battles in human history would turn western Russia into an inferno of hatred and bloodshed.

In 1941, Germany sent an invasion force of over a million men to subdue the Soviet Red Army, and as Stalin called for a general mobilization, life in the USSR changed for each and every one of its 205 million citizens. Vladimir and his family were evacuated from Moscow, then put to work on a collective farm-growing group to support the war effort. Conditions were brutal and provisions were scant, but one day, young Vladimir looked up into the skies above the farm and saw an angel. There, drifting through the clouds, thousands of feet above him, was an airplane. Having grown up in Moscow, Vladimir had seen airplanes before, but being confined to the collective farm had forced a sharp change of perspective. Now the thing that floated in the

skies above him became the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on. It was elegant, it was graceful, and it was free. From that day forward, Vladimir was obsessed. He collected magazines and postcards depicting the fighter and bomber planes of the Soviet Air Force and begged his father to secure him a model airplane kit as well as the glue required to piece it together. Vladimir's father did everything he could to secure the model kit for his beloved young son and during Christmas of 1941, he found one. Little Vladimir was overjoyed, but tragically, it was the final gift he would ever receive from his father. Mikhail Komarov was drafted into the Red Army soon afterwards and was killed during the summer fighting of 1942. Little Volodya was utterly devastated and swore revenge against the German invaders. The following year, Vladimir took one step closer to his dream when he managed to gain a place in

the 1st Moscow Air Force School. By the time he graduated, he was itching to face off against the aerial combat aces of the Luftwaffe. But before Vladimir had a chance to avenge his father's death, the Red Army stormed Berlin, Hitler took his own life, and the war in Europe came to a close. Vladimir was bereft, yet like so many of us whose hopes or dreams are dashed by circumstance, he simply shifted his goals slightly and continued on the road to destiny. In 1946, Vladimir transferred to the Soviet's Advanced Air Force School in Voronezh. The course, which consisted of advanced flight training for the Soviet's new state-of-the-art jet fighter took three years to complete. Vladimir had hoped that his one remaining parent would be able to attend his graduation ceremony,

but sadly his mother passed away just seven months before he was due to attain his flight wings. He was then posted to Grozny in Chechnya, married a woman named Valentina, and soon found himself promoted to the prestigious post of chief pilot at the 486th Fighter Aviation Regiment. Vladimir's rise through the ranks of the Soviet Air Force was nothing short of meteoric, but still, he wanted more. By 1959, Vladimir had been promoted to the rank of senior engineer lieutenant, but upon being congratulated by his superiors, he made a very unusual request of them. Vladimir asked to be transferred to the Central Scientific Research Institute at Chokolovsky, and when asked why, he replied that he wanted to become what's referred to as a test pilot. A test pilot has additional training to fly and evaluate experimental, newly produced and modified aircraft with specific maneuvers, known as flight test techniques.

The role can be an incredibly dangerous one, and only the most courageous and skilled of pilots are eligible to apply. However, Vladimir's time as a test pilot was cut short following a surprise visit from his commanding officer. He was told that what he was about to hear was top secret, highly classified information, and that if he disclosed any of it, he would be stripped of his rank and thrown in prison. Daunted, but also intrigued, Vladimir made clear that he understood and the officer continued. Vlad was one of just 3,000 Soviet pilots who had been selected for a brand new training program. This program would take the nation's best aeronauts, then instill them with the training and mentality required to explore the final and perhaps most significant of all unexplored frontiers, outer space. His candidacy was successful and in March of 1960, Vladimir was sent to the newly established

cosmonaut training center just outside of Moscow. He proved more than qualified, but failed to make it into the top six candidates due to not meeting the very specific age, height, and weight restrictions laid out by the architects of the Soviet space program. However, Vlad had more experience than the other candidates combined, so despite not technically meeting the program's physical requirements, he was selected along with a handful of others. In 1961, the first space flights began, but it was a bittersweet moment for Vladimir. From the day he was invited into the cosmonaut program, Vlad had dreamed of being the first man in space. He was exceptionally happy for his close friend and fellow cosmonaut

Yuri Gagarin, who was instead granted the honor of being the first human being in outer space, but was only truly able to accept the missed opportunity once it was assured that, one day, he too would see the ocean of stars that Gagarin had described. It took three more years to gain a place on a planned spaceflight, but in July of 1964, Vladimir was selected as the primary crew commander for a mission named Voskhot-1. On October 11th of 1964 Vladimir undertook the long-standing tradition of collecting totems and trinkets from those who would remain on Earth for the duration of the mission. To own something, sometimes as innocuous as a pencil

that had been into space was considered a great honor and every cosmonaut understood that the ground crew was just as crucial to their survival and success as the very spacesuits they donned and the rockets they flew. All that considered, ferrying some of their belongings into the heavens and back was the very least a cosmonaut could do to thank them, and the next day, he saw space for the very first time. 24 hours following his departure, Vladimir's descent module had landed back on Earth and he was welcomed as a hero. He received an instant promotion to colonel and was awarded the Order of Lenin before being bestowed the official title of Hero of the Soviet Union. Komarov had become a

superstar, and the awe and admiration in which he was held could quite easily be compared to the kind contemporary Americans feel for their professional athletes. He was invited onto state radio stations, appeared in several Soviet propaganda films, and even featured on a series of postal stamps commemorating the success of the Volstok One mission. Little Volodya, who had once dreamed of soaring through the skies, was a national hero. Yet strangely, he found fame and glory meant nothing to him. All he wanted in the whole wide world was to return to the void above it. Throughout the mid-1960s, scientists at the Soviet space program began working on a new generation of rocket technology. The innermost reaches of space had been conquered. The next target was the moon. But to get there,

the Soviets would not only need to develop a new, much more powerful launch rocket, they'd need to design an entirely new kind of spacecraft too. They poured their time and energies into the project for two years straight, with all crewed spaceflights being suspended in that period. By the time the project was ready for testing, every cosmonaut in the Soviet Union was desperate to be a part of it. But of the thousands trained and ready for launch, only Vladimir Komarov was chosen for what came to be known as the Soyuz missions.

In order to save valuable time and resources, Soviet scientists made the decision to tailor the first of their cutting-edge spaceflights to just a single, solitary cosmonaut. And since Vladimir was perhaps the most experienced test pilot in the entire Soviet Union, it made perfect sense to ensure his candidacy. As you can imagine, Vladimir was immensely proud of his selection and accepted the opportunity with gratitude. But underneath the veneer of Soviet progress, he quickly discovered some serious flaws. The first three Soyuz test flights were catastrophic failures. Following the first and second failures, Vladimir expected at least some degree of progress, but after the third test flight

ended with the launch rocket exploding in a fireball of liquid kerosene, he realized something was horribly wrong. Test flights are supposed to get more and more stable with each and every launch, but in the case of Soyuz 1, they seem to be getting more and more dangerous. Following the end of the Cold War, a close friend of cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin shared some shocking information regarding the first Soyuz mission. Vinyamin Rusayev, a former KGB agent, claimed that engineers reported a jaw-dropping 203 design faults to party leaders prior to Soyuz 1's launch. Their reports came in waves, with a deluge coming after the failure of each test. But time after time, the Soviet leadership dismissed their concerns

and insisted the launch preparations be completed by April 22nd, the date of Lenin's birthday. Rusiev also claimed that upon realizing that Soyuz 1 was subject to extreme undue risk, Yuri Gagarin himself attempted to have Vladimir removed from the mission. Given his status, Gagarin's high echelon friend granted his wish, but when given the option, Vladimir insisted on remaining Zoyus 1's pilot. It's likely that Vladimir knew all too well that, if removed from the mission, one of his closest friends or co-workers would be chosen to take his place. And so, rather than condemn another to what he saw as his fate, Vladimir went ahead with the mission. Finally, just after midnight on April 23rd of 1967, Colonel Vladimir Komarov took off into space, the first Soviet cosmonaut ever to do so twice. The Soyuz 11A511 rocket held true

and propelled Vladimir beyond Earth's atmosphere without any kind of catastrophic failure. The ground crew were jubilant, yet their celebrations were cut short because almost immediately after detaching from the launch rocket, the Soyuz 7K-OK space capsule began to suffer complications. The first came when one of the capsule's solar panels failed to fully unfold, forcing it to operate on only 50% of its maximum power supply. This led to issues with the capsule's orientation detectors which made maneuvering it almost impossible. Less than an hour later, the capsule's automatic stabilization system was failing, and the manual system for doing so was only partially operational. In essence, this left Vladimir stranded in space, with his oxygen reserves

quickly running out. The crew of the second Soyuz mission, Soyuz 2, thought that it would be months before it came their turn to cross the final frontier. But when the news came that their mission date had been drastically brought forward, there were no celebrations. Their mission was no longer to advance the lunar landing project. It was to rescue Colonel Vladimir Komarov, hero of the Soviet Union, and bring him home alive. Their plan was to launch themselves into space using the hastily fueled Soyuz 2 rocket. There, they could navigate their way into Komarov's capsule, make all the necessary repairs, and then guide his descent into Earth's atmosphere before following suit. Yet on the night of the Soyuz 2's scheduled launch, a freak electrical storm struck the Baikonur launch pad they planned atmosphere in a way that wouldn't have it bursting into flames due to intense heat and friction.

He chose the latter. After just 90 minutes in space, Colonel Vladimir Komarov fired his capsule's retro rockets and began his descent into the upper thermosphere. At first, everything went as planned. Komarov managed to orient the capsule correctly, its retro rockets performed exactly as intended and its heat shields appeared to be holding. Everything is going fine, he called out over his radio, as if in jubilant surprise at how a capsule he'd once considered doomed was actually holding up against the rigors of atmospheric re-entry. Once the capsule had reached an appropriately low altitude, Komarov deployed its drogue parachute designed to slow the capsule to a speed at which a larger, regular parachute can effectively function.

The drogue deployed perfectly, and as the news made its way to the mission's control room, the ground team breathed a deep, collective sigh of relief. Minutes later, Komarov reached the speed at which he should deploy his primary parachute, but when he triggered its release, nothing happened. He tried again, yanking the release over and over, but still the primary parachute didn't deploy. Komarov didn't panic. The release system's manual override switch was right there in front of him. He leaned forward, pulled the switch, then heard a loud bang as the parachute was sent hurtling into the skies above him. Yet the capsule didn't slow down.

The primary parachute had become entangled in the drogue, rendering both ineffective. Instead of slowing down, the Soyuz 1 capsule continued to hurtle towards the surface of the Earth, at speeds bordering on 100 miles an hour. What happened next had been disputed by historians of the Soviet space program, but legend has it that, as Komarov fell to his death, US spy stations located in eastern Turkey picked up his final radio transmission. The rumors claim that once he realized just how doomed he was, Komarov had a complete nervous breakdown while hurtling towards his death. He cursed the Soviet leadership, tearing into them

for valuing political prestige over human life. He then launched into a message he wished the ground crew to give to his wife, imploring them to make it clear that his final thoughts were of her, and her alone. He then reportedly yelled, you've killed me, you've killed me, over and over again, then let out one long final scream before his transmission suddenly ceased. Some historians have disputed that claiming that the only negative word picked up by unbiased Russian translators was killed. Komarov might well have remained as composed as possible until the very end and merely used the word killed in a different context to his own impending death.

But either way, as the capsule smashed into the earth of Russia's Orenburg Oblast, Vladimir was killed in an instant as it violently burst into flames. When a rescue helicopter arrived at the scene, the crew discovered that the Soyuz 1 descent module had almost completely disintegrated as a result of the impact and subsequent fire. They worked quickly to douse the flames, but by the time they'd been extinguished, Colonel Komarov's body was barely recognizable as human. Komarov was posthumously declared a hero of the Soviet Union for the second time and received a televised state funeral before his ashes were interned in the Kremlin Wall necropolis in Red Square. News of his death sent shockwaves through those involved in the space programs of both America and the Soviet Union. Spaceflight obviously came with a huge

amount of risk, risks which all astronauts and cosmonauts were aware of. Vladimir's fate represented all their worst nightmares. Trapped in a tin can, hurtling towards the Earth, aware of what's happening to the very end. Killed by the incompetence of those who'd never even flown a kite, let alone a space shuttle. Prior to his departure from the surface of the moon, Neil Armstrong placed a small package of memorial items to honor Komarov, Yuri Gagarin, and the Apollo 1 astronauts Gus Grissom, Ed White, and Roger Chaffee. In all likelihood, this package will remain on the moon for hundreds, if not thousands of years.

Komarov's lunar memorial might well still be there once some of the monuments here on Earth have been eroded or destroyed, either by nature's wrath and reclamation or man's own folly. Giving him, as well as the other astronauts memorialized by the package, the closest thing to immortality that's ever likely to exist. On June 6th of 1971, the 11th Soyuz space mission was launched from the USSR's Baikonur Cosmodrome, deep in Soviet Kazakhstan. Its goal was to successfully dock with the Salyut space station, the first of its kind and the pride and joy of the Soviet Union. Yet several months prior, a failed attempt to complete the exact same mission had proven an international embarrassment. The Russians had a point to prove, and to do so, they put together a crack team of their best cosmonauts, including Georgy Dobrovolsky, Vladislav Volkov, and Viktor Patsaev. The flight up to the space station went off without a hitch.

But since the space station was unmanned, docking became a long and arduous process, engaging various electrical and hydraulic links, then establishing airtight seals before airlocks could be opened. Once the pressures between the space station and the cosmonauts' spacecraft had equalized, the three men had the honor of being the first to enter an orbiting space station in human history. But the moment they did, they realized something was very wrong. At first, the salute appeared to be in good working order, but the cosmonauts quickly noticed a smoky, burnt residue around some of the

space station's air vents. The cosmonauts had received no warning that any kind of fire had broken out, but as a precaution they set about replacing the parts of the ventilation system which appeared faulty, then spent the next 24 hours back in their spacecraft until they were certain that it was safe to re-embark. The next small scare came when one of the cosmonauts attempted to use the space station's exercise treadmill. Due to the low levels of gravity present aboard the station, cosmonauts embarking on long stays would be subject to

severe levels of muscular atrophy. To combat this, the Soviets supplied the Salyut space station with its very own exercise equipment. Yet while it's undoubtedly an appreciated amenity, it proved dangerously and terrifyingly impractical. During the first instance in which the cosmonaut attempted to run on the treadmill, which had been specifically adapted to function in zero gravity, the Salyut's outer hull began to tremble and shake. The effect was so profound that the cosmonauts feared the space station itself hull began to tremble and shake the effect was so profound that the cosmonauts fear the space station itself might begin to rupture so after calling a halt to

their colleagues workout the treadmill remained untouched for the duration of their stay omitting any mention of the fire or the ineffective exercise equipment the soviet space agency organized a live broadcast with a salute just over a week into the cosmonaut's stay. The broadcast became a national televisual spectacle, with millions upon millions of Soviet citizens crowding around their TV sets to view images beamed down from the heavens. The cosmonauts claimed everything was just fine and talked of how well their research was progressing. Soviet citizens ate it up, believing the entire mission was going off without a hitch.

But they couldn't have been more wrong. On the eleventh day of the mission, the Salute Space Station's fire alarms began to blare. His ventilation system, the same one which showed signs of charring when the cosmonauts first entered, had once again caught fire. It goes without saying that uncontrolled fires are a huge threat to human life, but up in space, they are ten times as deadly. Fires can destroy a spacecraft's life support systems, turning them into floating steel coffins. And in an environment where oxygen is a precious commodity, uncontrolled burns pose a deadly threat. Upon hearing the alarm, the cosmonauts sprang into action,

utilizing the salute's onboard fire suppression system to douse the flames and end the threat. But the damage had already been done. The fire had burned through a huge portion of the salute's oxygen reserves. The mission had to be cancelled. Prior to their departure, the cosmonauts used what little time they had left aboard the station to finish up whatever research projects they could. Then after loading the descent module up with specimens, films, tapes, and other gear, they made their final preparations to leave. Finally, on June 29th of 1971, the Soyuz 11 capsule undocked from the Salute space station at exactly 628 universal time. The cosmonauts guided the craft into a slow orbit for approximately four hours, then fired its retro rockets and began the descent back to Earth. At the time, it was perfectly normal for a mission's ground team to temporarily lose contact during a descent,

as a portion of Earth's atmosphere, known as the ionosphere, was known to disrupt communications. However, in the case of the Soyuz 11, communication suddenly ceased just prior to the regularly expected window. This didn't cause too much alarm down at mission control who had obviously expected some kind of communications blackout. And when the Soyuz 11's capsule landing systems functioned correctly and without incident, it appeared as if all was well. The capsule landed back in Kazakhstan at exactly 11.16 universal with the mission's recovery team on standby in the vicinity. But once they arrived at the landing site and pried open the capsule's hatch, they made a horrifying discovery.

Georgy Dobrovolsky, Vladislav Volkov, and Viktor Patsayev were all dead. Chair of the Soviet State Commission Karim Karimov later spoke of what the recovery team saw that day. On the outside of the capsule, there were no signs of damage whatsoever, he said, but then the team knocked on the hall and there was no response. Then, when they opened the hatch, they found all three men in their couches, motionless, with dark blue patches on their faces and trails of blood coming from their noses and ears. They removed them from the descent module. The Brovolski was still warm.

The doctors gave artificial respiration, and based on the reports, the cause of death was suffocation after a brief investigation it was discovered that a ventilation valve located between the orbital module and the descent module had been jolted open as the two separated this depressurized the interior of the descent module at an altitude of 105 miles and given that it was located under the cosmonaut seats and thus impossible to reach and block rapid decompression induced cardiac arrest in all three cosmonauts in less than 60 seconds. Following their recovery, the men's bodies were transported to the Berdanko Military Hospital in Moscow, and after a lengthy analysis, doctors determined that the actual cause of the cosmonaut's death had been hemorrhaging of the blood vessels

in the cosmonaut's brains. Doctors hemorrhaging of the blood vessels in the cosmonaut's brains. Doctors also found smaller amounts of blood had leaked under their skin, in their inner ears, and in their nasal cavities, all of which occurred as exposure to a vacuum environment caused the oxygen and nitrogen in their bloodstreams to bubble and rupture the fragile blood vessels that contained them. As news of the tragedy spread uncontrollably, the Soviet leadership instructed state-run media companies to downplay the tragedy by highlighting the so-called essential research that had been completed. Space exploration was an incredibly dangerous pursuit, and the brave, selfless cosmonauts understood the risks they took.

That was the official explanation. They made no mention of such a basic design flaw being the cause of the cosmonauts' deaths. It took two whole years for the truth to finally emerge. The cosmonauts were given a large state funeral and buried in the Kremlin Wall necropolis at Red Square, Moscow, near the remains of the recently deceased Yuri Gagarin, who had died on a routine training flight just a few years prior when his MiG-15 UTI malfunctioned and crashed. Upon reaching the shores of the U.S., President Richard Nixon issued a statement to the American people. We express our deepest sympathy on the tragic deaths of the three Soviet cosmonauts.

The whole world followed the exploits of these courageous explorers of the unknown, and shared the anguish of their tragedies. But the achievements of cosmonauts Dobrovolsky, Volkov, and Patesyev remain. It will, I am sure, prove to have contributed greatly to the further achievements of the Soviet program for the exploration of space and thus the widening of man's horizons. Following the sudden and tragic loss of life, the Soyuz spacecraft was designed to carry just two cosmonauts. The extra room meant that each cosmonaut could don a state-of-the-art Sokol spacesuit during launch and landing. The Sokol was a light pressure suit intended for emergency use, but was found to be so effective that updated versions of the suit are used by cosmonauts even today.

At the sites of Soyuz 11's landing, a three-sided metallic column was erected as a memorial to the fallen cosmonauts. Fashioned as a stylized triangle, each open face depicts an engraved image of each fallen cosmonaut, along with a brief salutation of their bravery and sacrifice. In the Russian city of Penza, near one of the town's local high schools, a stone tablet bearing quotes from a Russian poet had been erected in honor of the cosmonaut's sacrifice. The lines from the poem read, Between our motherland and you, there is a two-way eternal connection.

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while other NASA scientists worked on analyzing the incoming Halley's Comet and the launch of the state-of-the-art Hubble Telescope, which would allow us to see into the far reaches of deep space. The first launch of 1986 took place on January 12th, but the second, which took off on the 28th, involved a space shuttle whose name would come to live in infamy, the Challenger. During its six-day mission, the Challenger's crew planned to deploy a large communications satellite. Once that was completed, they'd retrieve a highly valuable astronomy payload filled to the brim with data and statistics on

the incoming Halley's Comet. Yet it was the third part of their mission that came to be of the most interest to the general public. In 1984, President Ronald Reagan announced the Teacher in Space Project, which as you can probably guess involved training a civilian educator to be an astronaut and then sending them into space. The idea was to not only demonstrate the safety and reliability of the shuttle program, but also inspire the next generation of astronauts while reminding Americans of what an important role their educators played. Quite obviously, it presented a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to teachers all over the country. 11,000 of them applied, but only one was chosen. Krista McAuliffe from Concord, New Hampshire.

A NASA spokesperson stated that McAuliffe had an infectious enthusiasm, while NASA psychiatrist Terrence McGuire told New Woman magazine that she was the most broad-based, best-balanced person of the ten. I cannot join the space program and restart my life as an astronaut, she said in a statement to the nation's media in the year following her selection, but this opportunity to connect my abilities as an educator with my interest in history and space is a unique opportunity to fulfill my early fantasies. Her planned duties included basic science experiments in the field of chromatography, hydroponics, magnetism, and Newton's laws. She was planned to conduct two brief school classes while in zero gravity, including a tour of the spacecraft that NASA called the ultimate field trip,

along with a lesson regarding the benefits of space travel called, Where Have We Been, Where We're Going, and Why. The lessons would broadcast to millions of school children via closed-circuit TV, which made Krista feel akin to, and I quote, a woman on the Conestoga wagons pioneering the West. On January 29th, 1985, NASA announced the five-person crew for the Challenger mission. Francis R. Scobie would take the lead, with the shuttle pilot being first-time flyer Michael J. Smith. They would be joined by mission specialists including Ellison S. Onizuka, Judith A. Resnick, Ronald E. McNair, Gregory Jarvis, and of course, Krista McAuliffe. Workers at NASA's Kennedy Space Center immediately began preparing the Challenger for its 10th journey to the stars,

and the rollout to Launch Pad 39B took place on December 22nd, the first time the pad hosted a rocket since the Apollo-Soyuz test project in 1975. The following January, engineers at the Kennedy Space Center conducted a terminal countdown demonstration test, essentially a dress rehearsal for the countdown to the launch itself. The astronauts participated in the final stages of the test by climbing aboard the Challenger exactly as they would on launch day, with the countdown being halted just before ignition. After the successful test run, NASA set a provisional date of January 27th,

but when the crew boarded the space shuttle for their first launch attempt, mission control suddenly cancelled the launch due to a mechanical issue. The next day, the astronauts once again boarded the Challenger after NASA cleared them to launch. Yet this was in spite of unexpectedly cold temperatures overnight which left significant amount of ice covering parts of the launch tower. This issue was raised at mission control, but NASA scientists appeared unconcerned, claiming that it would simply melt due to the heat of the launch. Yet, there was another issue. Behind the scenes, engineers had discussed the potential effects of frigid temperatures on their solid rocket boosters O-rings. Although they were built to withstand colder conditions, some engineers seemed unsure of the effect that prolonged exposure to ice would have on them. But once again, these concerns were dismissed by Mission Control, who cleared the

Challenger for launch and at 11.38am on January 28th of 1986, it fired its rocket boosters and headed for space. For the minute or so, the launch appeared to proceed normally as civilian observers photographed and filmed the shuttle during its majestic ascent. However, at exactly 73 seconds into the launch, those in attendance witnessed something truly shocking. The last recorded transmission from the Challenger came after a sharp drop in pressure from the shuttle's second liquid hydrogen tank. Pilot Mike Smith simply said, uh-oh, before mission control experienced a sudden loss of contact. One second, the Challenger and its launch rocket were steadily ascending into the heavens, then the next. It was gone. Those with high-powered optics such as binoculars or telescopes claim to have seen jets of flame bursting from the launch rocket's fuselage

just seconds before the entire thing disappeared into a puff of smoke and steam. To those on the ground, the entire disaster unfolded in almost complete silence. Krista McAuliffe's parents and sister were among those in attendance, forced to watch as the daughter they were so proud of was snatched away in the blink of an eye. It took a good few minutes for the reality of the situation to set in. Most of those in attendance had no idea what the launch of a space shuttle looked like so when the Challenger's launch rocket first exploded, most didn't actually realize what they were looking at. It took a NASA spokesperson announcing that

there's been some kind of major malfunction for those in the crowd to realize what had happened. And when they did, the outpouring of emotion makes for some extremely difficult viewing. Over at Mission Control, the Challenger's flight director ordered that contingency procedures be put into effect, which included locking the doors, shutting down telephone communications, and freezing computer terminals to collect data from them. He then ordered a full investigation into what had happened to the shuttle. Investigators discovered that the crew cabin, which was made of reinforced aluminum, tore off as one complete piece at the time of the explosion. As it separated, its maximum acceleration is estimated to have been up to 20 times as strong as regular gravity.

Obviously, these are incredibly strong physical forces, yet NASA scientists believe they were insufficient to cause any major injuries to the crew and surmise that at least some of them were alive and at least briefly conscious after the shuttle broke apart. Investigators came to this conclusion after they discovered that the personal egress air packs had been activated for Smith as well as two unidentified crew members. The location of Smith's activation switch, which was on the rear face of his seat, indicated that either Resnick or onizuka likely activated it for him while analyzing the wreckage investigators discovered that several electrical

system switches on Smith's right hand panel had been moved from their usual launch positions the switches had lever locks on top of them that must be pulled out before the switch could be moved this was taken as further evidence that at least some of the astronauts had been conscious well after they could have just as easily been killed. Later tests established that neither the force of the explosion nor the impact with the ocean could have moved them, indicating that Smith made the switch changes, presumably in a valiant but ultimately futile attempt to restore electrical power to the cockpit after the crew cabin detached from the main body of the shuttle. On July 28th of 1986, NASA employee and former astronaut Richard H. Truly released a report on the deaths of the

crew that had been written by physician and Skylab 2 astronaut Joseph P. Kerwin. Frustratingly, Kerwin's findings were inconclusive, and although he worked tirelessly to put together the most comprehensive report possible, he only came to three major conclusions. The first was that the astronaut's cause of death could not be positively determined. The second was that the forces to which the crew were exposed during orbiter breakup were probably not sufficient to cause death or serious injury. And the third suggested that the crew lost consciousness in the seconds following the shuttle's breakup due to rapid depressurization. Kerwin seemed open to the possibility that his assumptions

could be entirely incorrect, but it seems the third conclusion he made was motivated almost entirely by his desire to cause as little distress as possible to the families of the fallen. There's actually a good chance that the astronauts were able to maintain pressurization, at least through donning their helmets and closing the visors. But if this was the case, they could have quite easily remained conscious and alert during the entire duration of the fall, until the 207 mph impact with the Atlantic Ocean ended their lives in the fraction of a millisecond. The day after the Challenger disaster, in his address to the American people, President Reagan paid an emotional tribute to the Challenger's crew. Quoting aviator and poet John Gillespie McGee, he says,

We will never forget them, nor the last time we saw them, this morning, as they prepared for their journey and waved goodbye and slipped the surly bonds of Earth to touch the face of God. NASA also commissioned the construction of the Challenger Center for Space Science and Education, which opened its doors in 1988 and focused on space-themed learning and role-playing to cultivate students' skills for future success. To date, the center boasts a whopping 5.5 million visitors, many of whom journey from outside of the United States. Sadly, NASA cancelled the Teacher in Space program in the immediate aftermath of the disaster, but introduced a second incarnation eight years later in the form of the Educator Astronaut Program. In 2004, Joseph M. Acaba, Richard R. Arnold, and Dorothy Metcalf Lindenberger became the first educator astronauts in almost a decade to travel into space.

All three completed shuttle missions, with Acaba and Arnold also completing long-haul missions aboard the International Space Station. Every January, in the honor of those lost in the Challenger accident, as well as the Apollo 1 and the Columbia disasters, NASA holds a solemn day of remembrance. The event encourages NASA employees to reflect not only on the courage and sacrifice of those that came before, but also the circumstances that led to the accidents. The idea is to cultivate an environment of openness, accountability, and above all, safety. So that in the future, those who venture past the final and arguably most fascinating of frontiers can return home to tell their incredible, inspirational stories. Not as memorials, but as living, breathing authors of a new and exciting chapter in the story of mankind. At 10.39 a.m. on January 16th of 2003,

the United States Space Shuttle Columbia took off from the Kennedy Space Center's Launch Complex 39A, located on Merritt Island, Florida. Its mission was to carry three pieces of equipment into space, a Spacehab research module, an orbital acceleration research experiment, and an extended duration orbiter pallet designed to prolong astronauts' potential to live and work on NASA's Freedom Space Station. Heading up the team of astronauts was U.S. Air Force Colonel Rick Husband, while the pilot was U.S. Navy Commander William McCool. The payload commander was Michael Anderson, while Kalpana Chawla served as the mission's flight engineer. David Brown and Laurel Clark, both Navy captains, flew as the mission specialists on their first spaceflights,

while Elon Raymond, a colonel in the Israeli Air Force and the first Israeli astronaut, flew as a payload specialist. The first minute of the launch went exactly as planned, but just 81 seconds into takeoff, a seemingly insignificant event would prove to yield unforeseen consequences. A piece of foam, approximately 65 centimeters long and 40 centimeters wide, broke off from the shuttle's left external tank. Footage shows the piece of foam coming loose before smashing into dust on the shuttle's left wing at speeds of up to 573 miles per hour. Mission Control did not notice the debris strike at the time, and after 43 minutes of constant ascent, the Columbia they very quickly noticed the debris strike but since none of the cameras that recorded the launch had a very clear view of the foam striking the

wing mission control was unable to determine the level of damage sustained by the orbiter nasa scientists believed that the space shuttle's reinforced carbon carbon tiles could be damaged and if this was true the effect upon re-entry could be catastrophic. The reinforced carbon-carbon tiles used in the thermal protection system of the space shuttle played a crucial role in protecting it from the extreme heat generated during re-entry into the Earth's atmosphere. The tiles are made of composite metal consisting of interweaved carbon fibers, making it lightweight and capable of withstanding temperatures of up to 3,000 degrees Fahrenheit. Generally speaking, RCC tiles are installed on the leading edges of the space shuttle's wings and the nose cap,

where the heat generated during re-entry was most intense and are critical in ensuring the space shuttle's safe return to Earth. If the RCC tiles were damaged, the crew of the Columbia could be in serious trouble. But incredibly, NASA program managers seemed unconcerned with the debris strike and called for the mission to continue as usual. To further analyze any potential damage, NASA enlisted the help of the Boeing Aircraft Company, who used high-tech computer

software that could predict the levels of damage present on the Columbia's left wing the software models predicted that the shuttle's aluminum skin would be unprotected in the area the debris had impacted yet NASA's own debris assessment team dismissed this conclusion as inaccurate due to previous instances where the predicted damage was much less severe than what was actually present. Not only that, but maneuvering the orbiter to allow its left wing to be imaged would have interrupted or compromised their mission-critical science operations. Requests for additional imagery were declined, at which point NASA's debris assessment team did not make further requests for the orbiter to be imaged.

As we've covered, those aboard the space shuttle Columbia were completely unaware of the post-launch debris strike. But when they were informed, it was only to downplay any risk associated with the strike. They were told that experts had reviewed the videos from the shuttle's takeoff and had expressed no concern of any structural damage. In light of that, the Columbia was cleared for its return to Earth and was scheduled to do so on February 1st, just over two weeks after it had originally taken off. When the time came, the crew successfully fired off the boosters which would take them out of Earth's orbit and having them descending into Earth's atmosphere, which they did at exactly 8.44 a.m. universal time. Almost immediately, the damage to the

shuttle's left wing allowed for intense heat to work its way into the substructure, and before long, its aluminum skeleton began to quite literally melt away. Heat sensors in the shuttle's wing activated an alarm system both inside the shuttle as well as on the ground. The astronauts were in extreme peril. At 8.53, as the Columbia crossed over the California's coast, it was traveling at speeds of over 17,000 miles an hour. Seconds later, the shuttle began to break apart. Ground observers noticed a sudden increase in the brightness of the air around the shuttle. Casual observers didn't think much of it, but those with more experience knew something was terribly wrong with the shuttle's descent.

As the Columbia traveled over Utah, Arizona, New Mexico, and then Texas, observers began seeing small pieces of debris falling away from the shuttle as it fell towards Earth. One such piece of debris was a tile from the shuttle's thermal protection system, which landed dramatically but harmlessly near the town of Littlefield, Texas. By this point, the crew were well aware that they were in serious danger. They attempted to correct the shuttle's orientation using the manual onboard system yet the problem persisted they then attempted to use the shuttle's thrusters and attempt to do the same but again this failed

to achieve the desired result the columbia's pilot william mool, maintained almost constant radio contact with mission control as he fought to keep the shuttle together, but at exactly 8.59 a.m., the Columbia's radio went silent. Seconds after the loss of transmission, and while traveling at speeds of up to 11,500 miles an hour, the plummeting Columbia began to rapidly rotate. The rapid acceleration the astronauts experienced would have caused a terrifying amount of dizziness and disorientation. Yet at exactly 9 a.m., the shuttle's autopilot was switched to manual control, then reset to automatic mode. This would have required the input of either Husband or McCool, indicating that they were still conscious and able to perform functions at the time. Either the captain or pilot were still alive exactly five seconds later when they attempted to restore the shuttle's hydraulic landing systems. It was the final act of any of Columbia's astronauts and while valiant, it was ultimately futile. Eighteen seconds after the clock struck 9 a.m., the Columbia Space Shuttle completely broke apart,

with the resulting rapid decompression taking the lives of all astronauts on board. Each piece of broken shuttle continued to break apart into smaller and smaller pieces, and within minutes, were too small to be detected by ground-based videos. By 9.35, all debris and crew remains were estimated to have impacted the ground. At approximately 9.06, when Columbia would have been conducting its final maneuvers to land, a mission control member received a phone call concerning news coverage of the orbiter breaking up. This information was passed on to mission control and after the shuttle failed to land at the expected time of 9.16am, NASA initiated contingency procedures as they began to accept the horrifying reality that all seven astronauts had been killed.

As helicopter search teams scoured the shuttle's flight path with the intention of collecting up what remained of it, NASA investigators got to work determining the exact cause of both the shuttle's destruction and the astronauts' death. The first lethal event was quite obviously the depressurization of the crew module, but what became painfully obvious is that the astronauts had either not been wearing their helmets or had neglected to close the visor prior to descent. This indicated that depressurization occurred quickly before they could take protective measures, in other words, in mere fractions of a second. As the shuttle began to violently spin, the astronauts' shoulder harnesses were unable to prevent devastating damage to their upper bodies,

and as the inertia reel system failed to retract sufficiently to secure them, the resulting trauma was nothing short of catastrophic. What's more, the crew's helmets had not been tailored to each of their specific sizes, meaning not only did they allow for serious head injuries to occur as a result of their skulls bashing off of each side of the helmet, but the neck ring might also have acted as a kind of hangman's noose, causing devastating spinal injuries. The astronauts also likely suffered significant thermal trauma both before and after their deaths. Investigators determined that, in all likelihood,

hot gas entered the crew module as it began to rupture, burning the crew members in spite of the fact that their bodies were still somewhat shielded by their protective suits. Once the crew module fell apart, the astronauts were violently exposed to an unimaginably powerful wind blast as well as possible shock waves so powerful that it tore the spacesuits from their bodies. It's also believed that whatever remained of them was then exposed to steaming hot gases and glowing hot molten metal as they tumbled away from the broken shuttle. By the time they hit the ground, there was very little left of them. On the afternoon of February 1st, just hours after hearing the news of the disaster,

President George W. Bush Sr. addressed the American people via a live broadcast from the White House. My fellow Americans, this day has brought terrible news and great sadness to our country. At 9 a.m. this morning, mission control in Houston lost contact with our space shuttle Columbia. A short time later, debris was seen falling from the skies above Texas. The Columbia is lost, and there are no survivors. In the months after the disaster, the single largest ever organized ground search in US history took place. NASA officials warned of the dangers of handling debris as there was a risk of it being contaminated by highly toxic propellants, but apparently this didn't seem to deter a certain few. Soon after the accident,

a group of unconnected but similarly motivated individuals attempted to sell pieces of the Columbia on the internet, including on the online auction website eBay. Officials at NASA heavily criticized those attempting to profit from a national tragedy and stated that the debris was both federal property and essential to the ongoing investigation. A three-day amnesty period was offered for recovered debris and during that 72-hour window, almost two dozen different individuals contacted NASA to return the pieces of the shuttle. However, when this amnesty period ended and the items were found to have still not been taken off of eBay, several people were arrested for illegal looting and possession of prohibited government property. On March 27th, the death toll mounted when a search helicopter that was being used in the investigation crashed due to mechanical failure in the Angelina National Forest. The crash killed both the pilot as well as a Texas Forest Service aviation specialist, while three survivors were later recovered from the crash site. Officially speaking,

the only survivors of the Columbia disaster were a group of C. elegans worms, which were found alive on April 28th of 2003. The worms are a kind of transparent nematode, about one millimeter in length, that live in temperate soil environments and were part of an experiment to research their growth while consuming synthetic nutrients. Enclosed in their aluminum canisters, the worms somehow managed to survive re-entry, as well as the powerful impact with the ground. On February 4th of 2003, President Bush and his wife Laura led a memorial service for the astronauts' families at the Johnson Space Center. Patti LaBelle sang Way Up There as part of the service, a choice that all found incredibly moving, given the song's lyrical content. Several months later, on October 28th of 2003,

the names of the Columbia astronauts were added to the Space Mirror Memorial at the Kennedy Space Center's Visitor Complex, alongside the names of 17 other astronauts. Trees representing each astronaut was planted in NASA's Memorial Grove, also at the Johnson Space Center, along with trees for each astronaut from the Apollo 1 and Challenger disasters. The following year, President Bush conferred posthumous Congressional Medals of Honor to all 14 crew members killed in the Challenger and Columbia accidents. It was a befitting tribute to the courage of those who volunteered themselves to be mankind's last

great frontiersmen who dare to go where no man or woman has gone before. Uh, excuse me. Why are you walking so close behind me? Well, you're a tall guy. You throw a decent shadow when I'm walking in it to keep out of this bright sun. It hurts my eyes. Okay, well, you know what? Specsavers, you can get two pairs of glasses from $149.

And, oh, you'll like this. One can be a pair of prescription sunglasses. Sounds great. Where's the nearest store? Not far. Come on. Let's hurry then. To my count.

One, two, one, two, one, two. Visit Specsavers.ca for details. Growing up, I learned that my hometown had three major scandals in its history. The first happened way back before I was born when some attorney turned out to have been swindling his partner's pension fund for the better part of 20 years. The partner went over to this thief's home and fired a machine gun. Yeah, you heard that right, an actual machine gun in front of his home. The thief wasn't even home at the time, but his car and house got all tore up and his wife took a bullet to her hip. And both men ended up going to prison, one for embezzlement and one for attempted murder. The second scandal involved a pastor in his 50s running away with a high school senior. Rumor was that she was pregnant and I don't think that they were ever heard from again,

but it's this third scandal that's by far the worst of the three. So back in the late 90s when I was still in elementary school a woman got a call at 3 a.m from her grown-up daughter. All she said in a voice that sounded like she'd been crying was, mom we need to come get the kids. I love you. And then she hung up. Obviously, the woman's mom is terrified for her and her grandkids, so she rushed over to their house and starts banging on the front door. There are lights on in the house, but no one comes to open the door, and after discovering all the doors locked, grandma calls the cops. The cops show up, bust their way in, and they find the two grandchildren locked in their bedroom fast asleep totally unaware that anything is happening the cops get them out to the grandma

then they go inside to look again a few minutes later they come out again looking pale wide-eyed and all of that and they tell grandma to take the kids back to her place for the rest of the night because over the next few hours the house is about to become a major crime scene. I've heard some say that grandma knew there and then that her daughter had done something terrible. She just had no idea exactly what it was until the cops had put all the pieces together. But when they did, and they saw that it was fit to tell her what had actually happened, I'm not sure she ever could have imagined just how nightmarish the truth really was. Grandma's son-in-law taught special ed at the local high school, a real pillar of the community kind of guy. Well, as it turns out, he wasn't nearly so wholesome as people thought he was. One day, grandma's daughter is going through her husband's stuff for some reason when

she comes across a cell phone that she didn't recognize. Either it didn't have a pin code, which seems unlikely, or the wife was able to guess it because she gets into that phone, finds her way into the text messages, then starts reading these back and forth conversations with numbers that have been saved under girls' names. She realizes her husband is having multiple affairs, so she decides to call the girls from the phone, presumably to cuss them out and her husband. But when they pick up the calls and she talks to the girls, she realizes from their voices that they're both underage girls in the special ed class this guy teaches.

You'd think that the wife would just call the cops, then the husband, in that order. Maybe even the husband first just to let him know what trash he is before she dialed 911 or something. But she didn't. Instead, she put the phone back, put on this happy face, and pretended that everything was normal for the remainder of the day. She let her husband go to sleep thinking his secret was safe, and then she went upstairs, locked her two boys in their bedroom, and then stabbed her sleeping husband to death with a kitchen knife. The cops thought the first strike might have been as decisive as it was deadly, as the husband never woke up or tried to get out of bed.

She just carved him up where he was lying, then hung herself with one of his ties in their closet after calling her mom. I guess she couldn't live with the idea of her kids knowing that she killed her dad, so instead of having to explain to them that she murdered their father because he was a freak, she decided to just check out early. And the most messed up thing, I can't say I really blame her. The grandma ended up taking her grandchildren and moving out of state. And no one knows how she told these boys what happened or if she ever really did.

But I can't even imagine how it feels to live with that kind of burden. The town elected to just dismantle the house and build a brand new one on its foundations. They didn't want the place becoming some mecca for all the weirdos that get their kicks from visiting places where horrible tragedies have happened. I guess people tried their best to forget about the whole thing, but I also suppose that things like that never really die, not while there's still people to talk about them. In fact, I imagine it would be a very long time before people forget what happened that night and stop passing the story down, generation from generation. But part of me thinks that the only thing that'll make that happen is if even more

terrible things happen, louder, more recent things, that drown out all the stuff from the past. And that's how things go on forever and ever, until there's no people left to cause tragedies in the first place. So I recently had a few encounters with a delivery guy. First was when he asked me, are you, and then he says my full name, from, and my previous address. You moved, huh? While just giving this really creepy smile. I thought he was just a delivery guy that was trying to do small talk so I brushed him off. I'm living alone so I thought that I was just a delivery guy that was trying to do small talk so I brushed him off. I'm living alone so I thought that I was just kind of overthinking things, getting creeped out. Then I realized after I thought about it that he was my neighbor at my previous address.

He striked up a conversation with me saying that he knows one of my friends. I don't like talking to strangers so I didn't talk to him long enough but it stayed with me because I felt uncomfortable with him, like I felt he was dangerous, I don't know. After that I was going out and I saw him again delivering to my neighbor and I ignored him trying to walk by. He saw me and recognized me even if I was wearing a mask and asked the same question again. After that, since I don't go out too much, I don't see him as often. There was this one time he was standing in front of my neighbor's house, but I just walked by. Then I saw him in my Facebook friend requests and I just ignored him again, but I was obviously creeped out, so I told my friend that he said he knew. At first, my friend said she doesn't know anyone with that name but his last name made her recognize him as a son of a family friend.

They never talked. His family didn't know that he was working as a delivery guy and he was laid off because he became obsessed with his boss which was older than his mom. I also lost my keys so I asked my landlord for a replacement. I didn't think much of it until I got home to my door open. Obviously I was cautious but there was no one at my apartment so I just sighed in relief thinking that maybe I just left it open. I am night shift so sometimes my mind is just all over the place. Now that I'm thinking about it I overlooked a lot of things and I'm thinking of installing some CCTV cameras in front of my apartment but I'm thinking about it, I overlooked a lot of things and I'm thinking of installing some CCTV cameras in front of my apartment, but I'm still scared though because he does know my

address. Update. My friend told me to report him to the police, but I'm too scared because they might just let him go and he might find out and take revenge on me. She also told me that he might be doing drugs, as told by his family, since he is acting suspicious. The most I can do right now is change my locks and just install a camera in front, but wish me luck. I feel lucky these encounters all occurred in public places. Now, for reference, I'm a female, 24 years old, have freckles, and naturally red hair and I'm about 5'7". The first time this man, who appeared to be about my same age and height, approached me while I was in a popular downtown bar with my best friend. I saw this guy approach and was not interested so as not to lead him on, I just kind of kept

my responses short. The conversation went as follows, and his intro line was, You got so many freckles, they're just in so many random places. Uh, yeah, that's how freckles work. Well, this is how you know you're a real redhead. I was just creeped out already at this point. Yeah, I'm well aware. He lingered to ask a couple more pointless questions until my friend and I managed to get away. My friend and I ended up going to a different bar across the street a little later in the night. We had settled into

the new bar, were a little drunker, and my friend went to the bathroom, leaving me at a high top table against the wall. The same man appeared out of nowhere to my left and put one arm against my table and the other against the wall so I had nowhere to go, saying to me, hey you're the redhead from before. Fellas, never physically trap a girl you're trying to hit on. I was extremely uncomfortable but I figured my friend would be back soon and would be able to help me out of a situation without causing a scene he asked me several awkward questions meanwhile i had secretly texted my friend to hurry back and save me from this creepy guy and then he asked hey take a picture with me. Why? For my memories. I was still trapped and I was hoping if I complied that he would just leave me alone.

So I let him take a picture of us while I was smiling this sort of fake hostage smile. My friend had reappeared but was standing by the bar and not approaching the table. I pretended to be drunker than I was and rushed over to her, gushing, oh my god you're back, let's go dance, and I dragged her away to explain the situation. Now fast forward a week, my next encounter with this man was at a completely different and very busy bar with different female friends of mine. I was having a good time and suddenly I looked to my left and this man, I kid you not, was running in my direction, phone outstretched with the picture he forced me to take with him on the screen. I had had enough and I was done being polite to save his feelings as I sat there scared. I told him, yo, leave me alone, you creep me out. And he venomously replied,

Well, you're ugly anyways. Screw you. My friends caught wind of something going on and as he walked away, they offered to protect me if needed. Now for months I thought that this would just be the last interaction with this weirdo, but I was wrong. I had taken it as a warning, an example of how men's demeanor can change once they've been rejected, and it was very chilling. Seven months later, I had forgotten about the prior encounters, and I was casually browsing a drugstore makeup display at night after the gym. I was looking down at a product when my spidey senses started going off. Someone was standing on the other side of the display and staring at me in my periphery. I looked up and a man was two feet in front of me.

I didn't yet realize it, but it was the same man. He asked me if the drugstore that we were in sold chapstick. It's a drugstore. Everyone without fail sells chapstick. Now taken aback, my initial thought was that he assumed that I was an employee and replied, I don't work here. He smiled this very slow smile, maintained eye contact and said, okay. We both continued shopping until he returned to another makeup aisle that I was at in the store. He said, I think we met before. I told him I didn't believe that we had, as I truly didn't remember him yet. He began to ask me questions that every girl my age in my city would answer yes to. Have you been downtown before? Everyone has, why? But like every weekend? Not every single weekend. No, but last summer with some girls? At this point I was getting a very bad feeling in my stomach. Everything about his body language,

demeanor, and the things that he was saying just felt off, and he was staring. He insisted two more times that we had met and would not let it go, so I suggested, lots of people confuse me with other redheads they've met before. I'm sorry, I don't remember meeting you. He stared at me, and after a moment he slowly said, no, I know the redhead I spoke to. I began walking to the register and he followed. As I walked it finally clicked who it was and I was afraid. His social unawareness and weird questions made me sure it was him. I played it cool until I had paid for my items and I was leaving the store. I didn't look back, but I knew that he had items to pay for before he could follow.

So as soon as I was out of the door I sprinted for my car. I got in, locked it, and sat for a moment stunned as I processed what had happened. I came to my senses quickly and drove to the parking lot exit. I looked back and he was just outside the doors of the pharmacy, his head looking back and forth across the dark parking lot for me. I know he saw my car leaving the parking lot and since it was at night, few people were at the pharmacy so it was clearly me leaving. I took note of the car that he was walking to and decided to take an extra long route home to ensure that I wasn't being followed. This route led through a wealthy neighborhood at the far

east end of my city so there's nothing that way aside from high end homes. I'd loop through a wealthy neighborhood at the far east end of my city so there's nothing that way aside from high-end homes. I'd looped through a roundabout in this neighborhood and I saw a car matching his drive straight through. There was no way to know if it was his, however it was chilling. There was no sign of his car after that. A couple of weekends later was my final encounter. It was St. Paddy's Day and the bars downtown were as packed as I had ever seen them. I was in the same bar that he had first approached me in months before, alone as I was waiting for friends to get through security. He rushed up to me from the crowd and said, Hey, I know you from...

and he named the pharmacy. I had to assertively tell him to leave me alone multiple times, and he kept asking, why? Do you have a boyfriend? I responded again saying, that's none of your business. Leave me alone. It is interesting how some men only seem to take another man's claim to a woman as a no, and not a woman's obvious and direct disinterest. To this day, another seven months later, that was the last I saw of him. I am lucky these encounters were in public, they could have easily have turned violent otherwise. I wrote this hoping to show other women that being assertive and at times rude is completely okay and necessary to protect

yourself. Some men do take no for an answer easily, and to this day it baffles me why he would try so hard to make me remember him after he called me ugly. I, a female, was 25 at the time, and this was 2018, and I live with my boyfriend in our hometown, which is a small city with relatively high poverty rates and some drug problems due to the limited activities available. My boyfriend, now husband, was at his friend's house. It was a Saturday night and he had mentioned that he'd be home at around 9. He was about two towns over, which was a 20 minute drive away. At the time we lived in a duplex that had been split

into separate upstairs and downstairs units. My cousin actually rented the downstairs apartment and she could be quite loud. I knew when she was or wasn't home and on this night she wasn't at home. Our street was situated in a way that the backs of the houses on my street as well as the parallel street faced a narrow alley and the driveways were mostly accessible through this alley. The downstairs unit had a front porch with a door and a side door. Our upstairs unit had the back door at the top of an outside set of wooden stairs. Anyway, I was home alone watching TV when I suddenly heard someone coming up the stairs and knocking on the door. It was only 8.30 so it wouldn't have been unusual for my boyfriend to come home early.

Maybe he got bored playing video games or he simply felt like leaving early. I usually unlock the door for him when he arrived instead of him using his keys because it was dark and could be a hassle. So I got up and opened the door, fully expecting to see my boyfriend. But it was someone entirely different. Standing there was a thin man in oversized jeans and hoodie. He had only about four teeth and was swaying back and forth. I was so shocked because I had been certain that it was my boyfriend. The man at the door asked me,

Can I use your phone? Behind him, down the stairs in the alley, I noticed a large SUV, a Ford Explorer type, idling with someone in the driver's seat. I panicked and said, Yeah, hold on. Then I quickly shut and locked the door. I think I was more shocked by the fact that it was a stranger at my door rather than my boyfriend's absence. I hid so that he couldn't see me through the front door's window and I was frozen in fear. Something inside of me was telling me that this was not okay. After a few minutes, I heard him start walking down the stairs. I cautiously went over

to the door and saw the car drive away down the alley. I immediately called my boyfriend and explained the situation. He said that he would leave his friend's house, but as I mentioned earlier, it was a 20 minute drive and he was about to leave anyway. After he got home, I calmed down and honestly felt silly. I wondered, why didn't I just lend the guy my phone? Was it really that strange? However, as I thought about it more over the next few days, it was 2018, and the fact that neither this guy nor the person in the car had a phone was quite odd. It wasn't like they were experiencing car trouble either, so why would they need a stranger's phone? And moreover, they went through an alley to the backside of a house, up some stairs,

just to ask someone for a phone. They didn't go to my cousin's front door downstairs, and I would have heard someone on the porch. They didn't approach any other house, and I saw them leave the street entirely. Also, why would they go to a house to ask for a phone when there was no car in the driveway? And of course, our battery-powered security cameraman was dead at the time. I'm genuinely unsure about what they wanted. If anyone has any ideas or thinks I might be overthinking, please let me know. But as for that creepy guy at my door, I hope they never stop by again. So this happened years ago when I was a naive teenager. I'm a girl who loved walking alone in the city after dark.

This took place in Eastern Europe and for context, in a city with a tramway system. On this one night, I sat at a tram station waiting to catch the last tram home. Three trams stopped at this station, two of which went where I was going. This is important information for later. It was around 10pm, and as I sat there waiting, lost in thought, I barely registered a man quietly walking up and standing by the shelter. I thought nothing of it, just someone else waiting for the tram. Until I started feeling weird. The streets were quiet and dark and there was no one else in sight, just me and this guy, and I started wondering why he chose to stand so

close to me when he had so much space to avoid dealing with people. I couldn't comprehend anyone wanting to socialize this late at night, given that I was not very social myself. So I glanced at him, trying not to overthink it. He was a bald-headed, beady-eyed giant, tall and built like a bear, with a big belly, big arms, and legs. I was 5'2 and scrawny, but that wasn't what scared me. It was the fact that he was just staring right at me, unblinking and expressionless, not even attempting to look away or act embarrassed. No, this guy wanted me to feel uncomfortable. I instantly felt weak and shaky, with cold shivers running down my spine. This was not normal. I realized quickly that I was not in a good situation.

I couldn't miss the last tram. Walking home was out of the question, and my phone was almost dead. I was a shy kid and didn't have what it takes to scare this guy away. I knew that, but I had to at least try. I only managed to utter a small, Hi? Trying my best to startle him out of whatever he was thinking, but my attempt failed in the face of his silent, threatening aura. He kept staring, with no sign of intent to reply. He was enjoying this, feeling the panic rising inside of me. I told myself to stay calm and think rationally, maybe he didn't hear me. Minutes passed and his stare continued to burn into my skin and there was no tram in sight. Ignoring him didn't work. So I mustered the courage to speak once again, this time louder. What do you want? Stop staring. No answer.

He definitely heard me this time. I felt myself start to get angry. I didn't want to let this guy get to me anymore. I didn't want to continue to give him the satisfaction of watching me squirm nervously and pretending that his behavior didn't bother me. I took a deep breath and forced myself to start thinking. I knew what I can't do. I can't fight him off if he makes a move and there's nothing I can say or do that will get him to stop. I didn't know what his intentions were but I knew they weren't good. If I tried to walk away he would probably follow. I could run but he would most likely catch up to me before I could tire him out since his legs were much longer than mine. Even if I managed to somehow lose him,

walking home through dark alleys past the junkies and all the transients that were always prowling about could land me in an even worse situation. I could pretend to call someone, but he might feel compelled to act much sooner if he felt threatened. So what can I do? The only thing I could realistically be able to do was to try and outsmart him somehow. So I started developing a few plans, depending on which tram showed up, trying to confirm whether he was just amusing himself and actually waiting for a tram too, or popped over for other, more suspicious reasons, and whether I could get any kind of help. I couldn't let him see where I live, so if he followed me I'd have to be prepared to employ whatever strategy was available and for that I needed to stay rational and aware of my surroundings.

While I was still thinking the first tram showed up. It was the one that I could have taken home but this one pulled into the depot right in my neighborhood forcing me to lead him to my home. I hoped that he would board it and leave me be, but he didn't. He kept watching me carefully. I let the tram go, desperately hoping that it wasn't the last one heading home. He continued to watch and I sensed that he was quite happy with how things were going. I put up with it for another 15 minutes, trying to focus on another plan of action. I could now pretend that I needed the other tram, the one going to a different area of the city and just ride to the next station, get off as soon as possible so I

don't end up too far and miss the tram that I need. This tram showed up next, and with my heart in my throat I boarded it and sat down by the door. He got on too, but sat himself in the back pretty far from where I was. I let out a sigh of relief thinking that this might still go well. When the tram reached the next station I got up, got out, not looking back and hoping it was all over. But when I stepped on the pavement and watched the tram drive away, I couldn't see a minute. I turned my head slowly and was terrified to see him walking towards me, looking slightly angry. He stopped just a few steps away and resumed staring, this time with a clear hint of malice, still in silence.

My vision blurred as I fought back tears of despair. He was not going to let me go. The helplessness that I felt was unbearable, but I couldn't cry. I couldn't give up. I had to find a way. I had to get home tonight. The prospect of what might happen to me at any time now, if I didn't, was becoming too real. My head was full of unanswered questions, regrets and horrible scenarios. I wanted so badly not to have to think anymore, to not have to fight back the tears and stay composed.

But I knew this would be his cue to enact whatever messed up plan he had in mind. I couldn't let that happen. Then I saw the final tram approach and the only one I could take now and got on as quickly as my trembling legs would allow me. When I was in, bright lights enveloped me. My mind snapped out of its nightmarish spiral of fear and allowed me a moment of clarity. I had three stops to figure this out. I sat down at the front and looked at the driver. He was a frail old man, blissfully unaware of my distress. Getting the driver's attention was a no-go. We passed one stop and there was no one else waiting to climb aboard.

I turned around fully expecting to see that the psycho had followed me again, but I did not expect him to be sitting right behind me. He was not taking any chances. He was making sure that I won't try anything like last time. I shot him in the face. You see, I had a gun on me the entire time. I blew his brains out right there and then. I just didn't want to take any chances. My face was covered in blood and brain matter, but I put on the Let's Read podcast and my headphones and just chilled out for the rest of the ride. And then the old guy at the front who was driving the tram looked back and said he gave me a nod like an old fucking grandpa or some shit that, you know, knows you did the right thing and

gave me a bit of a wink. Now I think he's bad. So I shot him in the back of the head. Ah, crap. Who's going to drive the tram now? I probably could drive the tram. I can do anything. I can do absolutely anything if I put my mind to it. Okay, I crashed the tram. Everybody's dead. I turned around, fully expecting to see that psycho had followed me again. But I did not expect to see him sitting right behind me.

He was not taking any chances. He was making sure that I wouldn't try anything like last time. I shot him a hateful glare and allowed my anger to overcome my fear. I stood up and purposely walked over to another seat in the middle of the tram car. I wanted to make it clear. I would not put up with his BS any longer. He got up too and slowly walked up to a spot two seats behind and diagonally from me, then sat down with the tiniest arrogant grin on his face. Already expecting it, I shot up and stood by the middle door instead, determined to keep him on his toes. If I stood right by the door, he wouldn't have any idea which station I planned to get off at. He remained where he was at this

time, convinced that I was bluffing. After that, this was really the last tram and there was nothing else I could possibly do to escape now, he must have reckoned, so my defiance was just a funny act to him. This is my chance. I had to take the risk, and it had to work. There were three doors to the tram and they all opened and closed at the same time, standing open for around five seconds before closing again if no buttons were pressed or people were detected on the threshold. The next stop, the only one left before mine came into view, and the tram slowed to a stop. The doors opened, and I made no move. Five seconds passed, and the door started to close. I bolted out and ran for it, reaching the back door as fast as I could and slamming the button to open it again. My whole body tense with adrenaline, I waited a long painful second and jumped back in, keeping my head low, holding my breath and crouching behind the nearest seat.

I shut my eyes tightly and exhaled slowly, thanking the gods I didn't believe in for that button working and wishing with all my might for him not to have seen me before I got back in. As I waited to hear his footsteps approaching, I pictured him frantically looking for me. Was he still on the tram, his face screwed up in anger, his head turning like a fat, ugly meerkat? Or was he catching his breath on the pavement of the last station, mad eyes searching the darkness for me? As the tram continued its loud journey, banging and clanging in sync with my heartbeat, I dared to smile to myself, imagining his face when he realized he messed up. Hand on my chest, I did my best to stealthily look around the corner and found no one looking

back. I stood up in excitement and threw myself at the foggy back window. And there he was, standing alone and victimless on that slowly fading out of sight station, watching me leave him and his vile plans behind, giving someone the middle finger never felt so good. About three years ago, when I was 18, I worked as a waiter in a restaurant in the mall. Despite being very introverted, it never affected my relationship with my customers. However, speaking to people I wasn't serving gave me major butterflies. I had just finished my shift at around 1700 and was walking out when I noticed a woman who appeared to be in pain, clutching her stomach and looking at me. I had to walk past her to get to the exit and I was trying to avoid her because I wasn't looking for conversation. I also disliked when people asked for money. I know it's selfish, but I had to work really hard for the little money the customers had tipped me that day. I maneuvered

my way around the people, but she called out to me. I acted like I didn't hear her and move faster and eventually she ran to me and grabbed my arm crying. Please, please brother, I have children and I have cancer of the stomach. She lifted up her dirty shirt and showed me a large surgical wound across her stomach. I told her that I didn't have anything but she continued to badger me. Eventually I just ran to the stairs and went up them. I saw her chasing me but I was much faster. She slowed down at the second staircase to catch her breath and I turned to get off at the third floor where she couldn't see me. I took the elevator next to the stairs back to the first floor so I could exit. Eventually, I reached the

bus stop and was on my way home. When I got off at the stop, I went to the corner shop to buy bread. At the end of the road, I saw the woman from the mall and her boyfriend. They must have definitely seen me, even though I was taking a longer route home to avoid them. At around 1900, I heard a knock at my gate. I live in a house that has two sliding gates in front of the main entrance. I look out of the window and, to my horror, saw the woman and her boyfriend. I stayed quiet and hoped that they would just go away, but they remained outside of my house for two hours until my parents arrived. They begged my parents for money or food to feed their kids.

My father found it weird that they were there until about 2100, so he told them that we didn't have anything and to leave our property before he called the police, and surprisingly they left without any hassle. I explained to my parents that these people had been begging me for money at the mall and had followed me home and stayed outside the house for two whole hours. And thankfully we never saw them again after that day. I'm a 30-year-old transgender male. For the sake of my demeanor when this event occurred, I was a timid 19-year-old lesbian thrust into the world immediately after graduation. I had just lost my job at McDonald's due to a massive flood that took out many businesses in my area. I had a girlfriend who lived 30 minutes away and I needed gas money so I took a job

offered to me by a family friend at a 24-7 gas station in the next town over from mine. The shift I was hired for was from 11pm to 7am and I had never worked a night shift in my life. However, I thought it would be pretty cool to have little to no pressure other than making sure that the coffee was ready at 4am for the morning regulars. I was required to train on the day shift for the first couple of weeks to get accustomed to the operations. Throughout those weeks, I learned many of the ins and outs of what takes place on the night shift, and I also learned the ins and outs of the people who hung around the place for hours, and there were quite a few. One woman in particular, Melinda, would come in every morning before and after dropping her kids

off at school. Sometimes she would actually buy us lunch at around lunch time and in the evenings when her husband was home, she would stay for hours considering that she lived a couple of streets over. She was nice and I started to enjoy her visits and we all got along well in the store. It was a fun atmosphere for the most part. So it was finally time for me to work the night shift and I had my manager with me for a few nights. I was taking her place in the night shift because she couldn't do it anymore. She was nice and I admit that I had a pretty big crush on her so I didn't mind spending the night with her. I learned that when she worked the night, Melinda spent the entire night there.

I had been working the night shift alone for a couple of weeks and some of those night shifts dragged into the days when we were short staffed but again I needed the money. Anyway, one night I was doing my chores, scrubbing the hot dog rollers, setting up coffee filters for the rush and mopping the entire store. While emptying my mop bucket I heard the chime of the door and looked at my watch. I saw it was 2am, which was odd because there typically wasn't anyone coming into the store until 4 consistently. I was a little upset because I had just mopped that floor, but I went out to see who it was. Just as I headed out, the movement in the mirror overhead, which was there to stop shoplifters,

caught my eye. There was a man at the counter doing something with the money order machine, and upon looking again, he had a knife. He was cutting the wires, for what reason I had no clue, and while he was cutting, I heard him muttering, where's Bonka, over and over again. I knew I could walk back to get the phone in the office, but I didn't want him to hear me so I pulled out my phone and texted Melinda to call the cops and try to text as much of a description as I could quickly. She told me that she'd be right down and I was freaking out with every second that passed. Before she could get there, the man went outside to the gas pumps and

threw all of the trash cans and started to try and cut through the gas lines. I took this opportunity to lock the front door in case he tried to get back in, and thank God it did because he immediately made a beeline for the door and slammed his fist into it. And just as he did, the cops and Melinda showed up and he was put into the cop car while I explained everything that had just happened. Turns out, Bonka was the name he called my manager, whose name was Bianca. He had become obsessed with her in the weeks prior, dropping in nightly and making her very uncomfortable, which explains why she couldn't take it anymore. They knowingly threw a timid 19-year-old into this mess,

and seeing me there instead of her was what turned his obsession into rage. This happened when I was about 14 to 15 and I'm 18 now. For a little bit of context, I hated anyone touching my hair and my mom would sometimes touch my hair and talk about how much she loves it because it's curly and thick. I'd always be like, ew, don't do that, and it was like a mutual understanding that I dislike when people touch my hair, even family. So we're in Dollar Tree, buying some snacks and stuff, standing in the checkout line, and I'm behind my mom just sort of zoning out and I feel someone behind me toss my hair up and just start touching me saying I love your hair. It was really creepy. They actually just came up behind me and started touching my hair with no warning and complimenting me, talking about how it was so thick and pretty and like thank you but Jesus Christ it was like a jump

scare. My mom kind of brushed it off and was like, yeah, I know you don't like it when people touch your hair, but I was mortified. Thankfully, I've had no more hair touchers, but don't sneak up on a teenage girl and touch their hair with no warning. I saw a post on Let's Not Meet about a hair sniffer at a pharmacy, and it reminded me of what happened to me. So this was about three and a half years ago, but I think about it every day. I'll start by saying that I was not being very smart. I was in Miami with a friend who was not my boyfriend, and we were vacationing and blowing off steam.

I was 28 and he was 25. I decided to download Grindr to see what was going on. Long story short, I met a guy and went to his place for some fun. We had a blast, had some drinks, and it was about 11pm when it was time to wrap up and head back to the hotel. I noticed that it was only about a mile's walk straight down the road, so I decided to head out. While I had taken some Adderall and was feeling a little more reckless than I normally am so I decided to head out. While I had taken some Adderall and was feeling a little more reckless than I normally am, I decided maybe I would hook up with someone else. I know, I know. So I logged back on Grindr and instantly connected with a really hot guy.

He invited me over, gave me his address and even offered to pick me up. Standing on the edge of the sidewalk, I was wondering if he would pick me up or if I should call an Uber to his location or just go home. Suddenly, someone pulled up in a truck and said that they were here to pick me up. I thought, oh, you came, that's so nice. And I remember looking at the picture and at the guy, feeling very confident that they were the same person, so I hopped in the truck. Instantly, I had the weirdest feeling. The truck smelled weird, first of all. I don't know how to describe it, maybe the taste of like licking iron. I was instantly turned off and felt strange. He started driving, and thankfully I didn't close out of the grinder app when he pulled

up because it was so abrupt. I looked down and realized that I was getting further away from the guy that I was talking to. This was not the same person. I remember that I just started texting, but also talking to this guy in the truck, saying things like, I really like your blonde hair. Your gray truck's really cool. Is this a 2014 Chevy Silverado? I just told my friends about you and have to be home by 12. Just FYI. We can go to my hotel. They'd love to meet you. Trying to make it seem like I had people waiting for me that I had disclosed parts of his identity, anything, and this lasted about two to three minutes until he pulled over and said that he wasn't feeling like hanging out. To this day, I think I was picked up by someone who

saw me as an easy target, but I was slightly resourceful in the moment. For context, this happened to me years ago when I was 13, maybe 14. I grew up in a small to mid-sized city in the west, pretty safe in a quiet middle-class neighborhood. This is back when I still bought into organized religion and I was going to an overnight lock-in at the church gym. For the non-Christian kids who aren't familiar, it's basically a huge Jesus-focused sleepover for teens. The church was only maybe a 10-12 minute walk from my house and the quickest way to get there was to cut across a park right next to the elementary school. This was the early 2000s so I definitely grew up in the age of stranger danger and teaching girls to always

be vigilant. On the other hand, I was walking a short distance through my own neighborhood to the church and I was very responsible for my age. I was an oldest daughter, always the babysitter, and my parents had okayed me walking by myself and would drop by with my sleeping bag pillow after they picked up my little brother from practice. I was running a little late, so the sun was just setting as I approached the park. As I crunched my way across the grass next to the tennis courts, I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye. Turning my head, I saw a figure, clearly a man, dressed in dark clothing and leaning against the brick wall of the school. He was kind of tucked into an alcove form where the building met the fence around the playground

out of sight from the road. The man was standing just outside the halo light from the lamp above a nearby door. The man was just lounging in the crux of the wall and the fence. What initially caught my eye was the flicker of the lit cigarette in his mouth. It was too dark to see his features, but I could tell, as I noticed him, that he was already watching me. He was a fair distance away from the grass, but it was just open space between us. I couldn't see his eyes, but I could feel them on me. I felt that uneasy tingle creep down my spine. I suddenly realized that I was alone in the growing dark and here was some unknown man tracking me with his eyes that I couldn't make out.

Instead of continuing to cut diagonally across the park, I veered right toward the sidewalk and street so that I wouldn't come too close to him. I walked a little faster, trying to shake off my uneasiness, telling myself, you're just being silly. The first time I glanced back, he hadn't moved, though I could still feel him watching me. As I left the grass of the park and approached the street corner, I felt briefly relieved. I was back under the street lamps, which by now had flicked on, only three or four short blocks until I was at the church. I glanced back once more to reassure myself that I had worried for no reason expecting to see nothing, but now the man should be completely out of view. Instead, I felt the pit of dread in my stomach turn to acidic fear when I realized that the man was in fact halfway across the park walking in my direction.

I immediately crossed the other side of the street and began walking faster. At this point, I could feel the adrenaline rushing through me. I didn't have any real words or images to describe what I thought would happen to me, just a jumble of snippets of news reports and vague fears about what happens to young girls out alone at night. I was still trying to convince myself that it could just be a coincidence. The man could just be walking in the same direction. After another block, as I approached the next corner, I looked back again. The man had reached the edge of the park and instead of walking straight ahead, he too had cross the street to my side. Even worse, it seemed that he had closed some of the distance between us and to my eyes at least, it seemed like

he was walking faster. I immediately felt my terror increase. At this point, I was convinced that he was a predator and I had made myself easy prey. I still had two and a half blocks to the church but at this point, I was wondering whether I would ever make it to the lock-in. I glanced back at the man once more and he had closed the gap even further with his longer legs. I still couldn't clearly see his face but I had seen enough. I turned around and started all out running up the street. My backpack thumped against my back, my heart raced, and my breath turned shallow. I ran all the way to the church parking lot before I looked back again, and by the time I did, the man was gone. To this day, I have no idea if this man was after me or if he

just thought that I was some weird kid running down the street at dusk. Frankly, I'm glad to have never found out one way or the other. I can start by sharing that I have a twin and we are very close. We grew up in a small town where almost everyone knew each other, but that doesn't mean that it was entirely safe. Our parents always taught us to be wary of strangers, lock doors and never open the doors to strangers. We often stayed by ourselves after school while our parents worked, so we had plenty of experience staying alone. When we graduated from high school, we moved to the largest city in our state and attended the state university. We left our home, and we weren't too worried since we had each other. I guess this is where I share that I don't know what in the hell made us change our perspectives on safety when moving to a larger city with greater risks and weirdos.

We had our fair share of weirdos creeping on us, but our carelessness led us to not lock our doors. The funniest part about this is that we were crazy about horror movies, so we should have known better and toward our junior and senior years of university at around 2017 to 18 we moved to a cheaper part of the city to save on rent because our part-time jobs on campus didn't pay much. It was quiet and in a family area with a tall wooden fenced yard so nobody could see in. The place was old but had character and most importantly it was cheap and close to a bus stop. It was an old fourplex and after a year of living there our security door broke because of rotting wood and our landlord never got around to fixing it despite our requests. The front and only door to the apartment had a wooden door with glass which looked like a chocolate bar with glass squares on it. I'm sorry for that awful

explanation. Anyway, I often walked home from late night studying at school at around 3am by myself. I was very careless and so was my sister. I suppose we never locked our doors because my sister was so forgetful that she never had her home keys with her. I did not want to worry about her staying outside for hours until I was out of school or work. We never thought anything could happen to us. That was only in the movies though, which is why I will say that it was divine intervention or just crazy luck that for that night, for no real reason, the door of our apartment was locked. It was a Saturday night and I can't remember too well

what happened before the whole ordeal, but I think my sister and I went home after a brief night at a bar, having a beer and walking home together. My sister and I never had many friends or acquaintances and we haven't told the one or two friends that we did have where we lived, partly because we didn't have a new or nice place to have anyone over without apologizing. So when we heard our broken and old wooden gate door open right next to our bedroom window at around 4am, we immediately woke up, not alarmed but confused. Shortly after, we heard a persistent knock on the door. My sister walked with her eyes wide open straight to the door and put her hands on the lock and door as if though she was about to unlock it. I was right behind her and was

already seeing red flags. There was a guy in a black hoodie, covering his face and hiding his face away from the neighbor's porch light so that we couldn't see him. It was all happening too fast and we had just woken up, so we were thinking that it was just some rare friend of ours that we hadn't seen in a while. I blurted out for her to stop. I went to grab my phone in a heartbeat. It was a small apartment, so it wasn't too far, and I could hear my sister asking this creepy person who he was. He said in a calm voice, just open up. I saw that he was fiddling with his phone but I was hiding behind the hallway wall next to the tiny living room area. No, who are you? Asked my sister.

He then proceeded to jiggle the door handle which freaked me out because our locks were so crappy. I swear if he had jiggled any longer, the door would have opened gladly for him. And that's when I told my sister that I was calling 911, but the person only said, no, just chill out, wait, wait. I knew she was being stupid. My heart was pounding like it never had before. The guy proceeded to say, I know you're alone. He said this with so much ease it was almost a whisper and I freaked out and began to dial 911 on my iPhone. My sister backed up without removing her eyes from our mainly glass door. Mind you, we had a very clear view of this person. She met me in the hallway and told him that she was calling 911 but told me not to do anything because he was

leaving. And sure enough, he simply said, oh, okay, and left. The guy even closed our wooden door which, let me tell you, was a chore to get the broken thing to close. My sister told me that they left and I couldn't calm down though. We managed to go back to bed and in the morning we began to make sense of it all. She told me that when she was close to him what threw him off was that he was fiddling with his Spotify playlist which is a weird thing to do when you're knocking on someone's door. He most likely did this to keep his face hidden but my sister caught on quickly enough. We called her parents to inform them of what happened and of course they freaked out and forced us to notify the police which we did

and a cop showed up to take our complaint but couldn't do anything about it since they were long gone. My sister was dating a guy at the time with a family member in law enforcement, retired but willing to help us by doing some digging. A while passed and her boyfriend shared some terrifying information with us. I'll try to relay this to the best of my abilities since I can only remember so much about it. My sister's boyfriend had a side gig as a bouncer on the college bar street and spoke to other bouncers who told him that they had occurrences that day of a creepy hooded person following young girls in the clubs and getting complaints from them. This is probably how they spotted us. God knows

why they didn't make their move when we walked home in the dark. The retired family member was able to provide only a little bit of information since this was not an official case and could get in trouble for doing this kind of questioning or research without a warrant or some type of legal process. He informed us that there was not only one person outside of her house. I know he did some research because my sister's friend told us that his sister, who managed a coffee shop in the area, had a person come in and asking about specific individuals and if they were seen in the area. He left as soon as she threatened to call the police. Street cameras indicated that there were two other individuals aside from the one who was tampering with our door handle. They were waiting right outside the gate next to our bedroom window,

most likely intending to jump out as soon as we opened the door. I don't know what their mode of transportation was, but I am sure that they had something big enough to transport captives. He never told us the names of these individuals, only mentioning that they were under suspicion of trafficking women. I don't know what possessed my sister and me to lock our doors that night. If it had been left unlocked, the man could have easily entered and taken us. Needless to say, we're now very cautious about locking up at night, and I'm very grateful that things turned out the way they did, rather than the alternative. Please be cautious about locking your doors and walking alone at night.

These situations can be very real, and it's crucial to stay safe. Mysterious knockers began showing up on our rural Texas farm in the middle of the night on random dates over the span of two years. I had a very close encounter. To set the scene, we lived just outside of a town of about 30,000 people, 30 miles away from a major Texas city, but it had a semi-rural feel. The property covers 80 acres and connects to other similarly sized pieces of land, mostly owned by older family members. We also knew our neighbors well. To reach the dead end section where our land is, you pass through a small neighborhood. Everything is very quiet except for occasional target practice and the usual nature noises like coyotes, cows, donkeys, and dogs. Our property also backs up to a nature

reserve so even though we are a few miles from town it feels secluded. Our land is dotted with giant trees and cows and my grandparents house sits one-fourth of a mile from the road. There is absolutely no reason for anyone to be on our property. My grandparents have a fairly large house which before the events I'm about to describe was always unlocked. I was living upstairs when my parents were building their house at that time. My parents lived in an apartment in the barn about 150 yards from the main house. My grandpa's sister, who lives on the property connected to the back corner of ours, had been telling our family members that she was experiencing some strange knocking in the middle of the night on random doors on the outside of their large house with several entrances.

There was no pattern to when the knockers would show up. They happened on different nights of the week at different times. Soon enough, we all began to experience the knockers. That's what we called them because, well, they knocked. Sometimes weeks or even months would pass between events. It had been quite some time since the last event and even though it worried me somewhat, my dad also bought night vision goggles and took some other precautions. It should be assumed that the owners of any large ranch or farm would have guns, especially in Texas. I mean, come on. For this reason, I've never been particularly afraid for my safety. You would have to be insane to creep up on a farmhouse in the middle of the night. In Texas, it is legal to shoot a trespasser on your property at night. However, after this

particular night, I've been shaken up. I would routinely get home late because I was bartending. Often, I would take my time walking inside from the detached garage and just listen to the sounds of nature while admiring the stars. However, when I pulled up this time and got out of my car, chills ran all over my body. It's hard to explain the immediate flood of fear that I felt. I quickly locked the car, turned on my flashlight app and sprinted to the house, locking it immediately behind me. I checked all the doors to make sure that they were locked and turned out all the lights. I was in full flight mode and my heart was racing but

I went upstairs and eventually fell asleep. It was only when I spoke to my parents and grandparents the next morning that my previous panic became incredibly relevant. They both told me that they had experienced the knockers the night before. There was a 30 minute gap between the times that they each heard knocking. Remember, they live about 150 yards apart and the garage sits between the two residencies, which is where it turned out that I was parking my car during the 30 minute window. It is incredibly likely that the knockers were just watching me pull up and enter the house, and since that night I've been incredibly aware of any feelings like that. Trust your intuition folks. Also, on one of the nights when they

targeted my parents barn, they apparently had some sort of stick and were running it up and down the side of the very large barn. It reminded me of that scene in The Strangers, and the nature of the instance with the movie comparison always gives me the creepiest feeling. It was as if though they were taunting us. I'd like to share my latest experience regarding people you never want to meet again in your life. For those who remember the peeping eye story on Reddit about the person who would stare into my house through the peephole, this is a similar experience. But first things first, I live with my fiance in an apartment building on the sixth floor. For the sake of accuracy, I will repeat the layout of my apartment floor. There are four apartments on each floor, split into two pairs, each pair sharing a bubble together which is basically a metal door guarding the two apartments. Now that the layout is clear, I'd like to mention that I am a cat

fosterer. I take stray cats and rehome them. Last week, I took my kitty Leela to the vet for her deworming procedure. I stepped outside of the elevator and there were roughly 10 more steps to the entrance of our building. This entrance is guarded by a metal door on the bottom half and glass on the upper half with no additional protection. Essentially, anyone, drunk or angry, could smash the window and enter without any problems. As I stepped out of the elevator and approached the main door, I noticed a fairly young man wearing a white hoodie, a black cap, and a pair of black sunglasses resting on his head. The most important detail was his right eye, which was swollen and purple,

as if though he had been punched in the eye. This guy was standing in front of the door and his upper body was facing my direction. I thought to myself, maybe he's looking for his keys or waiting for someone to come out, which is why he's standing there. I opened the door and took two steps outside. At that moment, the guy initiated a conversation with me asking, You got a light? A lighter? I politely replied, Sorry, but I don't smoke, and tried to continue with my errands.

However, before I could take another step, he reached out and lightly played with the tip of Leela's ear. With an ice-cold stare, he asked me, Do you want me to pick up your kitty and smash her onto the pavement? I was shocked and furious as I am an animal activist with no qualms about confronting some abuser. I looked at him and asked, what did you say to me? I hope that my tone and body language make him back off

and realize just how messed up his comment was. But he was unfazed and repeated his question, this time in a lower voice. I said, do you want me to pick up your kitty and smash her onto the pavement? I didn't know how to respond to such a question other than with what I did. How could you ask such a question? And he replied with, come on, go away away you're just distracting me now distracting him from what exactly this is my building he approached me and at this point he was scaring me

nevertheless i quickly moved away and took leela to the vet i told my boyfriend about it and he was clearly upset that i didn't call the police on the dude however the police in my country are the type of officers who are more than likely to arrest the person making the phone call rather than the one who should be taken into custody. I was afraid that they would classify it as a prank call and I would get into trouble so I just decided not to buzz them and I chose to move on with my life and put that experience behind me despite the nightmares that followed. My boyfriend works in a hospital and has both day and night shifts. I had never had a problem being alone at night, even though our neighborhood isn't safe, I usually felt safe within my own home. One day my boyfriend left for work, closed our door, closed the metal door, the bubble door

that I mentioned earlier, and took the elevator downstairs to exit the building. After about 10 minutes, he called me and our conversation kind of went like this. Hey babe, I don't want to scare you, but how exactly did you say that guy looked? Uh, well, black hair, brown eyes, black cap, and a pair of sunglasses? Oh, and his right, right eye swollen from a punch? Yes, why? Well, I just met him. He was standing in front of the main door, kicking the door with his feet and slamming the glass with his palms. He was shouting at me to open the effing door right now. Oh my god, is he there now? Is he trying to get in? Where is he? I called the police the moment he started shouting at me to let him in. I refused to open the door and told him to use the intercom on his key or something because he claims he lives

on the 10th floor and couldn't get in. What happened after you called the cops? Well, he immediately ran away when he saw me pull out my phone. I gave the officers his description and left for work. Double check the door to make sure the metal door is locked and use the key to secure it. Call me if you sense anything strange. 30 minutes after his conversation ended, my boyfriend called me back to inform me that the police had called him back and said that they found the guy matching our description but couldn't detain him since he hadn't done anything wrong in that moment. And now you understand why we hesitated to call the police for all the small stuff and they let him go. Knowing that he claimed to live on the 10th floor, I approached the building manager who was my neighbor and told her about this experience. I also asked her if anyone matching his description lived in our building. She told me there is a guy who looks like him,

of the same age and who fits the description. He is known to consume drugs and alcohol and his mother had passed away a while ago so he now lives alone. Recently we noticed knife marks inside the elevator cabin all over the walls. The lines are horizontal, long and deep. We use that elevator at least twice a day so there is no way that we could miss them. I'm starting to experience night terrors and wake up in the middle of the night to sounds at the door. I constantly feel like someone is playing with a set of keys outside our door and more. This is consuming me because I had an experience where the metal door may not have been locked properly

and someone came dangerously close to breaking into my house. If it weren't for my cat sensing that intruder, I shuddered to think about what might have happened. And now I'm obsessed with the thought that this psycho could be my neighbor and there may be encounters with him in the future. The mere thought of him walking around with a knife, scratching walls, and being outside our door terrifies me. And if that weren't enough, my boyfriend opened up to me about a similar situation one night when he returned home from work. He said that I was inside sleeping that night and he came home late at around 10 to 11pm. He explained that he had just exited the elevator on our floor and was in the process of closing the elevator door when he heard a rustling noise.

It was similar to the sound that you hear when wearing a winter jacket on a mountain and moving your arms around your body. That was the noise he heard. He mentioned that the moment he stopped moving, the noise ceased as well. He recalled feeling as though he had stepped out just as someone was climbing the stairs to the next floor. However, when he remained still, that person also stopped. So my boyfriend waited and waited, attempting to replicate the sound but to no avail. He told me that he waited for about 10 minutes until, out of nowhere, from somewhere around the middle of that first set of stairs, a man descended. Not ascended as he initially heard, passed by him and proceeded to the lower floors. There were no words exchanged. My boyfriend couldn't see the man's face clearly and all of this occurred after

my boyfriend had waited for an approximate 10 minutes, uncertain of what was happening. Naturally, I'm now worried that someone may be stalking us or scouting the apartments to determine who was not at home. I want to assure everyone, though, that my trusty baseball bat from the peeping eye story is still with me, and I'll not hesitate to defend my home if it is ever invaded. When I was in high school, I spent a lot of time at the park. I always tried to find the most solitary spots so I could smoke weed. This meant that most of my hiking was on overgrown trails, if not off-trail. You have to pay a fee

to get into the main part of the park, but it's relatively large, so there are spots on the west side of the park that are free. Those spots are not quite as well kept and definitely not as observed, so it's mostly kids who just come to smoke and graffiti. But of course, there are still some runners, people fishing, dog walking, etc. who want to skip out on the $5 fee. On Sunday, I went to smoke at that park while my family attended church. At this spot, I had a solid trail that led to a very solitary part of the park that I frequented when I wanted to just smoke and not explore. When I pulled in, there were already a few cars, but one of them stood out to me. It was a very clean black car parked in front of the main trail. As soon as I

got out of my car and approached the trail, a man who was probably in his late 30s or 40s stepped out of it. I kept my eye on him as I entered the trail and he seemed to be keeping an eye on me too I noticed. However once I took a few steps on the trail another man stopped me. Apparently someone had driven a car into the reservoir the day before and he asked if I was coming to look at it. I said no, saw a small crowd of people at the cliff of the trail and figured that I could be less on guard since everyone would be over there and I could smoke in peace. After the man I was speaking with walked away I looked back to see if the man at the car was still watching me. I didn't see him

anymore. So I went on that trail that I frequent, hiked up the solitary part of the park and then went off a little off trail for even more privacy and sat on a fallen tree to smoke. As I reached into my bag for my blunt, I looked up and just a few feet in front of me was the man from the car. He was standing facing me and did not seem phased when I realized that he was there. My heart sank and my stomach turned. I listened to a lot of true crime so immediately in my head I was like don't act like a victim be confrontational and I said can I help you he kind of grinned and responded nope just looking so instead of my blunt I grabbed my pepper spray and phoned to text my family and tell them where I was.

I kept my eyes on him the whole time I did this and he didn't move an inch, just watched me. So I sent the text, put my phone up and just watched him back, finger on the trigger of my pepper spray. Then he started moving so I stood up. He did not get any closer but started to circle me, still a few feet away. I remember that we were off trail so as he moved around me he was harder to see behind all the shrubbery, but I stayed on my feet and made sure that I was facing him the whole time. He tucked his face away so he wouldn't make eye contact but he knew that I saw him. After he made a full circle around me he turned back to the trail

and started walking back to the main trail. I was afraid of losing sight of him so I followed him from a distance and he didn't turn to look back at me. Finally we got back to the busier part of the trail and I spotted a woman walking her dogs. We went off on another trail and I went to her and told her that a man had been following me but when I looked up to point him out, he was gone. She told me that's scary and I just said be careful then went to my car and left. It was obviously a very creepy encounter and a potential close call but sometimes I feel that there's even a little bit more to it. This encounter took place about 40 minutes from Delphi, Indiana in September 2016. A few months later, in February 2017, 13 and 14 year old Abigail Williams and Liberty German were murdered while hiking at their local park.

Their murderer has never been found. In 2015, I was living in East Hollywood and working at a creative marketing agency as a project coordinator. The pressure of providing for my one-year-old son and his mother combined with the demanding hours and travel of my job has begun to consume me. It felt as if though the city were eating me from the inside out. And one late afternoon after work, while standing in our bathroom, my chest began to cave in with pain. My girlfriend called 911 and an ambulance took me to the hospital. I was in the emergency room for the rest of the evening and into the night as they administered IV Ativan and I calmed down. Around 11.30pm I was discharged. I called my girlfriend from the admissions desk who had just managed to get our son to sleep which at times was a monumental task as he was unusually colicky in

his first year. I told her that I would just take an Uber not realizing that I didn't have my phone or any other personal belongings. Dazed and confused from the Ativan, I stumbled out onto Sunset Boulevard and started walking west towards my apartment, which is about a mile and a half from the hospital. As I was walking, a small early 90s model hatchback slowed to a crawl and began driving alongside me. The driver said something, but I couldn't make out any words. The effects of the Ativan had drastically reduced my inhibitions and I approached the car to hear what this stranger was trying to ask. He said my name. Are you Max? You're Max, he said in a very

thick accent. Your name is Max, Matt? I treated you in the hospital, I helped you. You get in, it's okay. He leaned over the center console and opened the door. I remember thinking that I had never seen this person before, but he knew my name. He knew that I had just left the hospital and he was wearing scrubs. Additionally, this man was small and frail. He didn't feel like a threat. Against what would normally have been my better judgment, I got into the passenger seat. Almost immediately, I regretted my decision to enter the vehicle. It was unkempt, not the car of a doctor, certainly. There were empty prescription bottles and take-out containers strewn about the floor of the car, and the ashtray was so stuffed with

cigarette butts that the majority of them had fallen out onto the floors and in between the cracks and crevices of the gear shifter. I noticed the driver was slower than he should have been, at least 10 miles per hour under the speed limit. Suddenly, reality hit me. I was in an old, disgusting car with a strange man I didn't know in the middle of the night driving down a seemingly empty Sunset Boulevard in the middle of East Hollywood. With the sudden alarm bells going off inside my mind, I asked him to stop the car. I lived right around the corner, I told him, and I'd like to get some fresh air before I got home for the night. The strange small man

didn't pull over. Sensing my fear, he reached over and placed his hand on the inside of my thigh, smiling. It's okay. You're here now. No one can help you. You help yourself now. You help me. I tried to rationalize this strange statement. English clearly wasn't his first language. This is Hollywood. This man sees young desperate people every day working the streets. Manipulative, gross, and creepy? Yes. Dangerous? I'm not about to find out. And by this time, the Ativan was no match for my fear and adrenaline. By instinct, I grabbed his waist and threw it back at him. I ain't a trick. You touch me again, I'll touch you.

Pull the car over now. As the car began to slow to a crawl, I thought about jumping out. I must have had my fingers wrapped around the door latch because just then, I realized the door wouldn't open. And just as I was about to turn and demand again to be let out of this man's car, I realized something was seriously wrong. When I turned my head to look at him, it felt as though I was experiencing deja vu, like I had already turned my head but I was in some sort of time loop. Suddenly I'm staring at myself from outside and above the car. I could see everything. There I was, fully reclined in the passenger seat of this car as we flew down

the sunset, eyes wide open with pupils the size of marbles. It was the scariest thing I had ever experienced in my life. I don't know if what I was seeing was fact or imagination, but my abductor had one hand on the wheel, and the other seemed to be going through my left pocket as if he was frantically searching for something. I don't know how to explain the rest of this experience, but I have strong memories of coming back to reality under the fluorescent light of a gas station, finding myself staring at the door latch and unable to move. The next thing I knew, I was walking into a convenience store looking for a phone.

I felt like a train had hit me and remember it being so confused and embarrassed that I couldn't even articulate what had just happened. I don't know if 15 minutes had passed since I got into that man's car or 6 hours. I didn't even know if anything happened at all. Maybe I was in the middle of a psychotic break. As the sun came up, I realized that I was on the sunset strip. I remember looking down at the hospital van and recalling the panic attack, the emergency room. I remember the emergency doctor who treated me so kindly and I remember the woman who helped me call my girlfriend before I left. And I remember that small, frail Asian man who wore scrubs and called me by my name, who so selfishly offered me a ride home. I don't remember ever telling him where I lived and he never asked. My name is Sean, and I'm from East London, and I'm writing this on behalf of a very close friend

of mine who wishes to remain anonymous. Earlier this year, something happened to him that he couldn't talk about until fairly recently, and when he sat me down and talked me through it, it was one of the most terrifying things I've ever heard. The trouble is, he doesn't want to go to the police about it. I've tried to talk him into it, that he should do it for the sake of saving other people from going through the same nightmare that he did, but he won't, or rather, he can't. And this puts me in a very difficult position. I can't just let it go. I can't have something like that happen to one of my best friends and just think, oh well, chin up and crack on. Something has to be done about it and since I haven't got the finances or the physique

to suit up and boot up like the friggin' Punisher or something, I've had to settle on a much more creative form of retaliation. Full disclosure, I have my friend's full permission to be writing this and sending it to you, because he agrees if there's one thing we can do, it's at least warn people that the same thing might happen to them. At the beginning of this year, my mate, who we'll just call Dave for the sake of ease, got himself a nice little flat near Tower Hamlets. He's been single for a few years and had himself a few quid to spare so he starts downloading all those dating apps like Tinder and Bumble and all of that. He sets up all of his profiles and sets about swiping

left and right then ends up matching with a nice girl called Cherise. Now Dave has heard all the catfishing horror stories, so he's careful. He doesn't just run out to meet up with his match, he talks to her back and forth for about a week. They move to WhatsApp, they swap pictures and voice notes. Basically, Dave does everything except ask for a scan of her passport and decides that the girl is 100% real. He asks her out, she says yes. They arrange a date and time and even though he was nervous about getting stood up, Cherise shows up no problem and they have a nice little evening together. At the end of the night, Dave gets a kiss on the cheek before he sees her into her cab and then an hour or so later, they swap texts about

what a great time they had and how they should do it again sometime. Dave goes to bed thinking that he'd bagged a winner in old Cherise, but he also knew that he'd probably have to wait a week or two before being able to see her again. So, imagine his surprise when Cherise texts him the very next day, asking if he's free for a drink that evening. It's a Sunday, so he's got work the next day, but as long as he doesn't overdo it, he might head off to work the next morning with a bit of a spring in his step, if you know what I mean. Dave asks Charisse where she wants to meet, then suggests a few bars or restaurants, but no. Charisse doesn't want to

meet at some trendy wine bar. She wants him to come round to her flat. Now Dave knows he's in the money. So he slaps on a bit of aftershave, calls a taxi, then grabs a bottle of wine on the round. He said it was more of the same for a while. Nice bit of music, nice bit of chat, and they finish off the first bottle of wine quite quickly. Dave knows that he should be heading off and he knows that he shouldn't really be drinking anymore either. But when Charisse asks if he wants to crack open a second bottle before he calls a taxi, he says why not. So off goes Charisse into the kitchen

and comes out saying not to be excited because it's only six quid from the off license around the corner. Dave doesn't care, though. He's got other stuff on his mind. So he accepts the glass. They toast to whatever they toasted to. And then that's the last thing Dave really remembers, until we woke up.

The next thing he remembers, he's waking up on the same couch that he was drinking on God knows how long before. The only thing is, he can't move, and he can't speak. He can't move because someone's tied his arms and legs, but the reason he can't speak is because he's still under the effects of whatever Charisse, if that even was her real name, slipped into his drink. He said he was trying to say something, but all that would come out were those nonsensical groans. There was no one else in the room with him, and he knows that he's been mugged, so the only thing he can think of is to start shouting for help.

A second later, the door bursts open, and at first Dave thinks, hallelujah, someone's come to rescue me. But when he sees the balaclava on the guy's head he knows that he's still in a shed load of trouble. The guy in the mask who also got a pair of gloves on covers Dave's mouth with his hand and then tells him to stop making noises or he's dead. As he says that he brings this massive knife into view. Not quite machete size, but still freaking massive and scary, so Dave does as he's told and just shuts up. His biggest fear was that the bloke was going to film himself cutting his head off or something, so when the masked man started asking for the code to Dave's phone, he says it was almost a relief. Only trouble was, he was still

so woozy that he couldn't get all six numbers out without slurring his words. The bloke starts slapping him, open palmed and over and over again round the face shouting something like, tell me your pin, tell me your effing pin code now. Dave's trying, but he still can't do it. Especially not with this guy smacking him around the gills. But he can't tell him that, so the guy thinks that he's just messing with him and trying to keep his mouth shut. He suddenly stops hitting him, walks out of the room, then walks back in with one of those electric stun guns. He told Dave, well this will wake you up a bit, and then started shocking him. And the worst thing is, he was right. I suppose the pain is a great motivator like that. And after a few shocks,

Dave was able to give the guy his pin code. He had to do the same thing for his banking app and he said that he felt sick knowing that he was about to get rinsed of all his savings. But when the masked man tried to transfer all of his savings, he kept getting error messages saying it wasn't possible. The most he could transfer was something like a grand, and then he started getting messages saying that he had to call the fraud department. Dave said that he was hoping that the bloke would just take the money and run, so to speak, but he rang the fraud line at God knows what time and made Dave take them through the steps of unlocking all of his funds. He lost tens of thousands of pounds, thinking that he was

never going to see it again, and this absolute scumbag is literally celebrating in front of him, talking about all the stuff he's going to buy with Dave's money. Dave said he was fighting back tears, that it was the single most terrifying and humiliating thing he's ever experienced. But he said all the emotion was like relief. Yeah, he'd been tricked, drugged, stun gunned, then robbed blind. But it was done. The guy had his money, and he was most likely about to leave. But before he did, he needed a little bit of insurance as he put it. The guy disappears into the kitchen then comes back with a spatula that had a condom pulled over the handle. I can't even imagine how painful it would have been.

And Dave wouldn't talk about what happened after that. But I know the guy stuck it where the sun don't shine and then took a photo for good measure. Dave was told that if he went to the police or reported the bank transaction as fraud, the pictures would be sent to everyone he knew. That's how it ended up being confirmed that Sharice was in on the whole thing. Because when the guy told him, we know who you are, we know where you live, who else could that information have come from? So, that all happening coincides with Dave just disappearing for a bit. He gave just about every excuse in the book, then after about a month of being busy all the time, he showed back up again, just like normal.

It didn't seem like there was anything wrong with him I did notice that he was drinking a bit heavier down at the pub on snooker nights But I didn't think enough of it to ask him if he was alright We operated on a culture of if there's something you want to talk about, you'll talk about it There's none of that girly, you'll be alright babe Are you sure you're alright babe? We just talk when we want to Now on paper, that's a great system, isn't it? But in practice, when you couple it with a certain kind of man's

unwillingness to display any weakness or admit that he's in any kind of trouble, we end up with a recipe for a nervous breakdown. Dave was putting on a brave face for us, but at home, he was crushed. He'd heard that he'd be able to get money back from the bank, but also heard that it involved going to the police about what had happened. They needed to confirm a crime had actually been committed before the bank went ahead and refunded his money. He told me he wanted to, more than anything in fact, but all it took for him to close the claim was to imagine those pictures of him plastered all over his neighbor's front door. After all, all of his savings didn't quite seem so important anymore. But then, it was his life savings though. The pair of us are only in our

early thirties, so hardly a whole life's worth of savings, but it was still a good few quid, so stressing about it made him ill, literally. Dave disappeared again for a bit just before summer and again we took him at his word that he was just busy. But then when I happened to bump into him at Aldi, he'd lost weight. He smelled like he hadn't washed and he was a mess, as in he was visibly ill, but still, they kept denying that there was anything wrong with him. He had me ringing his dear old mum up trying to find out what was happening and that's when she tells me that she's also worried sick about him cause Dave's not been acting himself for ages. And that was the straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak.

I drove around to that nice, still relatively new flat of his, at a time that I knew that he'd be home, and I basically ended up confronting him in as soft a way as possible, as to why he was acting so strange. And that's when he broke down. He didn't tell me everything all at once. It wasn't as neat as I put it all together here, but over the course of that Saturday evening, then long into the night, Dave broke down everything that had happened over a crate of lager. It sounds a bit horrible, me saying so, but at first, I was actually relieved when he said that he got robbed. I was trying to steady myself to hear something like he got cancer or some other terminal thing, so hearing absolutely anything else felt like a weird kind of win. And that was just my initial reaction though, and the more detail he gave me, the more I realized that it wasn't just some online scam or a street mugging or something like that.

These people had destroyed him. Financially, mentally, physically. They took one of my best mates and turned him into someone I could barely recognize. There's not much else to really say. I want to be able to respect his decision and I've tried telling him that. Say they really did post those pictures of him. That says a lot more about them than it ever does about him. He's the victim in all of this and there's no one in their right mind who'd ever think otherwise. But he can't bring himself to go to the police, at least he's not ready to do that right now. I feel like the only

things I can do are, firstly, just be a friend, and passably support him until he's ready to be brave and talk to the police. But secondly, and with his blessing of course, we can warn other people that this is a thing that's happening to people. There are people out there, absolute scum of the earth type people, who are using dating apps to do sickening evil things to people who are only trying to bring a bit of love into their lives. First things first, I didn't realize how hard this was going to be until I actually sat down to write it. You see, I've been a fan of you for a while now, and I've always thought that it would be cool to hear a story of mine featured in a video. But now that I actually have something

to write to you about, I can't seem to find the words. I guess when something traumatic happens to us, we sort of compartmentalize it, as they say. Then, unless you have the cash to get a good therapist, you spend however long it takes processing it until you finally just sort of forget about it. It's like a suitcase that you stuff away in a closet, unpacking each item of clothing one at a time over the course of months, years, or even decades. Maybe writing this up will speed up the process along for me. Maybe it won't, but either way, I've started now, so I guess I'll finish. In about March or April of 2022, I decided that I was going to have a hot boy summer. I'd been

single, me and my college girlfriend broke up, and hadn't dated seriously since about 2017 or 18, but I was also in no position to do so either. I was overweight, my apartment was a total man cave, and I had zero confidence talking to women. And so if I was going to date, I needed what one girl later referred to as a glow-up. I got a gym membership, got myself an actual haircut, and started paying attention to what I was eating. Then over the course of the next two months or so, I worked on bettering myself in as many facets as possible. It's incredible what some new clothes, a little weight loss, and a clean apartment can do for a guy's self-confidence. Then once I actually had some, I downloaded a bunch of dating apps and got to

swiping. I matched with a girl, we arranged a date, I was awkward as hell and she unmatched me that night. It sucked but I knew I had to persevere, take the rejection on the chin and not let it make me all bitter or whatever. It took two more disappointing dates but on the fourth, I finally seemed to nail it. I matched with a girl named Natalie. We chatted for a while, and when we felt that mutual chemistry, we arranged to go out sometime. Since I didn't figure the date was going really anywhere, I was engaged but also relaxed and kind of aloof. I didn't talk about myself too much, didn't ask too many questions.

I just went with the flow and tried to just be myself myself and not whatever I thought the girl wanted me to be. And apparently, Natalie was into it. We really hit it off and when it came time for her to call an Uber, we seemed very eager to organize a second date. It might sound cynical, but I didn't really take her at her word. More than one girl had told me that she'd be in touch, then I'd arrive back at my apartment to find that she'd unmatched me while I was riding home. I was happy with the date, but more because I felt that I'd finally found my rhythm, if that makes sense. I felt like I'd finally completed my transformation from undateable neckbeard to fully grown pizza, as I heard you say in one of your streams one time. Even if Natalie didn't call me back, I knew that I'd be able to get another date eventually and that was one of the greatest feelings of my life, really. And then, Natalie did call me back,

which was an equally awesome feeling and we arranged another date for the week that followed. Day of the date, we step out, had a few drinks, and we stay in this one place until closing time. We actually planned to hit up other places, but we just talked and talked and kept ordering drinks and then the next we knew, it was closing time. We were both pretty drunk, but not nearly drunk enough to call it a night, so we went stumbling through the streets, laughing at nothing and trying to find another place to get some drinks. It might sound kind of lame to some people, but that night was literally one of the high points of my life so far. I could actually be the kind of person a woman wanted to be around. I could be that smooth

operator I never in a million years thought I could be. But then to go from one of the highest points of my life to the literal lowest in the space of a few minutes, well, let's just say that was quite something. Me and Natalie turned down a quieter street, then we're about halfway down when I hear some guy behind me say, hey buddy, got a light? I stopped, turned around and told the guy that I didn't smoke. He didn't look like much of anything, just a 20 something white kid in a hoodie and a ball cap. But when I told him I didn't smoke, he asked if I had a spare couple of bucks so he could buy himself a lighter. There was no way any cigarette lighter cost more than a dollar, I mean

I've never smoked but I know a scam when I hear one. I just apologized, told him that I didn't have any change on me, but then the kid turns to Natalie and starts asking her for money, only he does it way more aggressively. When she says no, the kid tries to snatch at her purse, so entirely on instinct I gave the kid a shove and then tried to put myself in between him and Natalie. And that's when he stabbed me. I didn't see him get the knife out, but I knew right away that I'd been stabbed. It didn't hurt when he did it, but it didn't feel like any other punch I'd ever taken. It felt cold, like a cold punch, and then he grabbed Natalie's purse, pulled it out of her grip, and then ran off. I remember actually saying out loud,

Did that dude just stab me? Because there was no blood on my shirt, but then when I lifted it up, that's when I saw the first blood, and that's when I felt my legs just stop working suddenly. I knew I had to put pressure on the wound, so I kept both hands clamped on the hole in my stomach while Natalie pulled my phone out of my pocket since hers had just been stolen. I remember lying on my back, kind of looking down and up at her as she went into my pocket and how I was trying not to look at all the blood coming out from underneath my hands. By the time Natalie was

talking to the 911 dispatcher, a bunch of other people had noticed me lying there with blood on my hands and ran over to try to help out until the EMT showed up. It's weird because at the time, I remember being weirdly calm about the whole thing. The guy who put his jacket over me, who said that he had some first aid training kept telling me you're gonna do fine buddy just keep calm and it was only then that I actually started to worry that I wasn't going to be okay. Maybe I've just seen too many movies but when the first aid dude starts insisting that I'm going to be fine I started to panic. Ironic I know but to me you only say that to people who are in serious trouble and

need to be kept calm so they don't panic and bleed out everywhere. I tried my best to keep cool, I really did, but the whole time while we were waiting for the EMTs, I had this little voice in my head saying, this is it, this is how you die. Didn't even make it through my 20s. I got even more frightened when I realized how cold I was starting to feel. I was convinced that I was bleeding to death, that I had only minutes before I was about to pass out and just never wake up again. I've heard people say that, when the thought occurred to them, like when they legitimately thought that they were going to die, they felt this calming wave wash over them. I did not feel that same feeling of calm. Instead, I was the most

scared I've ever been in my entire life, and it was only when the EMTs showed up and I was still awake that I started to think that I might actually survive. And when one of them told me that the bleeding wasn't that bad, but that I definitely need surgery, I actually started to feel just a little less panicked. I knew whatever came next would suck harder than anything had sucked before, but I wasn't going to die, and I think I could write all day and still not sum up the feelings of pure relief that I felt. Maybe the EMTs gave me an injection of something to calm me down, or maybe it was the oxygen mask working its magic, but either way, I remember sinking into the bed that they put me on and thinking to myself, thank God. And when I arrived at the hospital, they prepped me for surgery and after

making me breathe through a mask, someone started counting backwards from then with me. I remember getting to about 6, 5, 4 apart and then that's where my memory just goes blank. When I woke up, I had a tube coming out of my stomach and I've been told that they fitted me with a stoma. And for those that don't know, if a large section of your bowel isn't functioning correctly, you're sometimes fitted with a stoma and an accompanying colostomy bag. If you don't know what a colostomy bag is, go look it up. I'm not Google, but I was fitted with one, and it sucked beyond belief. The pain management was definitely the worst thing. Smelling like poop most days was one thing, but the pain literally

made me want to just pass out and not wake up until it was gone. Laughing hurt, coughing hurt, moving hurt, everything freaking hurt, and it just sucked the joy out of mealtimes. About two months later, I had to have a second surgery to get the stoma reversed, which thankfully was a complete success and put me firmly on the road to recovery. Now I'm doing much better these days. Me and Natalie actually ended up dating for a while, but the relationship just naturally ran its course. She's the only girl I've ever dated who I've actually stayed friends with, and I know what we share was forged that night as I tried to keep my own guts in while lying on the cold concrete. I know what happened to me was just a case of very bad fortune, but in some ways, I don't feel that's the case. Yes, I'm still paying off the

remainder of my medical bills, even after getting financial aid, but money is nothing compared to life, love, and liberty. And when I think of it like that, I'm 21, I'm a girl, and I'm fun-sized, meaning I'm terrified of any man over 5'5". Also, this happened late last year when I was 20. Anyways, last year all I wanted for Christmas was a boyfriend, so I downloaded all the apps, uploaded some decent photos of myself, and got some matches. I found this guy called Aaron who had the whole gym bro thing going on for him but also wasn't just some total bum who made no money. He had game too, I'll give it to him. So we arranged to go out one time for a few drinks to see where

things went. I show up to our little date looking pretty good and he's looking really handsome too with this big expensive looking watch on his wrist that I notice. We get some drinks, we're vibing and then we start talking about work and stuff and how I wanted to get into being an influencer. Maybe like a foodie on TikTok or something. But then I'm talking and he's looking at me because where the hell else is he gonna look? But then he suddenly stops looking at me, looks the hell else is he gonna look but then he suddenly stops looking at me looks a little over my shoulder and then his face changes completely. One second he's looking suave and sexy and the next second he looked like he was about to puke. I didn't even have time to turn around to see what he was looking at when I feel these hands in my hair. Then the next second, they were pulling me back

off of my chair, or no, it must have been a stool from how I fell right back and then bam, my head hit the floor and it winded me pretty bad. The next thing I remember was something smashing down into my face again and again and how one of his hits landed right on my nose and made it crunch. In my whole life, I'd never felt anything as painful as that. It was like my whole face was on fire, and I tried to just curl up into a ball until whoever it was was hitting me stopped doing it. At first, the pain was so bad that I couldn't even open my eyes, and all I could hear was screaming from the people around me. But the loudest screams of all of them were coming from a girl, and from all the wild crap she was yelling, I could tell that it was her that had been the one striking me.

I only got one good look at her before the guy I'd been on a date with dragged her out of the place, and then I was mobbed by people trying to give me first aid and stuff like that while someone else was screaming to call 911. The guy I'd been on a date with didn't come back and when the ambulance finally showed up they took me to the emergency room. I remember being so upset that the guy just disappeared but that was my first clue as to what was actually going on. At the hospital, the doctors had to x-ray my nose to see how bad the damage was but they gave me a whole bunch of pain meds too so I was just kind of out of it by then. The worst part was when they had to set my nose. It didn't hurt or whatever but I could feel the broken bones in my nose moving around when they did,

and it was legitimately one of the grossest things I'd ever experienced. She then stuffed a bunch of gauze up my nostrils, and then that was just my life for a few weeks, sounding crazy dumb with a bunch of cotton stuffed up my nose to keep it set. And while it was healing, I had plenty of time to sit around feeling sorry for myself. The guy I'd been on the date with had unmatched me on Tinder, but I did a little stalking, and I was able to find him on Instagram. He'd made it private, but when my friend sent him a random request, he accepted it, and that's how we found out that the girl who attacked me was this guy's girlfriend. It looked like she untagged herself from a bunch

of his posts, but not all of them. And there she was in maybe five or six of them, posing with the guy in a way that made it obvious that they were a couple. Long story short, I ended up pressing charges and she ended up going to jail. I understand that she was also kind of a victim in that situation, but i also lost my ability to feel sorry for her the moment she decided to drag me off that bar stool and break my nose the guy is trash too and i know he'll get his karma someday but it should have been him that the girl beat the crap out of not me i had no idea he wasn't single and if that had been me walking in on my boyfriend on a date with

another girl, I'd like to think that I'd show a little sisterly solidarity and punch him in the face and not her. It's been a while since you've done Tinder stories or dating stories in general, so if you plan on making a video like that anytime soon, you could include this story of mine or why I'm now very careful how and when I use apps like that. I used to swipe on Tinder a whole lot during 2018 and 2019. At first it was soul-destroying, but then I learned to kind of roll with the punches, and I started to get some pretty good matches. I matched with this one girl who I'll call punches, and I started to get some pretty good matches. I matched with this one girl who I'll call Sarah, and after we hit it off, we arranged to go out for coffee. Coffee led to cocktails, and cocktails led to dancing.

Then one thing led to another, and I ended up back at her place. We spent the night together, fell asleep in each other's arms, then planned to get some breakfast together the next morning. The next morning, I woke up and then rolled out of bed to go use the bathroom. But then, literally as I'm peeing, I hear a key sliding into the front door of Sarah's apartment. My first thought was, oh, maybe she's got a roommate. But it wouldn't be the first time that I've had an awkward encounter in my underwear with a girl's roommate or a friend. So I just got ready to be like, hey, I'm Sarah's friend, sorry to make this our first time meeting, etc, etc. I finish peeing, start washing my hands, and that's when I hear a man's voice coming from down the hallway. I couldn't make out exactly what they were saying,

but it kind of sounded like a question and I'm still very much in this, this is Sarah's roommate state of mind. But then, when the question got louder and angrier and I heard the distinct, who's in the effing bathroom Sarah, I knew this wasn't her roommate. I hear heavy footsteps coming up the hallway, then a fist or foot smashes into the bathroom door. I'd had a good sense to lock it so there was no way this dude was getting inside without some serious force. Then I figured that he kind of knew that too because I soon heard him walking up the stairs to where I'm pretty sure the kitchen was located in this girl's apartment. All I was thinking was this is my moment to get out of here. I was prepared to run out of there in nothing but my underwear, no phone or wallet or keys, nothing, because going into the bedroom

to get them would trap me in the apartment and mean that I was most certainly in for a whooping. But then, if this guy was Sarah's boyfriend or God forbid, her husband or something, then there was a chance that he wouldn't just beat me up. There was a chance that he would quite literally murder me. So, like I was saying, I hear the guy walk off down the hall, so I unlock the bathroom door, then rush out into the hallway, but I'm just not fast enough. I see the guy coming down the hallway at me, just as I'm trying to unlock the door to the apartment, and the dude has this big shiny kitchen knife in his hand. I think that was probably the scariest moment of my life, like I really did think that I was about to get stabbed to death, right there in the hallway wearing nothing but my freaking underwear. I begged this dude for my life, and I'm not even ashamed to say

it. All I wanted in the world was to get out of there and pretend the whole thing never happened. I pleaded with the guy not to stab me, and he didn't. Instead he looked me dead in the eyes and says, get out of my way. The craziest thing about this whole story to me personally is how I felt this sudden switch happen in my head. As I said before, all I wanted to do was get out of there, but then when I realized what the dude was actually about to do, it's like I physically couldn't let that happen. I can barely even explain it, even in hindsight, but I guess subconsciously I felt like if I just ran out of the apartment, if I did get out of the way, I'd have Sarah's blood on my hands. I also think that I just couldn't let the dude throw his whole life away like that over one incident of cheating, and that's definitely the angle that I took at

that time because I remember just saying to this guy over and over, don't do it man, it's not worth it, she's not worth it. He actually tried to barge past me at one point and I wouldn't move, which seems absolutely insane looking back on it because he could have just easily plunged that knife into my chest right there and then, but by some miracle he didn't. He stopped trying to get past me and asked me in this shaky voice, did you know? And when I shook my head, he stormed out of the apartment. Sarah just sat on the bed crying while I gathered up my stuff and all I said to her was, you should get out of here. And you can bet that I wanted to say a lot more than that, but the whole of my soul was just screaming to just get out of there.

So I grabbed my stuff, got dressed, left her crying on the bed. My heart was still pounding when I arrived at the nearest subway station, and it was only once I was on the train that I realized how bad I smelled. Obviously, I hadn't had time to shower and put on any body spray, but I don't know how the hell this works scientifically, but being so scared had this weirdly metallic funk rising from my armpits. I think that's what people mean when they say that animals can smell fear or how fear has a certain stink to it. Either way, I felt like human garbage, like actual human garbage,

but still feeling weirdly grateful that I even walked out of that apartment to begin with. During the summer of 2016, 23-year-old university student Molly McLaren decided to try her hand at the popular cell phone based dating app tinder molly was a second year university student who was passionately pursuing a degree in health and fitness friends described her as an exercise fanatic but added that her other great passion was people molly quite frequently professed a desire to pursue a career in personal training, not just to help people look better, but to help them feel better too. She just had that effect on people, a close friend later said. She liked making people happy, so everyone gravitated towards her. That's why she had so many friends.

Like many young women her age, Molly had no trouble attracting the attention of the opposite sex, and that was especially so online. The only problem was finding a man that she felt equally attracted to, and in 25-year-old Joshua Stimson, Molly quite literally met her match. Joshua had spent his formative years in Stoke-on-Trent, but had moved southeast to Medway and Kent following his graduation from secondary school. He then held down a series of low-paying jobs in warehouses and call centers, yet his co-workers seemed to have vastly different memories of him. Some described a charming, charismatic young man who excelled at whatever task he was presented with. But others recalled a distinctly darker, broodier side to Joshua, one that deeply unnerved them whenever it arose. According to friends, Molly and Josh chatted online for the better part of three months before meeting in person. But by that period, she was smitten.

It was her first proper boyfriend, another close friend explained. So she was head over heels for him. Everything about him made her smile. But Molly wasn't just attracted to Joshua's charm or his good looks. She was attracted to his flaws too. Having grown up battling anxiety and eating disorders, Molly was terrified that potential partners would view the conditions as so-called red flags. So when Joshua confessed to having been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, Molly believed that she'd found a kindred spirit.

She asked me not to judge Josh by his mental health conditions, and I didn't, her mother later said. But I wondered if Molly was able to take on other people's issues on top of dealing with her own. After voicing her concerns, Molly told her mother that she understood her reticence. But given she and Josh had undergone similar troubles in their lives, she claimed that she and Josh could help each other out. Molly's attitude towards Joshua's mental health issues is certainly admirable, but there was just one problem. He was lying.

Josh didn't have bipolar disorder. In fact, he hadn't received any formal diagnosis whatsoever. His claim of being a bipolar sufferer was nothing but a sordid attempt to manipulate young Molly, and it worked. Over the course of the spring of 2017, Josh and Molly began seeing each other regularly, and at first, they seemed perfectly content. Molly even brought Josh home to meet her parents, Joanne and Doug, who later described him as seemingly perfectly normal. But as the months went on, the relationship gained their solid seal of approval. In April 2017, Joshua took part in

the London Marathon and raised hundreds of pounds for a British bipolar charity in the process. Molly and her parents drove him into London, then waited along the route to cheer him along. It was every bit the blossoming romance, but it soon began to wither. One day, in early May of 2017, Molly approached her mother seeking advice. She claimed that since the trip into London for Josh's marathon, his demands for attention had been ever-increasing, and in her words, she felt smothered. It seemed as though he didn't have any friends and was a bit of a loner, Joanne McLaren later said. He wanted Molly to himself, wasn't interested in making any friends of his own, and got jealous whenever Molly spent time with hers. Joanne added that over time, Joshua's behavior became

even more concerning. I remember how he'd sometimes just turn up at our house uninvited, and at times, when Molly wanted to have some time on her own to study, he would come and lie on her bed so he knew where she was and what she was doing. Neither Molly nor her parents knew it, but Josh had actually reduced the hours on his weekly warehouse contract in order to spend time with the subject of his ever increasing obsession. And it wasn't long until that obsession became frighteningly unhealthy. Sometime in late May or early June of 2017, Molly invited Joshua to her aunt's 60th birthday party in the neighboring county of Essex. It was an opportunity for Josh to impress Molly's wider family, but it was one he squandered

spectacularly. Molly's mother later said that at one point, her daughter left Josh alone at a table then went off to talk to some distant cousins. Josh seemed furious. He sat in a seat, seething with jealousy, staring angrily at Molly as she happily chatted with family. Later that evening, the group returned to a nearby hotel with Josh and Molly checking into one room while the latter's parents checked into another. Less than an hour later, Molly's mother received an ominous text message from her daughter.

I don't feel safe with him, it read. It's not clear how that evening's incident resolved itself, but according to Molly's mother, the mood in the car during the journey back to Kent was a tense one. It seemed Josh and Molly's honeymoon period was well and truly over, and that the breakdown of their relationship was imminent. But when it came to doing the deed, Molly found that she didn't have the heart. It was typical of Molly, a close friend later said. She was always putting everyone before herself. She didn't know how to break up with Josh without breaking his heart.

Even though he'd scared her, she still really cared about him. And so, to facilitate the breakup in as safe a manner as possible, Molly's friend came up with a rather ingenious plan. They'd invite Molly and Josh on a night out, somewhere very public and preferably somewhere with security staff. Then after a few shots to steady her nerves and the emotional support of all her close friends, Molly would take Josh aside and tell him it was over. All in all, it was a good, solid strategy, but it was one that relied on Josh fearing public humiliation. The grown-up thing to do would be to take the break up on the chin, refrain from making a scene, then walk out of the bar with his head held high. But that was not what Josh chose to do. Molly's friends watched as she took her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend aside and delivered the bad news.

They figured that he'd take it badly, but the reality was nothing less than shocking. Josh began pacing back and forth while screaming, she's finished with me, she's finished with me, and continued his tirade until the nightclub's door staff was forced to remove him from the premises. Molly was mortified, but her friend's plan worked, and with their emotional support net firmly in place, they were there to catch their old friend's fall. They tried their best to cheer Molly up and to an extent it worked. But friends recalled that Molly had a melancholy about her that night, almost like she knew what was coming. Over the next few weeks, Joshua waged

a campaign of online harassment against his former girlfriend. He bombarded her with text messages from several different sources, then set up a series of social media profiles for use in his campaign. No matter how many accounts Molly blocked, Joshua seemed to remain one step ahead of her, and his methods grew sickeningly creative. At one point, Josh set up an anonymous Facebook group entitled something to the effect of Get Molly Help. Hidden behind a facade of compassion, Joshua made a series of faceless and baseless claims that Molly was suffering from a cocaine addiction. He added almost every one of Molly's friends, relatives, and online contacts to the group and ensured that a minor panic took place before the girl herself frantically refuted the claims. What I just described was just one of the many ways Josh

terrorized Molly in the aftermath of their breakup, but most tended to be a digital form of harassment which meant forwarding them to the police took just a click of a button. Seeing as Josh had no prior convictions, the police could only give him a warning, but a People's Constable Philpott from Kent Police issued a very stern one via telephone. The harassment abated for a few days, but during that time, Joshua seemed to issue a chilling decree via a cryptic Facebook post. More to come, he said. With Joshua having backed off a little, Molly felt safe enough to attend a dinner date with friends. Just minutes prior to her arrival, she posted details of the dinner date on Snapchat,

believing she'd successfully blocked all social media profiles associated with her former boyfriend. She was wrong. At one point, Molly looked up to see Josh, staring through the large front window of the restaurant directly at her. Friends urged her to pay no attention, but it was impossible. Molly felt so unsafe that she called a taxi and asked a member of the restaurant's waitstaff to escort her to the car. The incident repeated itself just days later on the evening of June 28th, when Joshua appeared in a pub Molly and her friends were drinking in. Not only was Josh stalking his ex-girlfriend online, he was stalking her friends too. Once again, Molly felt her safety had been compromised and fled the pub after calling a taxi. Yet despite this, there seemed to have been a general feeling that Josh was beginning to move on.

Direct online harassment had all but ceased, and Josh had been spotted in the company of another girl, which must have been an encouraging indicator by any measure. Yet in hindsight, the lull in Josh's psychotic behavior appears to have been little but the calm before the storm. The next morning on June 29th of 2017, Molly McLaren traveled to her local gym in the dockside area of Medway. A member of staff saw that she had entered the building at around 10.10 a.m. Then 35 minutes later, Molly sent a text message to her mother. Mom, it said, he's here, at the gym. Realizing that Josh was re-escalating his parasocial tendencies,

Molly's mother advised her to return home immediately. She took the advice, returned to the girls' changing rooms for a shower, then exited the gym and walked to the car. At 11.02, Molly sent another text message to a group chat that she and her friends participated in. It feels like I'm looking over my shoulder all the time, it read. It was the last text message she ever sent. Just as Molly tried to start up her car's engine, Joshua Stimson appeared from out of nowhere and yanked open her car door. Before Molly could even react, Josh plunged a small paring knife into her chest. Then after pulling the keys from her grip, he began stabbing her over and over and over again.

When a member of the public happened to notice the frenzied attack, they called out and began to intervene. Josh then drew the blade of the paring knife across Molly's throat, putting any chance of her survival firmly out of reach. He then locked himself in Molly's car, sat next to her still warm corpse, and awaited the arrival of police officers, telling them, you want me, as he calmly handed himself over. Once he was secure, paramedics rushed to Molly's aid, but it was too late, and she was officially pronounced dead at exactly 11.43am. Her family were beyond devastated, and the grief was only compounded when Josh began to plead not guilty, claiming temporary insanity, and that he'd had no memory of the attack

whatsoever. His defense team argued that all he wanted was a fair trial, but those who knew him had other ideas. Josh had punished Molly, and now he was going to punish her parents by dragging the matter through the nation's courts. During the trial, the prosecution dredged up dirt from Josh's previous relationships, arguing that both his previous two long-term girlfriends knew all about his controlling and possessive nature. And Alexandra Dale told the court that Joshua had once slashed the tires of her car after she threatened to leave him, and had once threatened to drown her during a Caribbean vacation. Leah Hubbard, Joshua's second ex-girlfriend, told the court that during one particularly vicious argument, Joshua had spat in her face before proceeding to physically abuse her.

The court was also shown pages upon pages worth of digital evidence, which depicted Joshua Stimson as a dangerously unhinged individual who felt an unhealthy possessiveness over the women in his life. At the trial's conclusion on February 6th of 2018, the jury took less than four hours to find Josh guilty of murder, after which a judge sentenced him to 26 years in prison. She told the court that this was an act of wickedness. You took away Molly's life quite deliberately in the most vicious fashion. You were determined to punish her for ending the relationship with you. You were seeking revenge. She was 23 years old, beautiful and intelligent. Her family's grief and anguish is raw and apparent for everyone to see.

You are a highly dangerous young man and you will pose a very considerable risk to women for a very considerable period in the future. But Molly's parents were not content with Josh's punishment alone. They wanted to make sure that no one would be able to commit the same act of callous evil ever again. They campaigned tirelessly for what's known as Domestic Homicide Review, which reviewed how Molly's case was dealt with by the relevant authorities. The subsequent report determined that Staffordshire Police failed to adequately investigate allegations made against Joshua four years prior to Molly's murder. At this time, he was dating the previously mentioned Alexandra Dale, but her harassment

via text messages wasn't recorded as a crime, and Joshua was merely sent a text by a police officer warning him to stay away. When Josh moved to Kent, Staffordshire police failed to notify their Kentish counterparts of Joshua's past, meaning he was not present on any of their local databases. Another section of the report reads as follows. The potential relevance of Staffordshire Police's involvement hinges on whether, had things been done differently, Kent Police might have found out about the 2013 incident in Staffordshire when Molly reported her concerns about Joshua in 2017. This could have been achieved in two ways. First,

if Joshua had been named as a suspect for a crime, a search of the Police National Database, the PND, would have revealed this. Second, if he had been cautioned or convicted of a criminal offense, this would have been recorded on the Police National Computer, or the PNC. And as a result of the Domestic Homicide Review, Staffordshire Police officially changed its policies surrounding criminal harassment, meaning officers are now required to record stalking as a crime, even if victims don't want to take matters further. If this were to occur in the United States, it might be given a moniker such as

Molly's Law, and it's a shame that the British police don't follow suit. After all, such a concrete change in the way the police do their jobs will undoubtedly have an effect on the way they handle future cases of harassment. We can only hope that in some sense, Molly's death was not in vain, and that her parents' efforts have secured the safety and prosperity of many young women to visit. I've always been uncomfortable around A, but it's just getting to the point where I can't stand to be around him. He forced me into multiple hugs during his visit and they always lasted way too long. He'd also run his hands down my body when he pulled away

and kiss me on the cheek when it was extremely obvious that I was uncomfortable. He sat right beside me on the otherwise empty couch to the point where I was quite literally squeezed between him and the arm of the couch and he put his hand on my knee and was rubbing it. He kept making comments about how pretty I was, which aren't inherently creepy, but coupled with his other actions were just weird. Honestly, I went to tell my dad how comfortable A makes me, but I'm afraid that he won't take it well or will tell me that I'm overreacting. I personally don't think I'm overreacting, but I just wanted to get an outside perspective. To be continued... get a story, be sure to submit them to my subreddit r slash let's read official and maybe even hear

your story featured on the next video. And if you want to support me even more, grab early access to all future narrations for just one dollar 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.