The Lets Read Podcast - 298: MY COWORKER'S HORRIFYING DOUBLE LIFE | 14 TERRIFYING True Scary Stories | EP 284

Episode Date: June 17, 2025

This episode includes narrations of true creepy encounters submitted by normal folks just like yourself. Today you'll experience horrifying stories about creepy coworkers & terrifying reddit tales. HAVE A STORY TO SUBMIT? [e-mail] FOLLOW ME ON - ►YouTube - https://www.youtube.com/c/letsreadofficial ► Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/letsread.official/ ♫ Music & Cover art: INEKT https://www.youtube.com/@inekt Today's episode is sponsored by: Betterhelp

The When I was 22, so what seems like a lifetime ago now, I landed myself a security job at a steel plant here in Pennsylvania. It was a pretty easy gig for the most part, but there were a lot of overnight shifts and depending on who you were working with, those shifts could either suck or be a whole lot of fun. I'd been working there for about a year with the same team the whole time when, one day, one of the senior guys announced that he was throwing in the towel.

He was moving someplace else to be closer to his family, so naturally the boss needed to replace him. We all hoped the replacement would be a good guy and a decent worker, but what we got was a guy named Parker. A decent worker who seemed to have all the personality traits of a serial killer. decent worker who seemed to have all the personality traits of a serial killer. We first met Parker on day shifts because you had to complete your probation period before you were allowed to work nights. He was about six feet tall with dark eyes, close cropped dark hair, and a rough beard. He also had a weird scar on the right side of his neck, like where a patch of skin was paler, pinker, and shinier than the rest. Then whenever he took his gloves off, you could see that he had the same patches of

deep pink scar tissue on the outside of his fingers, like near his knuckles. We figured that he'd been in some kind of accidents, like a bad car wreck or something, but since it's not polite to bring that kind of stuff up, no one ever asked him. But then it wasn't Parker's scars that freaked us out. It was the way he acted. He was quiet. Real quiet. And whenever he did speak, it was like English was a second language to him. He had a distinct Northeastern Pennsylvania accent, and by that I mean like Scranton, Wilkes Bar, and the Poconos. That kind of area. But then when he spoke, it was like he was fretting over every little syllable. He'd talk. Talk. Like this.

As if stressing over every little word. He'd get real jumpy sometimes, too, like a skittish horse. He wouldn't scream and dive under the table anytime he heard a loud noise, and we guarded a steel plant so in the daytimes there were many, but you could see him subtly flinch or spin his head around anytime something took him by surprise. The guy seemed like a total ball of nerves, and the fellas even joked that he might kill a man if he snuck up on him and spooked him bad enough. But then at the same time he was a good worker, so while we remained fairly cautious, we eventually accepted him as one of us.

About six months into Parker working with us, I found out that I'd be working with him for a whole week's worth of night shifts. Just me, him, and a supervisor. Needless to say, I was not looking forward to that. Our super would be in the security office watching cameras and stuffing his face with little pies, but it'd be up to me and Parker to patrol the grounds of the plant on foot. And like I said before, if you were with the right crew, nights could be a doozy. You'd walk around talking about the birds or the flyers just shooting the breeze and all of that. And then with Parker, I got the feeling that

the conversation wasn't exactly going to flow. And the idea of walking around at night with that button-down psycho felt more of a risk than chasing junkies off the site. All in all, it came down to two options. Work the shifts, or lose out on pay. And so I worked them. I wish I could say working those nights with Parker was like a buddy cop movie or something of that nature, that we slowly warmed up to one another, and we've been pals ever since. But that was not the case. Whenever Parker was sitting in total silence, staring off into space like he was watching a movie no one else could see, he'd be muttering to himself. He'd mostly only do it when he thought no one was around, but I caught him doing it

once or twice and when I did, he sounded like he was real angry about something. And that's what got us all thinking he really was some kind of ticking time bomb. The kind of guy to just snap one day and go totally postal. Naturally, no one wanted to be around him when he did, and when I said that I tried to cozy up to him a little so that he might just skip over shooting me when he finally did bring a gun to work, I'm really only half joking with you. The second night shift we worked together, we were walking around the plant's perimeter fence when I decided to ask Parker what he did before security.

And he didn't tell me much, but he did mention having worked for a company that didn't have his back after he got hurt, so he moved on, and that's how he ended up working security. I told him he should just lawyer up, and that he could probably win millions if it was some kind of industrial accident. But he told me it wasn't like that, and that he could probably win millions if it was some kind of industrial accident. But he told me it wasn't like that, and that the best thing he could have done is just move on. Whatever it was, from the way Parker talked about it, it sounded bad, and with me not being a total jerk, I asked him nothing more about it and changed the subject as quickly

as I could. Parker didn't follow any sports, he wasn't into movies like me and some of the other guys there, and he didn't drink, he didn't smoke, and he didn't have any wife or kids or girlfriend. And it got to the point where I asked him, what the hell do you do when you're not at work? And he told me he either worked out, worked on his car, or read books. I asked him what kind of books he read, and he started talking about a bunch of old Russian guys whose names I can't even pretend to remember or

spell. I've never been much of a reader, and the last thing I read was Huck Finn back in high school. But Parker didn't strike me as much of a reader either, so to hear him talking all fancy like that was kind of surprising. He finally managed to find a topic of mutual interest in automobiles and after Parker told me that he had a 2006 Pontiac GTO, that was all we talked about for the rest of the shift. It was the most conversation any of us had ever had with him and to me, it was a sign he wasn't going to show up in a hockey mask one day and start chopping us all up with a machete. That's what I told my supervisor too when he asked how working with Parker had been

come the end of the shift. I relayed everything I'd been told about Parker getting hurt at the previous job and how in spite of him not giving me much detail, I felt I had a rough idea of what had happened. I said I had no doubt whatsoever that Parker had a messed up past, but that I figured that he was way more of a threat to his former associates than he was to us, and it turns out I was right about that in ways that I could never imagine. On the fourth of what was supposed to be five night shifts together, Parker and I stopped by the guard shack by the main entrance for some coffee. It must have been around 1.30 in the morning. It had been a real quiet night and I planned on

working my way through a bag of those mini powdered donuts before we got back on our feet again. I was sitting at the little desk where we kept the logbook, reading through a copy of the previous day's papers someone had left behind while Parker was standing by the shack's window, staring out into the darkness and muttering to himself. 48 hours before, I'd have found that kind of behavior creepy, but it's amazing how quickly you get used to a person's quirks after working a couple of 12 hour night shifts with them. He could stare off into space, mutter to himself a little, and I didn't think it was normal by any stretch, but it didn't freak me out as much as it did when I first met him. But what did freak me out was when out of nowhere Parker told me, there's something

coming up the road. We never got anyone coming up that road at night, not unless it was someone from security, but they always called ahead. But what was even stranger was when I looked up and saw absolutely nothing on the road outside the shack. Now keeping in mind that I'm looking for headlights, so when I don't see any, I'm assuming that there's nothing. I also kind of assumed that, I don't know, Parker was just being a little overzealous

on account of how jumpy he always was. It wouldn't be the first time that he acted like that and made a mountain out of a molehill, but the boss liked it and said that we should all act a little bit more like that. And so I look up, see nothing, and I respond, are you sure, buddy? Cause I don't see nothing out there. Parker then says something in response, they got headlights switched off but there's something there alright. And then no sooner had he said that, when the headlights of what looked like a truck

or a van switched on so bright that it was almost blinding. I was half way through yelling out something just like who the hell are those guys when Parker turned and with this real angry look on his face he comes lunging across the shack at me. I backed up, asking him what the hell he was thinking but he didn't stop. He ran, lowered his body like some football player about to tackle me, and wham. He took me down so hard it knocked the wind out of me and even though I was fighting for my life I didn't stand a chance of overpowering him.

I had flashes of thoughts running through my mind, stuff about an inside job, about how Parker was a plant and that he was about to kill me to keep me quiet. Hell knows what heist a team would want from a steel plant, but I guess I wasn't thinking straight at the time. This also took place over the space of a couple of seconds too. Like the lights came on, Parker turned and tackled me. Then I'm right about to yell, what are you doing, when the whole goddamn shack exploded in a shower of glass and sparks.

I could hear automatic weapons. On behalf of a dozen of them, all slinging lead at the shack, this sort of daka-daka-daka-daka. The glass came in first, but after that, you could hear ricochets and see sparks before a bullet hit the light above our heads and plunge the shack into darkness before showering us with even more broken glass. Parker was on top of me the whole time, but obviously by then I realized why he'd taken me to the ground, and I'd quit trying to struggle. He didn't want to hurt me. Very much the opposite, in fact.

The guy I once thought might end up going postal on us was trying to save my life. The gunfire was over in a couple of seconds, and I knew it's a huge cliché at this point, but it did feel like way longer. But then the second it went quiet, Parker rolled off of me and then scurried out of the shack at a bit of a crouching position. I wanted to follow him and I wanted to get up and run, but my legs just wouldn't let me. All I could think about was whatever automatic weapons they had outside,

and how if I stood up, they'd put so much lead in me that you could shave my head and use me as a pencil. I wasn't certified to carry a weapon yet, but Parker had shown up certified which I guess is half the reason he got the job. So while I was armed with nothing but my flashlight and some pepper spray, he'd gone running off carrying our only weapon. I knew whatever brief window I had to escape the shack was gone. Parker had seemed to recognize that the guys outside were reloading and had ducked out of the shack before they had a chance to open fire again. I figured that meant that I had seconds before another hell storm of bullets

ripped through the shack and potentially me too. But then get up and run, and I'd give them something solid to aim at and I'd be totally screwed, not just partially. And so I waited, and waited, half expecting that sound to return again, of gunfire and for my lights to go out, but they didn't, and the only thing I heard was the sound of footsteps getting closer and closer to the shack. And like I said before, I had nothing but my pepper spray, but I knew that I had to do something, or whoever was out there was going to walk inside and finish me off.

And so I did the only thing I could think to do, and start making a lot of noise. I started yelling about how if they took one step closer, I was going to open up with my shotgun and how even though I wouldn't be able to take all of them out, at least one of them was going to die. The footsteps suddenly stopped, and there was a moment of silence and then I heard a voice. It sounded like a man who smoked exhaust pipes and ate gravel for breakfast and when he spoke, he didn't

sound mad or scared. He sounded almost smug, asking, Where's McCabe? To which I obviously responded, Who's McCabe? We didn't have anyone by that name working for us, so you can bet your ass I let them know that lickety-split. And I told them

there was no McCabe there. And that's who they were looking for. They'd risked a hundred years in prison for absolutely nothing, cause whoever that was, was not here. There was another pause, and then the guy said something like, I know he's there. I respect you trying to protect him but it's going to get you killed. And a piece of shit like that isn't worth dying over." I had to tell him a second time that I had exactly zero clue what he was talking about and that no one had to die because they made a dumb mistake. There was another pause and I heard the dudes outside sort of whispering to one another

but I couldn't make it out. Then the other guy who smoked exhaust pipe said, Alright, you got to count at three to tell us where McCabe is, then we're coming in to kill you. And after that he started his countdown. After three I told him that there was no point in killing me, and all he said in response was two. And at that I started thinking that maybe I could dive out of the broken window as they and killing me, and all he said in response was, two.

And at that, I started thinking that maybe I could dive out of the broken window as they started approaching, and then I could use the shack as cover for a few seconds to run off into the night. The guy shouted one, and I was thinking, okay, I need to clear this window in one try or I'm dead. And then the guy shouted, all right, we're... And that's all I heard. Because whatever his next word, it was drowned up by the sound of more gunfire. I heard maybe nine or ten shots, and then someone screamed before some

fired again. I was so scared I thought that they were just shooting up the shack again, and instead of actually risking safety to get inside the shack to kill me, they were just going to empty the bullets into it again in the hopes that a shot went through and hit me. But then I very quickly realized nothing was hitting the shack. All the shooting was directed at something else outside. I knew that was my golden opportunity to run, but when it came to standing up again, I knew that was my golden opportunity to run, but when it came to standing up again, I knew it was just too much of a risk while there were bullets in the air. I had to stay put, wait for the shooting to stop, and then wait for a moment.

But literally no sooner than the shooting did stop, I heard footsteps sprinting over to the shack before suddenly, Parker was standing in front of me, pistol in hand, and this absolute psycho kind of look on his face. He barks at me, get out of here, there'll be more of them coming. I don't know what it was about him telling me all of that, but all of a sudden my leg suddenly remembered how to work again. I didn't thank him. I didn't ask any questions.

I just ran full speed towards the plant's security office to take shelter there. There was a chance our super had seen what was happening, but there was also a chance that he hadn't either, so I needed to get their ASAP to make sure the cops got their ASAP too. And now long story short, we watched the cameras the whole time till the cops do show up. But all we see is the shack all shut up and the headlights of whatever vehicle the shooters had approached in. Parker, or McCabe, whatever you want to call him, was nowhere to be found, nor to my knowledge

did he ever resurface. Our boss handed over all his paperwork to the cops every last scrap that we had to go on, and they came back and told us all of it was false. The only thing that was real was Parker's face, and that it did match a guy named McCaves who used to be part of some prison gang until his relationship with his associates soured for some reason. And that's all the explanation we ever got, and as far as I know, Parker or McCabe is still on the run.

I don't know what he did to piss those guys off so much, but I know they made a mistake coming after him like that. A mistake they paid for. With their lives. This is an ad by BetterHelp. Let's share our thoughts on the stigma surrounding men's mental health and the strength that comes from maintaining a healthy mind. Today's men are under a ton of pressure to perform, provide, and manage everything, which might explain why around 6 million men in the US struggle with depression

each year, often without even realizing it. It's totally normal to face challenges. True strength lies in sharing what you're going through and taking steps to improve things so you can shine your brightest for yourself and everyone around you. If you're a guy and feeling overwhelmed, don't hesitate to reach out to someone, like a friend, a loved one, or even a therapist. You've got options. Together, let's take that first step that empowers you

to be the best version of yourself. BetterHelp, with its amazing team of over 35,000 therapists, is the biggest online therapy platform out there who've helped more than 5 million people around the world feel better. And it works. With a fantastic app store rating of 4.9 out of 5 for more than 1.7 million reviews from happy users. It's super convenient. You can hop into a therapy session with just a click, making it easy to squeeze it into

your busy schedule, and you can also switch therapists whenever you feel like it. As the largest online therapy provider in the world, BetterHelp can provide access to mental health professionals with a diverse variety of expertise. Talk it out with BetterHelp. Our listeners get 10% off their first month at BetterHelp.com slash read. That's BetterHelp, H-E-L-com. Slash read. My name is Father Thomas, and I've been with the parish priesthood at St. Nicholas's Catholic Church here in Winchcombe for the past three and a half years.

Winchcombe is a small town here in rural Gloucestershire, and about 5,000 people are very proud to call it home. It's about as quaint a rural English town as you're ever likely to find, with beautiful village green, a trio of timelessly charming pubs, and even a 15th century Tudor castle on the town's outskirts. There's nowhere on earth I'd rather be living or serving God. But it's also true that Winchcombe has a history steeped in strange and sometimes rather sinister occurrences. Visit the local museum and you'll be told that Winchcombe started life as a Roman hamlet around the middle of the first century, but about three miles to the southeast, atop a place called Cleve Hill, you'll find

traces of a Neolithic burial ground that dates back 5,000 years. The area's inhabitants would take their dead to a chambered long barrow atop the hill, which was not only a place of reverence, but also a place of right and ritual, where the living could commune with the dead. There was a focus on collective memory and kinship, emphasizing the dead as part of a community rather than isolated individuals, and befitting my profession, that's something I find profoundly moving. Yet I've often wondered how much influence those ancestral spirits have today, or if the strange events I've observed around

Winchcombe are the echoes of much more recent events. In the 16th century, scandal rocked a nearby monastery known as Hales Abbey. For hundreds of years the monastery had been home to a religious relic known as the Holy Blood, which consisted of an ornately decorated wooden box containing a glass vial of Jesus Christ's blood. Supposedly the vial had filled with the blood which dripped from Christ's feet during his crucifixion and had been delivered from the Holy Land by a crusading knight sometime in the 13th century. had been delivered from the Holy Land by a crusading knight sometime in the 13th century. The knight claimed the relic had been given to him by the monks of Hermitage, somewhere near the Dead Sea, after defending its occupants against a Saracen raid.

The monks guaranteed their very souls on the relic's authenticity, claiming it had once belonged to one of Christ's apostles. Following its interment in Hales Abbey, the monastery became one of the most prominent in all of England. But sometime in the 16th century an inspection of the Holy Blood uncovered something deeply shocking. The vial containing Christ's blood had been stolen. Following an investigation, the official story became that the holy blood had been stolen by a group of professional thieves at the behest of a wealthy benefactor. However, if someone was rich enough to finance the theft of such a relic, you can bet that

they had a large house with a large staff. A staff which, if they believed the blood of Christ was secreted somewhere in their home, would have had a very hard time keeping their mouth shut about it. Yet as history shows, neither the thieves nor the buyer were ever found. Many believe the Holy Blood would still be intact, hidden away somewhere until its inevitable discovery. Others have a much more disconcerting explanation. Shortly after the theft of the Holy Blood, a royally sanctioned witch-finder arrived

in Gloucestershire. The King of England, James I, was obsessed with stamping out witchcraft and other heresy, and so when he heard the Holy Blood had been stolen, he believed devilry was afoot and sent his chief witchfinder to root it out. The witchfinder's investigation led to the Burleigh witch trials, whereby Joan Flower and her two daughters, Margaret and Philippa, were accused of cursing the Earl of Rutland. After half a dozen of the Earl's family and friends suffered sudden and tragic deaths, many blamed a hidden coven of witches.

Margaret and Philippa Flower were hunted down, arrested, then hanged following convictions for communing with the devil. Their mother, heartbroken and impoverished, died in prison not long after. A few years later, a woman named Alice Colern was accused of causing illness and death by using curses and charms. She was convicted following testimonies from her own neighbors and was executed to the cheers of the gathered townsfolk. It's clear that, at the time, many believed that the Holy Blood had been stolen by the accused and used in a series of profane rituals.

They believed these rituals had brought a great and terrible darkness to the region, and it seems there are some who still believe this, even hundreds of years later. I've seen some rather unsettling graffiti around town over the years, things quite unlike the usual dross teenagers like to daub, but those will not be the focus of this memoir. What I've told you are things I wished I knew before I arrived in Witchcombe, and because at the very least I feel like they have helped me understand some of the things that have happened here since. For although I now live a life of peace, harmony, and simplicity, I had to endure

a living nightmare to obtain it. I won't stultify you with the finer details of entering the priesthood, but let's just say it's neither quick, nor easy, nor painless. For some prospective priests it takes years of discernment before they commit themselves. Then after that you're looking at a decade of training until you're even considered for priesthood. Then when you finally do become a priest, you have to serve under another much more experienced counterpart before either taking over the parish or being assigned one of your own.

That's the exact position I was in when I arrived in Winchcombe back in early 2020. St. Nicholas's Church was under the care of Father Michael, an elderly priest who'd held the position since the mid-1970s. He was set to retire in the summer of 2021, so the idea was I'd spend 18 months under his tutelage before taking over as guardian of the church and parish. The usual period of tutelage is two years, so as you can imagine, I was rather surprised at the offer of a rare shortcut.

Needless to say, it came with a caveat. Father Michael, who was almost 79 years old when we first met, had been in a state of mental decline for quite some time, and his condition had become of deep concern to many of his parishioners. People spoke of strange sermons, troubling outbursts, or unsettling remarks during cloistered conversations and to our boss, the Bishop of Clifton, this was unacceptable. If I could keep Father Michael's behavior under wraps and prevent the situation from progressing into a full-blown scandal, then one of the most coveted parishes in England would be mine for as long as I could serve it.

I knew it would be a challenge. I was taking on the role of a carer as well as a priest, but at the same time, it was an absolute no-brainer as they say. I considered it an honor to be able to attend to a veteran of the church during the twilight of his tenure, I just didn't realize how terribly taxing it would prove to be, both to my faith and to my sanity. I first visited Winchcombe in December of 2019 prior to my confirmation there. Father Michael had something of the final say on who he'd transfer the parish to, but after some

afternoon tea and a long conversation on ecumenical matters, the man himself told me that I'd gotten the job. Father Michael wasn't anything like I imagined him, and in so many words I've been told that he was losing his mind and was a liability to the church, but our meeting suggested nothing of the sort. Father Michael was aged, but his mind was as sharp as his wit, and as I said, we spoke at length on a number of different topics, all of which he displayed a vast knowledge of. He was assertive, but welcoming, charming but humble, and displayed wisdom without arrogance.

He embodied everything I thought a priest was supposed to. So quirks are no quirks, I was thrilled at the prospect of being mentored by him, even if that mentorship came with its unique set of challenges. In early February of 2020, I moved into the spare room of the cottage that stands behind St. Nicholas Church. It's a beautiful little cottage, with a thatched roof and a small rose garden. It's also my current home and the place that I presently sit and type this memoir. Back when I first arrived, it was a place of great uncertainty for me.

But now, almost five years to the day since I moved into that cottage, I have more unanswered questions than ever. My first month or so under Father Michael's tutelage went smoothly. I helped him perform Mass, I helped him perform baptisms, and we went through procedures for both weddings and funerals. I accompanied Fr. Michael in visits to hospitals and nursing homes, and I sat down on pastoral counseling sessions to learn how to provide guidance and support to my future parishioners. I shadowed Fr. Michael in preparing sermons and homilies, and then when it came to my

own personal duties, I would organize Bible study groups or youth group meetings. I also had to manage the daily administrative duties of the church, which kept me very busy, I can assure you. But that first month, aided by the warmth of the Christmas season, made for a very smooth transition into my new life. There were no signs of Father Michael's decline, none of his episodes, as people had taken to calling them, and at first it appeared the whole thing had been quite overblown.

But then, it happened. One evening after dinner, Father Michael and I were enjoying a cup of tea and a few biscuits when the subject of parish funerals came up. A conversation on that topic then meandered into one about death in general, and while that might sound like a subject too heavy for tea and biscuits, discussion of the afterlife can be a rather common thing for those who take the cloth. Father Michael and I had very briefly touched on the subject while discussing parish funerals on a previous occasion,

but that marked the first time that we delved into the subject in depth. He mentioned how his time on earth was drawing to a close, and how he'd been pondering on what that meant for his eternal soul. Father Michael knew he'd lived a good and decent life, one dedicated almost entirely to the Church no less, but he still found himself preoccupied by matters of faith. In a remark I thought was a passing one, Father Michael mentioned how he sometimes envied the holy martyrs, those whose dedication to the faith had cost them their lives.

He quite rightly said that while priests occupy a special place in heaven, martyrs, by virtue of their sacrifice, may bypass purgatory and enter heaven immediately as their suffering is considered a purification in itself. And it's this that was the source of his self-confessed envy. The subject of the Church's martyrs is something we're encouraged to reflect on often, but at the time I was only familiar with some of the more well-known martyrs. There's Saint Stephen, the first Christian martyr who was stoned to death after preaching about Jesus. Then there's Saint Peter, who was

crucified upside down as he felt unworthy to die in the same way as Christ. But perhaps the most famous is Paul the Apostle, one of Christianity's greatest evangelists who was beheaded in Rome under Emperor Nero. Yet although we touched on them, it wasn't these martyrs Father Michael wanted to discuss. He asked if I was aware of St. Sebastian, and I was, but I discovered I wasn't privy to the whole story. Sebastian was murdered by being shot full of arrows, but bizarrely, and unbeknownst

to myself, he'd survived this phase of his execution. His awestruck killers, who had never seen such corporeal resilience, then had him cut from the stake he was tied to, and then beaten to death with clubs. They broke every bone in his body, one by one, until massive internal bleeding caused his heart to finally give out, and he passed into martyrdom. Father Michael said that when he recently revisited the tale of St. Bartholomew, who was skinned alive prior to his beheading to ensure maximum suffering, he felt a deep and shameful sense of envy.

He felt the same covetousness when he re-read the story of St. Catherine of Alexandria, who was put to death using a spiked braking wheel. And for the unfamiliar, the braking wheel is a method of execution which involves being tied to a large, spoked wheel before your legs, arms, and ribs are broken, usually in that order to, again, cause maximum suffering. The wailing victim's shattered limbs are then woven into the breaking wheel's spokes in a sickening, cyclical recreation of the human form before being displayed as a warning

to others. The fate of those subjected to the breaking wheel is similar to those who underwent crucifixion, in that they didn't expire right away and sometimes spent days at a time clinging to life, their bodies wracked with agony until they finally expired. And to put St. Catherine's suffering into perspective, it's said that the breaking wheel broke before she did, shattering from the force of the blows to her body before she was even close to expiring. Then much like St. Sebastian, her executioners were so awestruck at her dedication to her faith that they ordered her beheaded lest her zeal proved contagious.

Father Michael said that he also envied St. Agnes, who was so touched by God's grace that the flames of her execution pyre could not set her ablaze. He felt the same towards St. Perpetua and St. Felicity, who in the Roman Coliseum were torn apart by wild animals before being put to the sword. Father Michael claimed to feel a deep melancholy along with a sense of frustration that God had never provided him with a sense of frustration that God had never provided him with a similar opportunity to prove his faith. He acknowledged it was a dark, potentially perturbing point of view,

yet it was one he wrestled with nonetheless. As you can all imagine, I found his confession to be deeply unsettling, but relatively unsurprising. I'd received prior warning that Father Michael might say or do some rather unusual things, preventing such instances was half the reason I was there. But what I was not prepared for was what he said next. In no uncertain terms, Father Michael told me that he was not only envious of the Church's holy martyrs, but also envied those who made them so. Unbeknownst to those who'd beheaded, flayed, or burned the faithful alive, they'd been

a part of God's plan, and without their actions, the holy martyrs would not be so venerated today. Even if he himself could not achieve martyrdom, he would gladly swap places with one of the many martyrs-executioners simply to be closer to the act itself. Father Michael said if he'd known the implications of his actions, he'd have tortured St. Catherine long after the wheel broke, knowing her continued suffering would only elevate her status in heaven. As he talked, he became more and more animated, and then more and more manic until suddenly there was spittle flying from his lips as he made his case with wide, frantic eyes.

I'm not ashamed to say that I was frightened, because the fear wasn't for myself. It was entirely for the health and well-being of Father Michael. It had been the first time he'd exhibited any objectively disturbing or upsetting behavior, the kind of thing I'd been warned about before my arrival. But still, seeing it up close for the first time and knowing just how graphically he could speak, it made for a chilling revelation.

I reported the incident back to the Bishop of Clifton, the head clergyman for all of Gloucestershire, and he essentially told me to keep up the good work. I'd managed to talk Father Michael down from the mild form of mania he'd talked himself into, and he seemed rather self-aware regarding his deteriorating condition, so there was no conflict following my intervention. But the same could not be said for the next instance of de-escalation. Sometime after our conversation on martyrs, Father Michael asked if he could share something

with me, something he believed might make me rather uncomfortable. When we got back to the cottage, I put the kettle on, put on a few biscuits and cream cakes, and then sat down for some tea before he made his rather daunting announcement. Father Michael had been talking to an angel. And my heart sank the moment he said it, realizing his condition was far more severe than mere verbal diarrhea. If he was suffering audible or even visual hallucinations, then he evidently required urgent medical care.

And as you can very well imagine, I was keen to get to the bottom of his angelic interactions, to determine if they were harmless metaphors or, yet more worrying, manifestations of his encroaching madness. Father Michael told me that for the past few years an angel had visited him in the middle of the night, around once a week. He'd awaken in the wee small hours of the morning, not to a voice, but to a feeling. And then after walking downstairs, he'd sit in the darkness in the chair in the corner of the room and he'd listen to the angel speak to him.

I asked what form this angel appeared to him in, but Father Michael didn't know. He sat in the corner, facing the wall, as a means of protecting himself. He believed looking upon the angel's form without the proper permission would burn his eyes out and set his very mind aflame. I asked Father Thomas what made him think that he didn't have permission to look if the angel was present and conversing with him, and without going into the long-winded explanation he gave me, let's just say that his answers were, at best, inconsistent. I knew he needed help, and he needed it as soon as possible, but when I tried contacting

the bishop with my concerns, the only person I could reach was his assistant, a priest whom, to save his own embarrassment, will remain unnamed. Now, Father Nameless, or should that be Father Spindeless, claimed the bishop was very busy with prior engagements, but that he'd be more than happy to assist me. Obviously, my request was that he put me in touch with the bishop, because I had a very important development to report to him, but after almost a week of obfuscating, I realized the bishop was deliberately avoiding my calls.

I was furious, but the church's strict hierarchy is just that, strict. I had no choice but to deal with Father's spineless, and the process was as frustrating as it was fruitless. Much like the realization that the bishop was avoiding my calls, there came a point where I realized Father Spindless was acting in a manner one might describe as deliberately obtuse. When I explained that Father Thomas needed urgent psychiatric care, he asked for more

details. But when I gave them, he asked for more details. But when I gave them, he appeared to completely misunderstand both the timeline and the severity of the events. I hadn't dealt with this assistant much, after all, I was only a few months into my Winchcombe tenure, but it didn't take me very long to figure out that he wasn't an imbecile, he was merely acting like one. And all with a view to frustrating my attempts to get help for Father Michael.

Without going into too much detail, if Father Michael needed serious psychiatric care before his retirement, the church would be obligated to pay for his medication and potentially even expensive private medical care. But if his conditions stayed a secret until after his retirement, then any expenses incurred would be Father Michael's responsibility. The church would still technically be paying for his treatment, but it'd come out of his pension and not their own personal coffers. Break into too much of the budget and our bishop might lose his standing with the Archbishop,

which would no doubt affect his chances of climbing the parochial ladder. I didn't find that out from Father Spindless, but when I did, you can bet your arse that I sent some very ungodly language his way when I called him back, the audacity of the bishop to try and further his career, and at the cost of such a senior and well-respected member of the church, seemed nothing short of criminal. Father Spindless simply told me that he'd pass on what I'd said to the bishop, and I assumed it was thinly veiled sarcasm. It was not.

Just a few hours later I received a call from none other than the bishop himself, and to say he wasn't pleased with me would be the understatement of the century. Without giving details of the entire exchange, he rather furiously asked if his instructions had been unclear. He reminded me of what I'd been told prior to accepting my position in Winchcombe, and then asked if there's anything I'd misunderstood. I told him no, that I hadn't misunderstood anything, but that Father Michael needed the kind of urgent care that I was incapable of providing as a mere priest.

The bishop then simply told me that if I was incapable of fulfilling my duties, he'd find someone that could. The whole point of me being there was to prevent any kind of scandal, be it moral or in this case financial, and in all fairness, that had indeed been made clear to me prior to being formally offered the position. It was either put up and shut up, or hit the road and potentially wait years for the chance to take another parish, because I would most certainly be blacklisted by the bishop. Not formally, you understand, but blacklisted nevertheless. And so, I issued a formal

verbal apologies to the bishop and then reassured him I was capable of the task at hand. And that was the late spring of 2020, and as many of you will remember, lockdowns followed shortly after. I thought the temporary cessation of church services would give Father Michael a well-deserved break, and to an extent, it functioned exactly as I'd hoped. But over time, the prolonged isolation led to a serious and rapid decline in his condition. In the end, I actually considered the social distancing to be something of a double-edged sword, because as much as it played havoc on Father Thomas' mental health, it shielded his deterioration from the public eye. He became increasingly erratic, having difficulty sleeping and was prone to increasingly maniacal

outbursts which both concerned and frightened me deeply. He remained fixated on the concept of martyrdom from the perspective of both the saint and their killer, and I took to locking my door at night for fear that he might do something unspeakable. Thankfully, the easing of lockdowns in the autumn of 2020 helped a great deal with Father Michael's condition. Being thrust back into public life proved something of a shock to the system and one he desperately needed.

And so for a while, anyway, he was able to get back into a steady routine and was able to focus his mind on much healthier thoughts than those of martyrdom and murder. But once limitations were reintroduced towards All Saints Day and Father Michael was limited in even the number of funerals he could attend, his condition sank back towards the severe. He became increasingly fixated on the idea that he was about to be the recipient of what he called a heavenly communication. But whenever I pressed him on the matters, he began speaking in scriptural riddles and avoided giving any straight answers.

Obviously it was something I found deeply concerning, but it marked something of a new phrase in Father Michael's state of mind. Instead of brooding, irritable, and quick to anger, he was euphoric. As I said, it was deeply concerning, but this new phase came with behaviors that proved considerably more manageable than those previously exhibited. The approaching Christmas season gave him something to focus his mind on, something that wasn't as ghastly or gory as his former fixations, and that I most warmly welcomed. Yet after New Year's Day came and went, things changed dramatically.

The isolation of the January lockdowns and the desolation of the bleak British winter proved devastating to Father Michael's state of mind. His conversations with that angel went from being a weekly to an almost nightly affair, which in turn meant his sleep hygiene was atrocious. He became irritable, angry, sometimes even violent, and he smashed household items, snapped at parishioners, and in one instance I had to physically intervene during a mass after he took a disturbing diversion relating to communing with angels. I began to wonder if I could survive another year of Father Michael's tutelage, and I used the word survive in the literal sense. Little did I know, but he'd be gone within a month. Throughout most of February 2021, Father Michael had been taking a break from his parochial

duties. He had refused previous suggestions he undertake a period of rest, but following the cessation of the Christmas period, his mania had been replaced by a rather crippling depression. His public absence was relatively easy to explain and I was experienced enough to effectively replace him during that period, but then one Sunday morning, the 28th of February to be exact, I awoke to find Father Michael dressed, composed, and ready to administer mass. It was like all his depression and mania had suddenly evaporated and not only did he seem perfectly fit and well, but he seemed positively excited to perform mass.

The service itself went impeccably, and the parishioners were positively beaming to see him up and about again following his absence. Then afterwards, over a pot of tea and a few custard creams, I began asking Father Michael's about his rejuvenated state. I asked a few gentle but probing questions. His responses were quite direct. He told me that over the previous twelve months, he'd asked God many, many questions, none of which had received an answer.

But in the early hours of Sunday morning, he'd finally received a response from the angel he'd been communicating with. The angel told him how that very night, Father Michael would be given a sign, and he would not know where, how, or exactly when, but he would be given a sign. Again, I did nothing but worry. He had peaks and then troughs and then higher as peaks the lower as troughs, and if his so-called angel failed to reappear that evening, if he didn't receive his so-called sign, there would be a change in his mood and it might plummet toward unmanageable or even dangerous lows. All I could do was hope for

the best and be ready for anything. But nothing could have prepared me for what happened that night. Nothing. Father Michael's usual bedtime, the one he stuck to when he wasn't feeling manic, was usually around 930 at night. He'd taught her off around 9, and I was under the impression that he was undertaking his evening bedtime routine, but then suddenly, he reappeared fully dressed and began to put his coat on. I asked him where he was going but he didn't respond. He just walked towards the front door of the cottage and then as he opened it, he looked

at me and said, You're going to follow me? He didn't say it in the imperative. It wasn't a command. It was a statement. An emotionless statement of cold, hard fact. Because as he stepped out of the cottage and began walking off into the night, I rushed to put on my own coat and hat and then followed him. All of my questions went unanswered.

Father Michael simply told me to be patient and then led me on a short walk out into a field just east of Silk Mill Lane. I walked through the trees, crossed the public footpath and then stopped someplace in the middle of the field looking out toward Rushley Lane. I once again asked Father Michael what he was doing but instead of further dismissal of my question he he told me, we're waiting. And then took something small from his pocket and unfolded it. It was a penknife, its blade glinting in the pale moonlight. I pulled out my phone and placed a phone call to the local police at exactly 9.47pm I remember.

I told them Father Michael was having another of his episodes But that this was one much more severe than the others He was out in the field off Silk Mill Lane, and he had a knife with him And I was afraid that he was going to harm himself The dispatcher told me officers would be there within minutes And then after that I hung up and went about trying to talk Father Michael out of doing whatever I believed he was planning on doing. But he struck me. Really struck me, I mean, and it wasn't the knife that he produced, it was how calm and collected he was.

As I begged him to fold away that knife and reconsider whatever he was planning, Father Michael simply smiled. He told me all I needed to do was wait a few more minutes and then all would become clear. I told him the police were on their way, and that in order to prevent a scandal he needed to make sure that that knife was out of sight before they arrived. Father Michael didn't listen and once again simply told me to be patient. A wave of relief watched over me as I saw the blue flashing lights

of the police car behind us and I began calling out to them as they advanced in our direction. Once they drew level, I told them Father Michael had a knife, at which point the officer produced an electric stun gun. I saw him produce that stun gun, then turned back towards Father Michael,

intent on begging him to put down the knife, and something happened that I have yet to reconcile with my own sanity. Father Michael was looking up into the skies, completely deaf to the pleas of both myself and the police officers, and then out of nowhere, there was a great green flash in the sky before a sharp streak of bright white light burst from the green flash. It was one of the most incredible things I'd ever seen. And then as the strange lights faded and a great boom echoed across the skies, Father Michael turned.

He told me his question had been answered, that he was to be martyred at the hands of the man standing in that field with him, and that man was me. He approached me with a knife, holding it out by the blade as the police screamed at him to stand still and put the knife down. All three of us, myself and the two officers, began backing away from Father Michael, begging him to stop what he was doing before somebody got hurt. He commanded me to kill him, over and over again, and each time I refused he became more and more irate.

Then finally, he completely lost his mind. He turned the knife around, charged at me with it raised above his head, and was instantly shot by the stun gun wielding policeman. He dropped to the ground, fell conscious, and was swiftly transported to hospital where I was assured that he had every hope of making a full recovery. But Father Michael never woke up. The stun gun's charge in tandem with an undiagnosed heart condition had a terrible effect on Father Michael's cardiovascular health. He grew worse and worse until eventually he simply passed away in

the early hours of the following morning. I was the first to hear the news, and when I did, I wept. But it wasn't so much shock or grief that brought tears to my eyes. It was that Father Michael had been proven right. Father Michael believed God had told him how he'd be martyred that night by someone standing in that field with him. He believed the Winchcombe meteorite, which has since been completely and scientifically explained, was his sign that he was indeed to become a holy martyr. He didn't believe he'd leave that field alive, and in more ways than one, the actions of

that policeman proved him exactly right. I have no idea how Father Michael knew about the meteorite. Sometimes I think it was all just some terrible coincidence and that its sudden appearance was a matter of misfortune, but other times I think differently. Frankly, I'm not sure what to think anymore. The only thing I know for certain about the incident is that it joins the long list of other strange occurrences that have taken place in Winchcombe over the years. And doubtless, there will be many, many more. Back in 2013, I was a deputy manager at a hardware store here in Delaware.

For my morning shifts, I'd open the place up, get the computer and registers up and running, then I'd head into the office to check our answering machine. This was probably one of the more crucial aspects of my morning routine, because that was my way of finding out if any deliveries had cancelled, if anything was arriving earlier than expected, and also if anyone had called in sick that morning. So I sit down with my coffee and I listen to maybe two or three fairly routine messages. Then, when I hit play on the next one, I recognize the voice right away. I've been half expecting to hear Greg's voice on one of the messages because he was supposed

to be there that morning to help me open up. Hearing his voice was kind of a relief at first because at least I knew that he was supposed to be there that morning to help me open up. Hearing his voice was kind of a relief at first, because at least I knew that he was okay and just sick. But that's not what he'd called to tell us. Greg was an older guy, close to retirement age, and he was quite possibly the sweetest man I'd ever had the pleasure of working with. So naturally, when I didn't see him that morning, I was concerned. I figured he was going to say how he wasn't feeling too good, how he was going to take the day off,

and as much as it was going to suck trying to find coverage for him, I was just glad to know that it was okay. But what he had to tell us was anything but reassuring. The message started with, good morning ladies. Which made me smile right away because it was how he greeted us every morning. But then he went on to say, I'm real sorry but I don't think I'll be making it into work tomorrow morning. I'm going to see Sherry. I didn't know who this Sherry person was.

But I also wasn't super close with Greg. Not like he was with the ladies who worked on the store's floor or registers, and so I went to ask them. I asked my coworker, a woman named Janine, who Sherry was in relation to Greg, and then the way that she looked at me told me almost everything I needed to know. Sherry was Greg's wife. At least she had been until she passed away. I guess that doesn't make her not his wife, but you see what I mean.

And so when he said he was going to see Sherry, I figured that he meant that he was going to visit her grave or something. But then when I said that, and expressed why I wasn't sure that warranted a sick day, Janine totally agreed. She says it wasn't like Greg to ever call in sick, and he only ever visited Sherry's grave on their anniversary, their birthday, and usually once around the holidays. I then asked Janine, well, what does it mean when he says he's going to see Sherry? And after she turned a whiter shade of pale, she simply

responded with, I think he better go make some phone calls. To which I did. I called Greg on his cell, maybe two or three times, hoping maybe he just wasn't hearing the phone. And I tried his home phone number, but again, my calls went unanswered. I put the phone down, and then I swear to God, not even two seconds goes by before it rings. I'm

hoping it's Greg but it's not. It's Greg's son. Then when I asked if his dad was okay he told me no, Greg was not okay. In fact he passed away during the night. Greg's son said that this is what he figured from having seen the scene. It appeared his dad had gotten a bunch of paperwork done, including his will, before laying down in an easy chair and just slipping away during the night. He'd watered his house plants, paid his bills, put on his best suit and shined his shoes, and then after leaving messages for us and one for his choir director letting him know that he wouldn't need a ride to practice, Greg

laid down in his recliner and just died. There was nothing to suggest that he'd expedited his exit, so to speak. There were no pills, no blood, no clear plastic bags or anything of that nature. Everything looked entirely painless and entirely natural. But then somehow I find that all the more haunting. The thing that scares me is sort of how he knew it was his time. Do we all know when we're close to death? And do we all feel so goddamn cheery about it, or was Greg just not afraid to go?

The whole thing with Greg isn't the scariest thing that's ever happened to me. I've been in a 14 car pileup where a family of four died, and let me tell you, that was way more terrifying than finding out Greg had passed away peacefully. But that accident doesn't stick with me the way Greg's sudden passing does, and I guess that's because all of those unanswered questions regarding one of the few things we all share. Man woman or child, east or west, north or south, our unstoppable and inevitable end. I know this is a bit of an unusual request, but I was hoping you could give me some advice on how to handle a situation with a male colleague of mine. Now, I'd rather not say where I live or work or anything like that.

I'd like to just try and keep this as anonymous as possible, but here's the gist of my story. We first met when I started working at a large retail store that had lots of employees. He was the first person to really make an effort to be friendly with me, and I thought that we might end up being work friends. But I was wrong. It quite quickly progressed from him being warm, but platonically friendly, to asking me to go out for drinks with him. I wasn't looking for a relationship at the time and I knew exactly what the implications

of his invitation were so each time he'd ask me I'd politely decline, hoping he'd eventually take the hint. But he didn't. He seemed to think that if he'd just kept asking that I'd eventually say yes. I didn't have the heart to tell him that I didn't like him like that, but I also didn't want to lie and say that I had a boyfriend. In the end I thought the best thing to do would be to transfer to a different department, but it became this sort of cat and mouse game of him following me wherever I went in terms

of departmental transfer. In the end I had to go to HR about it, and only then did they stop his transfers without cluing him into the fact that I'd approached them. I'd made the mistake of giving him my phone number when I first started, as he'd offered to work any shifts I needed covering. But after realizing he was only going to use that to pester me, I blocked his number. I made my social media private, but he sent me a follow request anyways, and I chose to just ignore it, once again assuming that he'd have the emotional maturity to just understand

his attention was not appreciated. But again, he did not. His increasingly stalker-like behavior wasn't all that much of a problem at the time. I'd made sure our two departments were just about as far removed from one another as it was possible to be, so it wasn't like we bumped into each other often. And when we did, it was just sort of a smile and a nod kind of exchange as we went about our duties. But then one evening, after we'd all closed up and I was walking to my car, I looked up from my phone to see him, standing near my driver's side like he'd been waiting

for me. It was early winter, so it had long gone dark by the time we got out. I'd parked my car quite far from the store, so there was hardly anyone else around as I was walking. And then suddenly, there's my cheerful stalker, who's basically cornering me in a dark car park. I was a mix of startled and nervous, but I just did what I usually did in that sort of situation and tried to be as friendly and disarming as possible.

I asked what I could do for him, and he started trying to make small talk. I humored him for a moment or two and then very politely asked him what he wanted. Then when he asked if I could give him a lift home, I felt my heart jump into my throat. I knew he lived on my route home, close to it anyway, but I knew he knew that too. So turning him down wasn't going to be easy without coming across as rude or selfish. Side note, this also might seem like a perfectly normal exchange, and I might seem selfish in not giving him a lift home, but this was not a normal exchange. This guy couldn't take the hint that I wasn't into him, so he clearly wasn't playing with

a full deck. And now he's blocking me from getting into my car in a dark car park after making sure that there's no one else around but me and him. I'm not trying to use this to slag off men, so please don't think I'm doing that. But sometimes, guys just don't appreciate how pant-shittingly terrifying that kind of behavior is to girls. He was quite capable of overpowering me if he wanted to, which is why I had to stay on my best behavior and keep him sweet.

But he made that very, very difficult for me and part of me thinks he did it deliberately. In the nicest voice I could possibly muster, I told him I was too busy to give him a lift and then made up some excuse about having to pick up my mum from her friend's house. I just really didn't want to be alone in a car with him. I had visions of dropping him off at his flat, asking me to come inside and then making a big scene and refusing to get out of my car after I rejected him, none of which I am emotionally equipped to deal with. And so quite naturally, I didn't want him anywhere I couldn't physically remove him, especially the passenger seat of my car. I gave him my excuse, and he seemed to take it on the chin, but then made a sharp segue

into the ignored Instagram follower quest. And when he asked me if I'd seen it, I lied. I told him I hadn't, and that I had been taking a bit of a mental health break from social media, which was partially true. He then countered that since we were colleagues. It'd be nice to be able to keep in touch on social media I tried the path of least resistance and told him I'd checked my insta the first chance I got but then instead of leaving me alone He started asking about my phone number and why I wasn't answering my phone. I Had to tell him I got a new number and hadn't memorized it yet, but he smelled the lie in an instant. And in

that moment, the way he looked at me chilled me to the bone. Upon detecting the lie, the smile was immediately wiped from his face. He went cheerful and warm to frighteningly cold and it took just a second for it to happen. I started to feel very unsafe around him. He said the calls weren't connecting, but that the little robotic voice didn't say the number wasn't in service. It said the person wasn't available, and apparently my now not so cheerful stalker understood the difference.

He started asking if I'd blocked his phone number, and then before I could even answer he asked, Why did you do that? What have I ever done to upset you so much that you'd block my number? I tried to dig myself out of the situation as best I could by giving the sunniest, most non-confrontational answer possible, most of which involved me claiming that I essentially was a ditzy airhead who barely knew how Instagram or phone carriers even worked.

But that wasn't good enough for him. He kept asking why, and how and what questions, sometimes without even letting my answer go from the previous and in the end. I completely lost my rag and I went mental on him. I told him I wasn't into him and that he should have gotten the message weeks ago and that he needed to leave me alone or I'm going to HR without telling him it'd be for the second time. He gave a bit more mouth asking if I was messing around and if I was really that petty, but he knew what he was doing. I'd rejected

him, and now he wanted to shame me. It's a dance as old as time, really. Only after he was satisfied with berating me did he relent and walk away, but the damage had been done. I know that might sound a bit overly sensitive, and I absolutely hate any kind of conflict, and I find myself welling up with tears every time the adrenaline starts to overly sensitive, and I absolutely hate any kind of conflict and I find myself welling up with tears every time the adrenaline starts to subside and that incident was no exception. It might sound naive in retrospect, but after that, I really did think it was all over. I tried to be strong, but I think all my stalkers saw was weakness, and now I know his little car park confrontation

is only the beginning of what he had in store for me. He was quiet for a while, my stalker I mean. He stayed away from me at work, and whenever we did run into one another he didn't even acknowledge my presence. And it suited me, but I could tell he felt severely humiliated. But to be brutally honest, I didn't care. I wish he'd taken the hint way back when he first started asking me out, but that's just the way the cookie crumbles sometimes, isn't it?

And the point is, I thought it was over. I thought he'd finally leave me alone. But he hasn't. And now it's only gotten worse. Last week I woke up in the middle of the night to a text on my phone. I also needed to wee so while I was there I checked the notification to see who it was from and saw it was from an unknown number. I was half asleep when I first started reading it but by the time I was maybe two or three

lines in my heart was pounding. The text was from my stalker and it said something along the lines of, hey, my name. I think I'm parked next to your car. Do you live at my address? Because I swear it's your car I'm parked next to. What are the chances, huh? He even sent a picture just to make sure that I knew that he hadn't made some kind of mistake or was just messing with me as revenge for scolding him. My heart was in my throat again. I was wide awake. A thousand million different questions all running through my head at once with the primary

one being, how the hell did he find me? My overarching theory is that he followed me home. He obviously got himself a car, didn't he, and obviously with me not talking to him, there was no way of me knowing that he'd bought one. He could have followed me home, been right behind me the whole time, and unless I really looked into my rear view to see who the drivers behind me were, there's no way I'd have known that he was following. I think I'd have figured that part out. The only thing I can't figure out is what to do next. I know this might be too much of an ask, but is it possible you could

read this out? Let your listeners know what I'm going through right now and then they could give me maybe their best advice in the comments. I'm not talking about legal stuff either because I have absolutely no faith in the police to be able to keep me safe. I also don't think moving back in with my parents is an option, because they live within five minutes drive of the place we work, and I don't want my car sitting outside their place when the off-chance my stalker spots it, and then knows where they live too. I'm more than willing to quit the place where I work, and I think that's probably what I'm going to do the first available opportunity.

But I just want to know if anyone else has had this same issue, doesn't have faith in the police to put a stop to it, and ended up doing something that, I don't know, made it all go away. Also, my dad's not around anymore, but I really don't want to tell my brother about this because if I do, he'll probably just end up going to prison. I just know he will. And I say that because people are inevitably going to ask, why don't you get your dad or other male relatives involved, and the short answer to that is, I don't have any.

I know this probably wasn't the scariest thing you've ever read, and I feel a bit weird sending it to you when there's people who's legit nearly died in the experiences they tell you about. But please, when I say I'm really scared, I mean it from the bottom of my soul. I'm scared this isn't going to be something I laugh about in 10 or 15 years, that obsessive admirer I roll my eyes about when my future husband reminds me of it. I'm scared this is going to be the last chapter of my short life. The sky is escalating and I really will try anything to make it stop, because there's

only one way these things end if that escalation doesn't stop. I'm scared I don't think I can even bring myself and I hope I don't regret it somehow. I saw someone briefly mention this subreddit in a YouTube video and thought that it would be the perfect place to share a story of a horrific thing that happened to me, a story I've never told anyone. I'm not sure if anyone will see this, but I'm sharing this in hopes that it will inspire someone to stay safe. Safer than I was.

I'm not sure if trigger warnings are needed or suggested here, but just out of consideration of others, I'd like to warn everyone that I will be briefly mentioning assault with as little details as possible. One year ago, around this time, I was bored and scrolling the web, nothing unusual for me, when I decided to go on Omegle. Omegle was a now shut down website that allowed you to talk to strangers via video or text chat. It was around for a long time and I used it frequently when I was younger as a time waster.

There were plenty of creeps on there, sure, but I've had an equal amount of pleasant interactions and conversations on the site. On Omegle, you could type in tags, basically keywords that describe the type of conversation or person you're looking for, and you would match someone with the same ones. I always used alt for alternative. I feel like it weeded out a lot of rude people and connected me to more people my age, and for reference I was 19 at the time. I connected with someone who called himself Cain and we started chatting via text.

He said he was 23 and I said my age back. We exchanged some small talk and before I knew it, we were talking all night. And I mean all night. We lived in the same time zone and I had stayed up until 6am chatting about philosophy and life and our interests just because he was entertaining and I was having fun. When we were talking about our general areas that we live in, he said abruptly, we should meet up sometime. I laughed but it turns out that he was very serious and it turns out we only lived about three to four hours away from each other, so he was actually considering this. I'm an anxiety-ridden person, but for whatever reason, I thought that this might be a normal

thing due to the fact that I just spent hours and hours talking to him and I didn't pick up on any red flags. I said sure, why the hell not? I know, I know, this is incredibly stupid of a mistake to make, and I have a big heart though and frequently make the mistake of giving others the benefit of the doubt. And so just like that, we started planning a camping trip. He was set on doing it just days after that morning because that was when he was off of work next.

I agreed because I didn't have anything to do at the time I asked for his number so we could talk somewhere else other than Omega about the trip and he gave it to me I Texted and noticed the messages showed green on my phone and this indicated that he was using a Samsung or Android phone and Teasingly I said something along the lines of what's up with the Samsung and after a few minutes he texted back saying that he had two phones, and that one was for work. And that was the first red flag that kind of went off in my head. Why would he need two phones for work at his age? I mean, of course there's possible reasons, but it just set off that sort of intuitive

feeling, you know. One that I regret not listening to. I asked what his job was and he said that he worked for the state. He added that he really isn't allowed to share details about his job because he signed papers saying that he wouldn't, and that he could get fired if he were to violate this agreement. I was still wary of this, but I just figured that he worked for a police station or the town council or something to do with law enforcement enforcement and that I was probably overthinking it.

Days passed and the date for our camping trip approached quickly. He wanted to take me someplace to where he lives, Nimham Mountain in New York. Don't worry, this isn't near my house at all and I don't really care about violating his fake privacy after what he took from me. Obviously, I wanted to do at least a little research about where I was going so I popped the name into Google and a bunch of results popped up about the soil on Nimham Mountain being contaminated with arsenic due to the old mines in the area. All of the government and state articles that I read said that it was still safe to hike

there and that you should just wash your skin and shoes after hiking. I still had a feeling of unease about the whole thing though, and I texted Cain and asked him why we were going to some place that could potentially be dangerous. And he assured me that nothing would happen and said he chose the spot because it's somewhere him and his friends frequently camped. And this slightly reassured me. He does know the area better than me, after all. My parents are definitely over suspicious of everyone.

Strict is also a safe word, and for good reason though, they're just protective. I told them that I was meeting up with a friend that I met over a video game, and that I've already known him for a month. I knew this would be less likely to freak them out than the truth. They were adamant that this was a horrible idea, but finally let me go off when Cain pulled into my driveway. He didn't come inside and waited outside of his car for me. After a brief introduction, my mom rushed out to meet him and asked a few questions

about the area we were headed to and then we were off. We pulled into the Starbucks by my house so he could get coffee, since he was tired from the drive up, and we sat in his car for about an hour and a half afterwards. And during that time he asked me to rate the playlist that he put on and showed me how he writes down every single song he likes in a little notebook that he kept in his car. I thought it was weird but kinda sweet. Like what guys these days write down songs, you know? And after an hour or so passed I told him that we should be going and we can get to

the campsite before dark. He kept saying just five more minutes. And after about thirty minutes of insisting we need to leave to make it on time, he finally lets us start onto the road. And while we drove the four hours to our destination, Cain mostly talked about himself. He told me long stories about his friends and a girl that he used to date that he doesn't like. And I thought this was strange.

Who talks about another woman to a girl like this? And after telling stories for about two hours, I tried to deviate to a brighter topic and ask what kinds of things he's into, hobby-wise. I already knew the stuff that he told me online, but I was trying not to suffer from awkward silence or any more of his weird ramblings. He said that he thinks that eating healthy is important, and that people who eat junk food are stupid. He also says he only wears sustainable clothing that's made from cotton

or wool. I don't have a problem with being sustainable or whatever, but he was saying in a really obnoxious way. And then he turned to me and asked the first questions about me since we got in the car. Will you bring me to Omega? And I told him that I was bored, and that I liked meeting new and interesting people and that was about it. And he nodded slowly in thought and grinned, showing the most expression I've seen on his face so far. He said he likes to go on a megal and tell people that he's a soldier in Russia, and that he was torturing people as he spoke to them. And I sat there in silence and kind of just stared at him, waiting for him to say that

he was just kidding and that he was just some messed up type of humor, I guess. But he didn't. He just laughed and said, what? As we neared the campsite I mentioned that I was getting kind of hungry. He said that we can stop at Whole Foods before going to camp for the night, and in my head I sighed about this, knowing that he was probably going to judge me for whatever I picked out there, but it wasn't a problem for me.

I was hungry, so I agreed. And in Whole Foods, he made me pay for both of our meals because his card wouldn't work there. He didn't even try, it seemed like, and this kind of annoyed me, but I was just eager to get to the campsite, so so I paid and we sat down outside to eat. After about an hour we were finally ready to get to camp. We drive up the mountain and knee-bowls into a small parking area with about three spots.

Cars were parked there and older men were surrounding the cars smoking weed. Nothing that they were doing was wrong, at least morally to me, but it just made me uncomfortable that we were there so late at night. And before I could even mention it, Kane says that it's too cold for him to carry our supplies to the campsite, which was about a ten minute walk instead of camp. I was taken aback by this. I said, what do you mean? I'll help you.

We didn't come up here for nothing, right? And he insisted and told me to get out of the car, to feel how cold it was. He said it would take a while to pitch our tent, and that it was too much for us. There was no way that I was getting out of the car and facing the men in the parking spot next to us, so I rolled down the window halfway and stuck my hand out. It was freezing. He was right about that. That night it was in the thirties, and the windchill felt worse being higher up.

I was annoyed but I agreed to sleep in his car for the night and it was sad that our trip was basically wasted. He sat in silence for a while, seemingly uncomfortable, that it was annoyed and unsure how to comfort me. I slinked back into the passenger seat and started to scroll on social media just trying to pass the time. He grabbed my phone out of my hand and said, come here. And he patted on his lap. I was already annoyed at the situation and confused on what he thought he was doing. I said, you're funny, and reached for my phone. That he had tossed onto the

floor of the car, and before I could get to it, he reached over and scooped me up out of the seat and tossed me onto the back seats. He then proceeds to do terrible things to me. I don't remember most of it. My eyes were squeezed shut and I was praying for it just to end, but after he was done, he pushed me back into the seats and got dressed, and he smiled at me and said, I wasn't. And I just stared back at him with tears in my eyes, and he climbed back into the front seat, propped his feet up on the wheel and went to sleep.

I didn't know what to do. I sat there motionless in the back seat for about two hours trying to process what had just happened to me. I considered calling my mom, calling 911, and I thought about it for what felt like forever. I had already been assaulted once in my life and it broke my parents' hearts. I knew that learning of this would absolutely destroy them, and I was also afraid of what would happen if

I told them. I didn't want my dad or brother to go to jail for life because they were angry and got revenge against this guy, and I just sat there all night, watching the men outside stare into the car and smoke their joints. I don't remember falling asleep, but I eventually woke up to wind hitting the car, and I was in a fetal position sitting upright holding my legs with my arms. Kane noticed that I was awake and said it was time to go. I was so scared of him, it felt like my heart was leaping out of my throat.

Adrenaline was pumping through my body and I started scanning the back seat of our overnight bags for something I could use as a weapon in case he were to come at me again. And I ended up holding onto my full metal water bottle. It wasn't deadly by any means, but it could knock someone out and holding it made me feel a little bit safer. I stayed in the back and Cain started driving. I asked where we were going and he said, to get breakfast. Almost as if that was obvious and it was silly of me to ask.

After driving down the mountain back into the city, we pull into a parking garage and he tells me to get out, that we were here. I get out of the car and cling close to it, not wanting to let him get behind me. I was thinking about making a run for it but didn't want to risk getting chased and overpowered by him. I followed him to a little Mexican spot on the corner and he told me to order pancakes so he could have some. And this obviously made me more pissed than I already was but I didn't say anything because

I was afraid that there would be consequences if I showed negative emotions at this point. I ate a few bites of my food and he happily ate the rest off my plate. He paid quickly with cash and took me back to the car where he lay down in the back seat. He says he was going to take a nap because he didn't sleep well last night, and I didn't want to argue with him so I just let him sleep. How could he sleep so soundly after what he had done to me though, I asked. He slept for about three hours, and the whole time I was watching YouTube videos trying to calm myself down and keep a clear head.

It was around 9am and around this time my mom was waking up and texted me saying that she wants me to be home. I told her that Cain was taking a nap and that I would be home soon, and she didn't like the sound of that and insisted that I come home now. I was happy to have a reason to just get out of there, one that might be actually convincing to Cain, and I woke him up and he became angry with me saying, hey, don't wake me up next time, play on your phone, just watch TikTok or something. I was shaking but I managed to say that my mom wanted me home and that we needed to go.

He said to let him sleep for 30 minutes more and told me to set a timer on my phone, so I did. Thirty minutes felt like thirty hours, and once it went off, I woke him once again. And this time, I filmed myself waking him up because I was afraid what was going to happen. He was angry once again, and I told him that 30 minutes was up. I asked to leave, begged him to leave, and he said no. Over and over he said we aren't leaving yet.

I was shaking uncontrollably but put on a brave face and pretended like I was being playful and I said, okay, well, I guess I'll just get an Uber then. I turned around and started to open the car door when I felt his hand grab my shoulder and digging into it and yank me back into place. I honestly think I blacked out from fear for a few seconds there, and he says, where do you think you're going? And his hand was still on my shoulder, his fingers squeezing into my skin. My mind was racing and I was on the verge of tears.

And this caught his eye and I quickly played it off by saying my mom would call the police to come get me if I wasn't home soon. I had mentioned earlier that my dad works in law enforcement so this was a little bit more believable of a lie. And as he mentioned the police, something changed in his face, and he started to look frantic. He let go of me and happily agreed to drive me home, and I felt a deep sense of relief, the deepest relief I've ever felt, and swallowed the lump of my throat as he climbed into the

front seat and started our five hour drive back to my house. The drive back was much quieter than the drive up. I didn't say anything unless he initiated. I just gripped my phone in my hand and tried not to make eye contact with him. I wondered if he had any remorse for what he did in those moments. And when we reached the town where I live it was about 1130 at night. Kane pulled onto the main strip to get to my house and I saw flashing lights behind me, and my first instinct was to be scared because my dad is a cop so I've always made

extra sure not to break any traffic laws. The police pulled us over and two men stepped out of the cop car. I frantically rolled down my window so they could see my familiar face, the daughter of their boss, And one of them greeted me, and both looked concerned and disappointed that I was in the car with someone getting pulled over. The other cop told Cain to get out of the car while I explained what we were doing out so late. I spared the illegal and horrific details. I was tired and scared, and I needed to be safe in my own home. I also didn't want them waking up my sleeping dad with such bad news.

I overheard the second officer ask Cain about his info when he said, What's your name, son? Cain mumbled and he said to speak up. The name he gave was not Cain, and he told the officer that he was 22, not 23. And my heart sank into my feet and I sat motionless while they explained to Cain that he missed a stop sign and that they're just letting him off with a warning. They told me to get home and I nodded my head. When we pulled off, I let my emotions take over and started screaming at this

stranger that I was sitting next to. Why did you lie to me? What is wrong with you? He looked distressed from the volume of my yelling and he told me to calm down, that he was sorry he lied. He said that he only lied about his identity for his own safety. And that honestly baffled me, considering that he had just assaulted me. And I screamed at him all the way to my

house as we pulled in and I threw the car doors open and started throwing my stuff out into the lawn, desperate to just get far away from him. He tried to talk to me, to offer more pitiful excuses for his disgusting actions, but I screamed at him to get away from me and that I never wanted to see him again. I gathered my stuff off the lawn and hauled it into my room while my parents slept soundly, unaware of the terrible secret that I now had. I woke my mom up and told her that I was home, as she requested. And once I got to my room, I just broke down.

What happened to me was starting to sink in. As I was sobbing silently into my blanket, my phone lit up from a text saying Kane, and it read, I'm sorry about what happened. I really am. If it makes you feel any better, I just got pulled over, so that's my karma, I guess. Let me know if you want to talk. And I felt a wave of nausea hit me like a train.

I screenshotted the message, blocked his number and deleted his contact. And I haven't heard from him since, and I haven't hung out with anyone since besides my boyfriend, who, thank God, I met later and is normal. I still think about what happened almost every day and I still feel sick when someone I don't know gets close to me, even if it's just a stranger passing by in the grocery store. I know that what happened was the product of my own irrational teenage actions. I know I shouldn't have met up with someone I didn't know. But I had faith that he would be a normal person, somewhat at least. I just wished that I would have listened to my instincts and my parents' warnings.

I don't know what would happen if I didn't make up that police story and I don't even want to think about it, and I will never meet up with someone I don't know again. And while trying to cope with what had happened to me, I googled Nimham Mountain again and I found a link that said, Cane Mountain North Trail Loop, New York. And if you made it thus far, or you take anything away from this story, please let it be this. Trust your instincts, and trust your gut. If something feels wrong, it probably is. A little backstory before we begin. I'm into LARPing.

And for those who don't know what that is, we basically spend the weekend in the woods dressed as medieval fantasy characters and interact with each other. I go to these events with my friend and my partner and we meet some more friends when we're there. There are all types of people at these events, but 99.9% are absolute angels. I had yet to meet the.1%, but wish I hadn't. I had yet to meet the.1% but wish I hadn't. Before the event started, a guy, Greg, swung by my tent while I was setting it up. My partner and friend were setting up the secondary tent up a path and couldn't see me.

There were five other people to my right and I had never met the guy before but as soon as he said hi, I had a bad feeling. He was maybe around 5'10", obese, a neckbeard, basically what would fit the description of what you might call an incel. He approaches me and asks me if I'm here alone, and I say no. I'm here with people, but don't mention my partner or friend directly. He asks me if I'm a gamer, to which I say yes yes and from then on he starts rambling on about Ark Survival, which is a game that I personally have like 3000 plus hours on.

He tells me blatantly wrong info, misnames the dinosaurs, tells me stuff that's impossible to do in the game, even with mods, etc. And every time I correct him I can see that he looks to be getting even more annoyed. I end the conversation, saying I have to go back to setting up the tent and he leaves. Now fast forward to around 10 to 11 p.m. the event has started which means that any mention of the real world such as cars TV pop culture etc. is forbidden by a rule called decorum. We're playing a campfire game with my friends and my partner and the guy comes by to sit with us. He sits next to me, I

move over, he scoots closer, I move over, and he scoots. Eventually I get up and sit next to my friend. As we play the game he keeps referring to the real world and to video games so we tell him either to leave or to make an effort and speak properly. He leaves. The next day I go up a trail for fake hunting, gathering resources. As I head back down towards the village in the middle of the woods with no camps to hide in, he's there waiting for me on the trail. He asks if I'd like to go get coffee or something sometime to which I respond, no thanks. As we continue down the trail I tell him I need

to collect plants for my potions and if he'll excuse me, I'll be going back to my village to drop off my bow and grab my basket. I start walking quickly but he follows me, grabs my arm and says, I could come with you. You? Me? Alone in the woods, looking for plants? It sounds like the perfect scenario. I freaked out and rushed down the trail toward the village. When my neighbors see me, they look very concerned. They ask if I need help, and I tell them, in all honesty, which is our code for saying, take me seriously, this isn't part of the game, this guy is being creepy and following me.

And they grab their weapons, foam weapons, and tell him to back off before they carve him a new one. I stay with them for a few minutes before calming down and hanging out with my friends. Night falls and we're having fun with various fights and encounters happening, and around midnight I decided to go to the bathroom. By this point I hadn't seen him since maybe 7pm, and as I come back in the dark he jumps out from a bush and pins me against a tree. He tells me he's disappointed, that I've been leading him on, and that he doesn't understand

why I would hold another guy's hand and hug three others, but not him I Tell him that I hold my fiance's hand and hug my friends, but he's neither I also tell him to stop his nonsense in all honesty and he responds But what if in all honesty? I just want a little kiss, huh? Just a little kiss and then you can go." I yell no and try to push him away. My friends who were on the other side of the nearby bridge hear me scream and they grab

their weapons, call my neighbors and about ten people come rushing over to help. The guy lets me go and tries to explain to my rescuers, saying he was just interrogating me for information about the demons, our foes in this LARPing situation. My friends who have seen him act like a jerk before tell him not to move, that they're going to get the LARP owner to deal with him. And he tries to talk them out of it, but my neighbors tell him to sit down or he'll be visiting Death's Altar before he has a chance to leave. My fiance, very worried, takes me aside to make sure I'm okay.

The owner arrives and I explain everything that has happened, and the owner takes Greg out of the game for a talk. finally told not to return to future events. Last year, I started law school in Los Angeles. I have never lived in a big city before and I was really excited to be in a massive city with over 4 million people. And ever since I was little I always knew that I had a half-sister in Los Angeles, but my parents had this weird anger toward her that always made it feel sort of like a taboo topic. Of course, I looked her up on social media and I knew what she looked like, but that was about all. We had never actually met, and she was never that active on social

media so there wasn't a lot that I could see. Out of nowhere, one day in my first year of law school, I got a friend request on Facebook for my sister. Her profile seemed legitimate, and she had Facebook friends and her profile picture looked like her. She sent me a message inviting me to a little dinner party at this park with her friends. We could finally meet each other for the first time. I was new to LA, still am, and I had no idea which parts of the city to avoid at night.

I was so excited about that idea, but I had a lot of anxiety about it too. It would be nice if we'd met and totally clicked and became besties for life. But what if we ended up sobbing like we were in some dramatic movie scene? What if I tried to talk with her and she just didn't click with me and she started showing me an attitude? Or worse, what if it's all going well and till we have some kind of disagreement, someone said something hurtful and then we both began crying in front of everyone? Honestly, if she suggested a cozy little bakery for desserts instead, I would have gone. But going to a park with other people didn't feel right. I thought it was like such a precious moment that I didn't want to have in front

of all these other people. I couldn't bring myself to go, and I didn't want to risk having a meltdown in front of other people. I was worried about how messy it could get. A few weeks later, I googled that park just to see what it was like. Maybe we could meet up there together, just one on one. And that's when I learned something was wrong. Now I won't say the name of the park, but anyone who's lived in Los Angeles for long will tell you that it's not a safe place for girls to be having a dinner party, especially at night. The area surrounding that park has very high violent crime rates.

It's controlled by gangs. Even people who do illegal business in that park are forced to pay a tax to the gang in exchange for being left alone. And so now I was really concerned and curious. I actually tried to get a hold of my sister myself. She was an undergrad at the time, a local college. I had a friend who went to her school and I asked my friend to reach out on her campus and ask her if she'd be okay with meeting us. They connected and the three of us met

at my friend's house. It was great. We got along so well and my friend was also very happy to do that for us and the three of us had so much fun. We weren't bursting into tears but we let out a few. and we had dinner, watched a movie, and we spent the night at my friend's house. When I told my sister about that whole thing, she said that she hadn't used Facebook since high school. So clearly, someone was impersonating her. I would have told her to report the fake account, but apparently it

had already been deleted. She knew that she had been impersonated on social media, though. Another one of her friends had been scammed by someone pretending to be her, and it was some scheme involving fake concert tickets or something like that. Someone had been impersonating my sister. They knew that I was in town and they literally tried to lure me into one of the most dangerous parts of LA at night. I have no idea what their motives were and I don't even know if I want to find out. Meeting my sister after all these years was a beautiful thing but the whole backdrop was terrifying. This happened four years back. It was the middle of winter and the night was unseasonably warm, without a hint of snow

on the ground. I left my apartment around 8pm to go for my daily walk. I worked nights and my schedule was screwed up, hence the 8pm walk, figuring I would cross the bridge into the city nearby. For further context, I'm a very tall guy who's fairly athletic and I was in my late twenties at the time. I'd rarely had a problem walking at night and at the time I felt safe doing so. I put on my headphones and headed towards the bridge.

The first twenty minutes were uneventful. I passed by old houses, a subpar Mexican restaurant, a really good Mexican restaurant, a sketchy gas station, some newly built upscale apartments, and finally I was at the river, enjoying the view of the bright lights over the dark flowing water, not yet frozen. I crossed the bridge into this city and hit a crosswalk button at a four-way intersection and then noticed someone standing on the corner opposite, the only other soul I'd seen outside that night. Seemingly she was doing nothing and I assumed that she was waiting for an Uber to come pick her up since she didn't seem to be waiting for the light to change.

The street ordinarily busy during the daytime was completely silent. The light changed and I crossed, headed in her direction. As I neared her, I noticed that she would cast glances in my direction and then look away, almost sheepishly. And she did this multiple times, and I figured that she was maybe unnerved by me. And I sympathized, figuring that it must have made her uneasy, us being the only two people on a very dimly lit street. As I passed by, I took in her outfit, mostly because I thought she looked cold and she wore a knitted hat with tassels, a sweater that looked too thin for the winter, tight

jeans, and a little plastic children's backpack on her back. I thought that maybe she was in her teens at first, but upon closer inspection she appeared to be in her late 20s or 30s. She had short crop, light brown hair and a pale complexion. She was skinny and was of average height. I was maybe a head taller than her and I walked by and continued down the street. I passed by high rise hotels on my right and left and made my way into a central park. During peak hours this place would be packed with tourists and locals alike, but that day, at an odd hour with a pandemic in full swing, I felt like the only man in the city. I admired the brilliant display of lighted trees as I crossed through the center of the park. Then figuring

I was at a good halfway point in my journey, I made my way around an old marble and stone library back towards the bridge. As I turned the corner of the library back onto the street from which I had come, I nearly collided with someone moving towards me. It was the same woman I'd seen not ten minutes earlier. My noise-cancelling headphones were still on so I pulled down on one side and said something by way of apology. She said nothing in return.

Instead, she stepped back for me and stood below a streetlight, not making eye contact. She stole tiny glances at me that same tick that I'd noticed before, and I put my headphones back on and nodded goodnight and headed towards the nearest crosswalk. Reason told me that she must be headed in the direction I'd come from, since we'd nearly run into each other headed opposite ways, but some part of me whispered that she wasn't headed that way. And sure enough, when I turned to look, she was trailing closer behind me, her strides surprisingly long and energetic, and I found this odd that I continued to watch her out of the corner of my eye.

Shortly after I reached the crosswalk, as I stood there waiting for the light to change, she caught up with me, passed me by and stopped. A car went past and as it did so she squatted over her plastic bag a few meters from me, rifling frantically for something, looking up at me on occasion. I hit a button on my headphone, stopping my podcast so that I could hear her better. And what I found disturbing about the motion of her looking through her bag is that it struck me as fake, as though she were pretending, for some reason. She was barely looking inside and her careless motion struck me more like bad acting, and something

about her motions, the way she kept looking at me, it all felt wrong. The light changed, and I began to walk quickly, but she was faster. She stood suddenly, darting past me towards the museum, swinging the half-open little pink backpack over her shoulder, and I watched her silhouette disappear into the darkness beyond the reach of the streetlights. I hoped that that was the end of that, and after a few beats of not seeing her, I let my guard fall a little, restarting my podcast. Beyond the museum was a patch of poorly lit sidewalk in front of a squat building with

mirror-like windows. I wasn't far from the bridge now. As I made my way back there, I turned my head to look at the reflections of buildings and streetlights in the windows. Into my horror, a dark figure sprinted silently towards my reflection, dreamlike. I'm not sure why, maybe out of sheer confusion, but I turned to meet her as she hurdled towards me. Perhaps surprised by my sudden turn, she halted mere feet from me, staring.

Her eyes were wide and looked frantic, wild, and she kept looking at my arms and then back at my face, as though sizing me up. My accidental bluff had worked, and in the darkness, I suppose I must have looked more prepared to fight back than I felt. She gripped something small tightly in one hand, though she held it off to the side, and in the shadow of the building I couldn't see what it was. Seconds dragged as we stood there staring at one another, immobilized by fear and confusion, I waited for her to make some move to attempt to use whatever object that she held in her hand. Just then, to my enormous relief, a car trundled slowly past. A bit of my strength returned

and over my blaring podcast I felt, more than heard, myself shouting at her, what do you want? There was no reply. I slowly backed away from her expecting her to move, and she just watched me, that same intense look on her face. I took another step back, and then another, and steadily backing away from her until I felt confident enough to turn and carefully walk away. As I reached a better lit area I began to move faster, all the while keeping my eyes trained on her shadowy form. She stood there for some time, statuesque, and then abruptly, having spontaneously abandoned

whatever plan that she may have had for me, she turned from me and, without looking for traffic, she crossed the street with long strides and disappeared around the corner of a building. Something about the casual air of it disturbed me greatly. I kept my eyes trained behind me on my walk home, afraid that she would follow me. The bridge was well lit, and I saw no signs of her. And knowing that this was the only way for her to follow me and keep up on foot, I breathed a sigh of relief. I saw no more cars headed from the city and no more pedestrians out walking.

Nothing happened after that, I'm not sure why, but I didn't call the cops that night. I still regret not having called despite my roommates insisting that I do so. I just remember thinking that I wasn't sure what to say to the cops, that I hadn't really been attacked, that they wouldn't be able to find her anyway, and I made up excuses, I suppose I must have been in shock, in denial at having been nearly ambushed, especially by someone smaller than me, in my own city so close to my apartment. And one of my roommates called the cops for me, and a cop drove through the area, but by that point, she was gone. Back in 2013, I lived in Providence, Rhode Island and had moved there for a new job. It was just me living there in a quaint and spacious townhouse with my then four-year-old

daughter. We were relatively new to the area and didn't know many people, but did become familiar with the kind older gentleman who lived next door. His name, for the purpose of this story, was Ben. He lived in a connected townhouse with our two units abutting each other, and our street was lined with beautiful floral trees and quite nice, but Providence is weird in that the conditions of the house and little neighborhoods can vary drastically street by street. We were near a few rough neighborhoods, but I felt relatively safe in my new home.

I remember a few nights prior to this specific night I saw a Facebook post with a safety tip to put your car keys next to your bed so if anything ever happens, you can press the alarm and scare an intruder off. I've never been overly concerned about my safety and rarely took advantage of any tips I saw on Facebook, so I'm not sure how or why I suddenly decided to heed this advice. I was reading a book in bed with my light on in my second floor bedroom hours after putting my daughter to sleep when I heard a loud sound outside. I peered out the window to take a look and saw nothing.

I had taken some melatonin that evening, turning off the light and went to sleep. It was maybe a half hour later or so when I was suddenly woken up by what felt like almost an earthquake. The room shook and I heard a loud thud. Half awake, I gasped and sat up wondering if it was my imagination or if I actually felt something and immediately ran to my daughter's room thinking that she had fallen off her bed or injured herself or something. As I swung her door wide open, there she was, sleeping soundly and sweetly, and I was confused. I heard another loud bang and had this sort of eerie feeling that something was wrong

but I couldn't figure out what. I grabbed my car key fob and took it downstairs as I nervously inspected the first floor. I swore to myself that if I heard one more sound I would press that alarm just in case but I didn't. It was silent after that. I returned to bed and took a while to fall asleep again, but soon shut my eyes. The next day went on like any other day when I noticed a friend of mine had repeatedly called me in the afternoon, and I picked up my daughter from preschool and called the

friend back. Did you hear? He said. No, what? News outlets were mobbing your street about an hour ago and the news trucks were even in your driveway. And I sat silent, confused. Three men broke into your neighbor's place last night, tied him up at gunpoint and stole

thousands of dollars worth of items, and took off with his car. I immediately fell to my knees and began sobbing. I had heard it all happen and I almost pressed the button. I almost, but I didn't. I sobbed and felt completely unsafe. I asked a friend to come over for the night to stay with us and it wasn't until the next day that I got the chance to speak to Ben. Ben explained the whole story and told me the cops wanted to talk to me so I could share

what I had heard and experienced. He said the men smashed the window in his basement and entered through there, the sounds that I heard before going to bed. Apparently the timeline suggested that they saw my light, and me, peering out of the window, and waited thirty minutes or so until my light was out to enter the premises. They didn't realize that it was home, and since he had gone to bed early that night, it was suggested that they cased his place beforehand. He had been asleep when one of them started rummaging through his things upstairs in his bedroom, which was directly on the other side of my closets,

separated by a shared wall. The sounds and vibrations I heard were apparently the intruder knocking him down after realizing Ben was there. The intruder cupped Ben's mouth, threatening to kill him if he made another sound. And this explains why I heard nothing further while I was investigating afterwards. After they tied him up, he remained restrained for over 12 hours and eventually broke free before calling the police. I broke down and apologized to Ben profusely, explaining what I had heard. He simply replied that while he was tied up, all he could think about was how glad he was that it didn't happen to me and my little girl. I honestly don't know how I would

have coped if my daughter and I had experienced that level of trauma first-hand. Ben seemed to be okay considering everything, but it took me a long time to feel safe again and to let go of the guilt. But it took me a long time to feel safe again and to let go of the guilt. They never caught the man, and I ended up ordering a Taser, which is illegal and some mace. And for the first time I even considered getting a gun, but I decided against it. Thankfully I haven't experienced anything close to that since, and sincerely hope I never do. I'm glad Ben was ultimately okay, but next time, I'll listen to my instincts. This happened fairly recently.

I was trying to get a train to the city for a night of drinking with some friends. Unfortunately the trains weren't running to the city center that day for some reason, so they had a replacement bus service instead. And so off I toddled looking for where they'd hidden the replacement buses in the train station. After a while it seemed like I was on the right track, and just as I'd found a very promising corridor I heard running footsteps coming from behind me, I glanced round to find an Arabic man sprinting to a stop beside me.

I know he was Arabic because he tried to offer to teach me Arabic while I was trapped with him later on. He asked me if I knew where the replacement bus service was. I replied that it was probably just as lost as he was and that I was just trying to find it myself. I thought that that would be the end of our interaction but he continued walking beside me. Fair enough, I thought that that would be the end of our interaction, but he continued walking beside me. Fair enough, I thought.

We're both looking for the same thing, so maybe he thinks we stand a better chance of finding it together. I wish I'd turned around and darted into the bathroom or something. And it turned out that the corridor did lead to the replacement bus, and the driver was standing outside the doors. He assured us that we had plenty of time and were the first ones here. He opened the doors to let us in and the bus was completely empty. I decided to take a random seat in the middle and huddled up next to the window ready to

put my headphones on. But where does this guy choose to sit in the completely empty bus? Right next to me. Trapping me in the row of seats. I thought it was a little weird at the time, but figured no harm would come of it. He asked me why I'm headed to the city center. I tell him I'm meeting friends there for a girls night out, and then very pointedly put my headphones on and start finding a good song to listen to.

He insists that he could join us, and I tell him it's girls only and I don't really know him. He answered that we could get to know each other tell him it's girls only and I don't really know him. He answered that we could get to know each other and he'll buy me a drink. I tell him no thanks, I just want to see my friends today. The bus has gotten moving at this point and there are a few others on board, and from there he proceeds to badger me with questions, all of which I ignore or give one word answers to. After a bunch of them, my replies become variations of, I just want to listen to my music now,

and I'm not interested in talking, sorry. He starts complimenting my body, telling me he thinks I'm beautiful and repeating over and over, I really like you. My only responses now are, leave me alone, every so often and I'm visibly shrinking away from him as he's leaning closer. The bus driver doesn't seem to know where he's going for his next stop in the city center ages away. I'm trapped in the seat and starting to really panic. He starts stepping up to, I love yous, and leans right up to me making kissy sounds with

his lips. And that was the moment my hero intervened. love use, and leans right up to me making kissy sounds with his lips. And that was the moment my hero intervened. It was a man around my age sitting a few seats back, and I'll quote what I can remember of the conversation. Excuse me, mate, she asked you multiple times to leave her alone. And through very gritted teeth, that creep tells him to F off. You need to move away from her, you're clearly bothering her.

You mind your business, we're fine. And then to me, do you want him to move? And me, practically pinned against the window, getting scared, yeah. And the creep gets up and storms up to the man. Do you want to fight? Do you want to fight? Do you want to go right now? I'd rather you control yourself and leave her alone.

The creep is visibly ready to start throwing punches when the driver calls back if there's a problem and if he needs to kick anyone off the bus. The creep quietly says no and moves a few seats behind my hero, much to my relief, and I mouth several thank yous to my hero who just smiles like it was no big deal. The creep tries following me off the bus, but my friends meet with me and so he walks off. And he did. This happened like 6-7 years ago. I played soccer for one year in community college after high school, and I knew this

guy because he worked for the athletics department and he was another student. Tuesdays and Thursdays I had a one hour gap between classes, and this guy noticed me in the library and asked what I was doing there, and I told him I had an hour-long gap and he started coming regularly to hang out. I didn't mind because he seemed like a normal guy. He wasn't waiting for anything, but he just wanted to hang out. He brought me little gifts a few times, like chocolate and stuff, and he was being a little too sweet for someone I barely knew, and I really didn't think about red flags. With the gifts, I remember he always downplayed it.

He would say something like, they had extra Kit Kat bars today in the office, do you want some? And he never said that he purposely bought Kit Kat for me. I know a lot more about boys now than I knew back then, and I think that he knew that buying me gifts would be too much, but he still wanted to do it without doing it, I guess. The soccer season for us ended before Thanksgiving. The only teams that kept playing after that were going to the playoffs, not us. After Thanksgiving we had finals.

In that brief period after the soccer season and before Thanksgiving, he asked me about my classes for second semester. To be honest, I hadn't been super organized with course registration, and I honestly didn't know. Also, the counselors were completely clueless. I didn't tell him that, but I remember saying that I didn't want to have another gap hour like this because it wasted so much time, and I don't think he was happy to hear that. He also asked if I would play another season,

and I said no to that. I needed to manage my time better, and playing soccer every day was not helping. I think my mistake was that I just said too much and was kind of unfiltered, and I used to do that a lot back then, saying too much without thinking about how it affected other people's feelings.

And that was on the last Thursday before Thanksgiving, so no more hour gaps to hang out anymore. We had Thanksgiving break, we took finals, and we had winter breaks, and everything was great. Winter break was when the real problem started though. In the mornings, this guy literally showed up outside my house while sitting in his car. The first time I didn't believe it was actually him. The second time I checked and it was.

And by then it was really clear that we both knew what was going on. He was stalking me. And that was nal. I posted on my Instagram stories sometimes about the places that I was at. And this guy literally showed up there several times. Like girly stores at the mall where he had zero business being. He did lots of things like that. And he also started pointing his phone at me like he was taking pictures, and that was even weirder.

I basically stopped using social media over this. After winter break this continued, and when my parents were at work, this guy came during the afternoon too. And when my parents were at work, this guy came during the afternoon too. I called the cops a few times, and they went and tried to talk to him, and he basically told them that he wasn't going to talk, and that was it. I think the cops wanted to help, but they could never do anything about it because he was careful not to break any laws. Like he didn't trespass, he didn't make any threats, and he didn't show weapons. I have no idea what he's doing now.

My guess is that he eventually gave up. Maybe his little obsession kind of became old and he found other things to pay more attention to. At least I hope so. But if he still comes by, I have no idea. I think the most frightening challenge in all of this is that I couldn't tell my parents since I knew that they would completely freak out. This happened a few hours ago and I'm not scared anymore, just angry my pizza got stolen. In my town there's a story that a guy has moved into the deep woods close to our town. I never believed it as I go for night drives occasionally and never saw him or anything resembling a man that lives in the woods.

Anyway, tonight I decided to go for a drive and drove past a pizza place, and being hungry I decided to get a pizza before I went home. In my head I had a plan to eat pizza and play some Minecraft as I'm in my two week Minecraft phase at the moment. I paid for my pizza and play some Minecraft as I'm in my two week Minecraft phase at the moment. I paid for my pizza and started walking to my car with the pizza in one hand and my phone in the other messaging my friend if he wants to play some Minecraft when I get home. I look up from my phone to cross the road to the car park and I see something under my car. It looks like a shadow or something dark.

I put my phone in my pocket and pull out my keys. Unlock the car to scare off anything close to the car and I was thinking it may be a cat or a dog just hanging around my car. But when I unlock the car nothing happens. No cat running away and nothing running away. The shadow looked like it was cast from the driver's side so I was gonna have to look at what it was whether I wanted to or not to get in. I put my keys away and pull out my phone again and turn the flashlight on to see

better in the dark. As I turn towards the driver's side of my car I see him. A dirty naked guy with big eyes staring right at me. He was crouched down trying to hide from me. Now I don't usually get scared of anything, but this guy terrified me. It looked like he rolled around in mud and it dried out on his skin and his eyes looked creepy, bloodshot and kind of bulging out of his head. And of course, he was naked. I get startled and jump backwards out of instinct, dropping my pizza in the process.

It falls out of its box and onto the floor. I start moving back slowly and shout at him to get out of my car. He looks up at me, then at the pizza, then back at me. He tilts his head to one side and then jumps towards the pizza, like a dog, grabs it and starts running away down the road and I assume he ran all the way to those woods. I wouldn't know where he went as I didn't feel like following him. I lock my car and run back to the pizza place to stay there for a bit. The workers obviously don't believe me when I tell them what had just happened, but I know what I saw. And once the fear subsides after a while I realize that this guy just

stole my pizza. Angry as I was looking forward to it I decided to get another one and run to my car this time. I get in, put the pizza in the passenger seat and go home. Once I got home I locked all my doors and windows and I even locked my bedroom doors, I feel a little scared still, and I think I'll be playing Minecraft until the sun comes up. Before I get into what happened, sorry for the storytelling, I've just never been a great writer, and that being said, last night my friends and I went to the movies in hopes of watching Joker 2. We hadn't bought the tickets online and unfortunately we got there just after the doors closed,

but because we were already there, we decided to see what else was playing within the hour and decided on the Terrifier 3. None of us had heard of the Terrifier before, but it sounded interesting enough. However, soon after the movie started, I immediately felt my stomach drop. About five months ago, I went on a run into a park my aunt recommended to me. She told me how it had a great trail, and because it was finally getting warm, I decided to go even though it was out of the way from where I live. As I entered the parking lot, I began to feel

excited because I understood why she raved about it. Although it wasn't the biggest, there was a clearing with picnic benches, gazebos, and a cute playground full of kids. However, it was surrounded by a big forest, which was where the trail was located. About 15 minutes or so into my run, my headphones battery was getting low, so I paused to put them in my pouch. As I was taking them off, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye and turned to look into the trees. Peering into the forest, I saw a clown standing beside an old beige Toyota while holding a

balloon bouquet. We made eye contact for what felt like an eternity and I immediately turned around and ran back toward the parking lot without so much as a second thought. The scene always set off alarm bells as I've always been a huge true crime nerd and I cannot even begin to describe how terrified I felt in that moment. By the time I got in my car, my lungs were burning, and it felt like my heart was going to leap out of my throat. But as I turned on the ignition, I realized that the big group of kids were celebrating

a birthday in the gazebo. And I had never felt so relieved. It was clear that the clown was meant for their party, what with his balloons and costume. And I laughed at myself, even though I was still still on edge and suddenly drove home feeling like an idiot. I had forgotten about the incident up until last night. When I saw the clown in the movie's costume, I felt sick. The man I saw in the forest was wearing that same outfit. I don't know for sure whether this character's costume is unique to the movie or not, but

after trying to look up similar costumes I'm fairly certain it is. Everything was the same even down to the stupid little hat. And I'm freaking out and don't know what any of it means. If I did come across some guy dressed as a fictional clown killer, why were they wearing it and why in the empty part of an old park? A big part of me hopes that it was just some sort of twisted prank, but if that were the case, why wouldn't he go somewhere where he knew people would see him? And after watching the movie I wouldn't be surprised if there were sick freaks out there

who morbidly idolized Art the Clown. When I was 16 years old, I'm a female, I was walking to a store near my house. I was a huge pothead and would walk to the neighborhood nearby to get my stuff and then take a shortcut through said neighborhood to the store to get blunt wraps. I was walking through an abandoned apartment building and a very nice dressed man was walking through and asked how it was doing. I ignored him and just kept walking. In the area that I was walking there's not really white men in suits so I was kind of thrown off. I get to the store and I'm walking back and a white truck is parked in the corner of the apartment building so I opted to go the long way on the busy street.

The truck drove up to me and the same man jumped out and picked me up so fast that I didn't even have time to think. I was only a hundred pounds at the time and wasn't nearly as strong as him. I tried to scream and hit him with my elbow but there was no luck. A lady that's heavily on drugs that always walks around my city came running at us and yelling to put me down. He actually did put me down and then sped off.

Almost 10 years later, I always stopped to give the woman food and actually just paid her to get rehab and I guess now she's doing great, reunited with her grandchildren and working. Not as creepy as some of these other stories here, but definitely never walking alone again after that. Hey friends, thanks for listening. Don't forget to hit that follow button to be alerted of our weekly episodes every Tuesday at 1pm EST.

And if you haven't already, check out Let's Read on YouTube, where you can catch all my new video releases every Monday and Thursday at 9 p.m. EST. Thanks so much friends, and I'll see you in the next episode.