The Lets Read Podcast - 321: MY DAD LIVED A SINISTER DOUBLE LIFE | 13 TERRIFYING True Scary Stories / Rain Ambience | EP 306

Episode Date: November 18, 2025

This episode includes narrations of true creepy encounters submitted by normal folks just like yourself. Today you'll experience horrifying stories about new towns & terrifying tales off of reddit 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: - Mood

It was a lot of I don't know. We're going to be able to From a very early age, I remember being acutely aware that my dad had a lot of money. Even when we were still living in a small, two-up, two-down terraced house in Garston, and I had just started school, I remember feeling this deep source of pride that my dad had the best car in the street. It was the late 70s back then,

and the area of Liverpool we lived in was a rough one. There was a lot of crime, a lot of unemployment, and both my parents grew up in conditions so squawed. that I had to see them to believe them. But I think that's what made my dad into the man he was. Growing up, his parents didn't have two pennies to rub together, so by the time he was a young man, that's all he thought about. Money, money, money.

I heard that he was a clever lad growing up. He did well in school and earned great results in his exams, but when it came time to pick a trade and learn a skill, dad announced that he wanted to go to university instead. To him, getting a business or accountant, degree was the golden ticket to a lifetime of potential good earnings, but after traveling down to London for his School of Economics interview, he came back with a completely different plan. In the late 70s, when Dad started his business, Russia was known as the USSR, and it operated

behind what was called the Iron Curtain. And basically this meant that there were strict export controls and massive bureaucratic hurdles on both sides if you wanted to trade with them. the process was even more tiresome if you wanted to import old Russian antiques but since London was and still is home to a very large and very wealthy community of Russian expats you could make millions selling them artifacts from a homeland they'd never returned to

and so that's what my dad started doing apparently he got in the idea from some old geyser in a London pub one who'd listened to his story and decided to give him a tip And at first glance, importing just about anything of value from the old Soviet Union was impossible. But if you had a man on the inside, someone in Russia who could grease the wheels of commerce, as they say, then suddenly piles of paperwork and months of waiting became a handshake and some cash in an envelope. And it was this man on the inside, the old geezer was offering to my dad.

A few weeks later, dads on a boat headed from Murmansk, a big Russian port city, near the border with Norway, and it's there that he meets his contact, and it's there that he started his business in earnest, with a purchase of his first-ever antique religious icon. It sold for a whopping 3,000 pounds, which is about 12,000 in today's money, and then factor in that he bought the icon from his contact for just a few hundred quid, and you start to understand why he made so much money. We moved out of Garston and out to a big fancy house in Halewood when I was still in primary school, That was another source of pride for me and my little brother, and it wasn't too far from our school or friends, so there were no complaints from either of us.

But the same could not be said in 1989 when I was 14 years old, and Dad announced that we were moving again. Because that time, we weren't moving to a nice big house down the road. He was moving us up to a tiny rural hamlet named Waterside on the east coast of Scotland, or basically the middle of effing nowhere. When he first told me, I thought he was taking the piss. His business was in Liverpool, our schools were in Liverpool, and all of our friends were in Liverpool. Everything we knew and loved was there, at home. So what the bloody hell would he want to move up to rural Scotland for?

I remember him sitting us down at the kitchen table, my mom, myself, and my little brother, and explaining that he'd finally earned enough money to do what he'd always wanted to do. Move up to Aberdeenshire, the land of the land of. of his fathers and live a quiet, simple life as a gentleman farmer. And what followed was like a variation of the five stages of grief. After initially refusing to believe it, we were furious and asked dad things like, how could you do this to us?

I had my first boyfriend. My little brother had his beloved scout troop, and my mom thought living up in the arse end of nowhere sounded boring beyond belief. We'd put down roots and we didn't want to be uprooted. So then came the bargaining phase, as we asked if we could stay in Liverpool while he moved up to Scotland. And he said, no, of course, that he was selling the house to finance the purchase of the other, and that prompted us to enter the depression phase, and then finally, acceptance. Just over a week later, Dad loaded everything into a moving truck,

and then we got into the car with Mum and drove behind him all the way to Aberdeenshire. Looking back on it, the scenery once we crossed over into Scotland was going to. incredible, but considering the mood that we were in, we couldn't appreciate it. Waterside was gorgeous, too. A collection of large houses nestled on the bank of a river, but it didn't feel like home, and it wouldn't for some time. A mile down the road from Waterside was a little seaside town called Nubra. It's a beautiful little place, but back then, it felt like we'd step back in time by about 50 years. Aside from the church, the green grocers, and a little coffee shop, it was just house ponds and fields. There were no playgrounds, no arcades, and worst of all, no cinema.

Dad took us to the grocer's and coffee shop that first day, then tried to bribe us with cake as he gave us a little pep talk. And the way he saw it, I'd only have to live there for four years, in a nice quiet place like that with none of the distractions of the big city, and I could focus on getting the best exam results possible. That way, when I got into my first choice of uni, I could drink, smoke, and go clubbing as much as I liked, and he wouldn't be there to stop me. And I'll admit, the prospect gave me a bit of hope. I could keep in touch with my mates on the phone, visit them whenever we drove back to Liverpool to see my grand, and then in four years I could ace my way into Liverpool Uni and be back home where I belonged.

My little brother adjusted quite quickly too, especially once he found that Nubra had a scout troop of its own. And then over the next month or so, we all slowly adjusted to our new lives up there in the Scottish countryside. I started school not long after moving, and despite my abject terror that I'd be some freakish English loner, I made friends with a couple of Scottish girls quite quickly. We'd go walking on the beaches together, which was another thing about Nubara and Waterside that really won me over. Then we'd walk back into town to grab coffee together at the place with the really good cake. and then one day, as I was enjoying my tea and cake, my friend Nicola leaned over with her eyes on the table and whispered, That man is looking at you.

And I felt my heart rate pick up a bit when she said it, and then she added, Behind you. It keeps looking over here at us, but mostly at you. She leaned back, then casually continued with whatever she was saying prior, but I couldn't match her calmness. I turned in my seat, pretending to look at the menu board behind the couch, and there he was in my peripheral vision. I half caught him looking when I turned too. Nicola was right. I turned back, then quietly asked Nicola if she recognized him and she said no. She knew everyone in Nubra and knew a new face when she saw one. There was a stranger in town and he'd taken an interest in me. As you can imagine, I was not flattered. I was 14, and this guy looked to be in his

20s or 30s, way too old for a girl my age. So the first thing that came to my mind was perv. But then if he didn't live in town and he didn't live up in Waterside, then he was a perv that I wouldn't have to worry about once I'd finished my cake. And the thought calmed me down for a bit, though it was still not very pleasant having to eat knowing his eyes were stuck to me. And once we'd finished, we'd thanked the owner and walked out of the coffee shop, only to realize that the man was following us. Nicholas swore that it was her six cents kicking in, but as we were walking down the lane, she looked over her shoulder, then turned back and said,

He's following us. My instinct was honestly to run, not to confront the guy, but Nicola turned around and started asking him boldest brass. Are you following us, you perv? He was tall, with dark hair and a dark jacket, and he had sunglasses on, even though it was pretty overcast that day. For a second, a part of me thought that he was going to be. to reply with, I'm just walking to my car, love, or something like that. In which case, we'd made a total scene over nothing. But instead, the man just kept on silently walking towards us. Nicola and I

got very nervous as he got close, but then he just sort of passed us. He didn't look at us. He didn't talk to us. He just walked right past us and carried on down that lane. Nicola and I were just stood there for a second like, huh, what was all that about? We had a little. We had a had zero clue why he hadn't just reacted to a 14-year-old girl calling him a purve. But what we were certain of is that we weren't about to walk the same way as him, even if our houses were in that same direction. Instead, Nicola and I walked back into town and sat in the coffee shop for about half an hour before attempting our walk home for a second time. We walked together for a while, talking about this and that until we parted ways, and I was then faced with crossing the bridge over the

river alone. But right as I was about to cross the river, I spotted someone in the car park just off the left of the bridge. It was the man from the coffee shop, the one with the sunglasses, and it looked an awful lot like he was watching me. When I got home, I told my mom about him and how creepy it felt knowing that it was getting stared at. She said the man was just a tourist by the sounds of things, as they often drive up the East Coast, stopping here and there on the way. She also said that, unfortunately, unwanted gazes were something everyone had to deal with from time to time. Men stare at women when they're being letterous, she said, and they also stare at each other when they're trying to start trouble down in the pub on a Saturday night.

In both cases, the solution were the same. Avoid the stare at all cost and leave if you feel unsafe in any way. Mum laughed when I told her about Nicola calling the guy a pervert and said that she liked the sound of her. and then I took a lot of reassurance in the fact that I was never going to see that guy again. But then, just a few days later, I did see him again, and he basically did the exact same thing. I'd walked into town on my own, then went into a minor panic when I saw him standing in a shop doorway, wearing those same sunglasses and that same black jacket. I prayed that he wouldn't follow me again, but he did,

and I did the same thing of doubling back and trying to lose him or wait him out. I really, really didn't want him following me out of town, and Nicola was away visiting her granny that weekend, so I couldn't call her for backup. Instead, I ended up calling a minicab to drive me all the way home. And then luckily, by the time it arrived outside the coffee shop, the man in the sunglasses seemed to have gotten bored and had stopped following me around. I was a bit relieved and a bit annoyed, because if I had known that he was going to get bored, I'd have saved a few quid and not rang a cab.

But I had a little chat with the driver on the journey and then hopped out once we crossed the bridge and I was near my house. I just collected my change and I was climbing into the back seat when I saw a car behind us. It stopped less than 50 meters back, close but not too close and it could have sworn that I'd seen it somewhere before. Well, I had. And as the cab took off, the car followed it. It was the same car that I'd seen parked near the bridge not a few days before and in the driver's seat was the man in the same. sunglasses. And for as long as I live, I'll never forget how sick I felt walking up the pathway to my house. It wasn't so much that the guy had managed to follow me home, although that

indeed was bad. It was the fact that as he drove past me after I climbed out of the cab, he had this big, smarmy grin spread across his face. It was like this sick sort of victory smile, that I win, and now I know where you live, look. After walking through the door, I went straight to my mom and told her what had happened. I remember how her face dropped when I mentioned the car because, like me, she realized how serious this situation had become. This wasn't just some pervy older man following a schoolgirl around the village. This guy was tracking me, following me, stalking me. Most of the time, my dad was either out playing golf or drinking down at the village pub, but on that day, he was home so when he heard me crying to my mom, it came running.

He asked what was the matter, and when I told him, I assumed he'd just be angry. I thought he'd be straight onto the phone with the police, furiously demanding they'd do something before he does it himself, but he didn't do that. In fact, he didn't seem even remotely irritated. Instead, and for the first time in my whole life, I saw what my dad looked like when he was scared. I first noticed it when he was asking me to describe with a fellow who followed me look like. He asked about the car, if he talked like us, and what his voice. sounded like, all sorts of questions like that. But aside from his physical description, I knew

nothing about him. Once I had finished saying everything I had to say, I thought Dad would dial 9-99, but he didn't. He just sat there with this wide-eyed, frightened look on his face like he was trying to figure out what to do. I remember saying something like, Dad, aren't you going to phone the police? Then my mom joined in asking what was going on and why he was acting like that. I suppose Mom knew him long enough to be able to read what was on his face because she started asking him to talk to her and tell her what was going on in this accusatory tone of voice. Dad stayed quiet for a bit, head in his hands by then, and the more scared he got, the more scared I got. Mom started raising her voice and shouting at him, then he shouted back at her to stay quiet, and then told me to go up to my room and make sure my brother stayed upstairs too. Keeping him up there was no problem.

Dad had bought him a computer and a TV for his room, so he was glued to it, playing Mario or whatever and blissfully ignorant what was going on downstairs. Me, on the other hand, I couldn't stay put, and just a minute or so later, I slipped out of my room and stood at the top of the stairs and tried to listen in on what mom and dad were saying. They had the door closed downstairs, so I couldn't hear exactly what was being said, but I knew it was bad. They were trying not to raise their voices, but they were barely managing it, and although I heard

them argue like that before, it was nothing like what I heard that day. Dad sounded terrified, so much so that I barely recognized his voice. Mum, on the other hand, sounded absolutely furious because she finally burst into tears. Ugly sobs, too, like she'd completely lost control. Dad cried as well, and they cried together for a minute before their voices went low again, and I lost them completely. When I heard the door opened downstairs, I snuck back into my bedroom. I didn't want Mom and Dad thinking that I've been listening in on their conversation even though I had.

I stayed in my room for a bit, wondering what was so terrible that they cried over it, and then after a while I heard footsteps coming from the stairs and Mom walked into my bedroom. She told me to pack my suitcase because we were leaving that night. She also warned me not to forget anything because we wouldn't ever be going back to that house in Waterside. not ever. Mom then went into my brother's room and told me the exact same thing. Maybe an hour later we were on the road. Our suitcases and bags piled in the boot with some strapped at the top of Dad's Range Rover. We were driving down a narrow country lane, lined on each side by dry stone walls and I was sitting in the back seat with my little brother.

Mum and Dad were up front, not talking to each other, and there was this really tense atmosphere in the car. The tears had barely dried on mom and dad's faces and my brother was furious that we were moving again, and I simply sat there, just sort of shell-shocked. A few hours before, I'd popped into town to buy some stationary, then there I was, relocating for the second time in months, and somehow it was all my fault. I remember how quiet it was at first as we drove through the night, but then suddenly I heard the sound of a loud engine revving behind us. I turned and saw a car speeding towards us up the lane with its headlights glaring. I remember shouting Dad to turn his attention towards it, but his eyes were already in the rear view.

He gripped the steering wheel, put his foot down on the accelerator, and then the car lurched forward as he did. He was trying to outrun it, but the other car was too fast. And the next thing I remember, it was ramming into our back bumper so hard it made the car shake. My little brother started screaming, and Mom shouted something, but all I remember is leaning over in the back seat and hugging my little brother. I just didn't know what else to do. A second or two later, the dark car behind us was speeding up alongside us, and a fella I didn't recognize was leaning out the passenger window shouting something like, stop the car, I'm warning you, stop the car.

My dad didn't even look at him. He just kept his eyes on the road, still trying to outrun them. but whatever four-by-four they were driving was much faster than Dad's. The stranger and the passenger seat leaned back into the other car, and then suddenly, he swerved beside us trying to push us off the lane. Dad sped up, but the road twisted and our tires screeched as he struggled to keep us on the tarmac. Once we rounded the curve, the car bashed into us again, harder this time.

Our car shook, and Dad kept it in control, but the other car stayed close, its engine roaring as it kept trying to push us off the road. I didn't think we stood a chance, and that at any second we were about to be pushed into a ditch or a tree and the car would flip, roll, and burn with all of us inside of it. Every single second felt like our last, and all I could do was hug my brother as he screamed. I remember closing my eyes as I lied through my teeth and told him,

we'd be fine, we'd be fine. Then, when I opened them again, I saw a rooftop through our car's window. A rooftop meant a building. and a building like that one meant we were near a village. Dad put his foot down, weaving through the lane's bends, and then as we got closer and closer to the village, the dark car hesitated then started to fall back.

Lights from houses appeared, and I saw a few people walking near the road. The car behind us slowed, its headlights dimming in the distance, and then it turned off onto a side path and vanished. We didn't stop. Dad just slowed down a bit as we reached the village's Market Street, and then we passed through and kept on going, driving all the way down the east coast until we got to Edinburgh. We checked into a hotel, with Mom and Dad in one room and me and my brother and another next to theirs, and then Mom and Dad continued to argue until we fell asleep.

I was only 14, so I was still too young for Mom and Dad to fully explain what was going on, but I knew that there was something they weren't telling me, and I knew it was something big. And I didn't find out what that thing was until many years later when Dad was. ran off with another woman, to Bulgaria, of all places, and mum spilled the beans. Dad hadn't been importing antiques from Russia, or rather, not any real antiques anyways. They were all fakes, all mock-ups commissioned by Russian heroin traffickers, and they were all stuffed with plastic-wrapped packages of the substance. That was how Dad made his money. Actually made his money, I mean. He wasn't an antiques dealer, selling specialist pieces to wealthy

Russian expats. He was a heroin trafficker, flooding the streets of Britain with dangerous, dirt cheap drugs. It was all going really well for a while. He was making millions, but poured loads of it back into the community around him, which is why he was such a popular fella when we were growing up. He did that out of necessity, though. Not the kindness of his heart, because he knew that flashing cash without greasing palms would have some old busy bodies snitching on him in no time. We moved out of Garston, spent a few years in that nice big house in Hailwood, and all the while, Dad's still raking in millions. He's not working alone, though. He's working with a network of distributors all over the country, and he's making everyone a lot of money in the process. But then one day, after his pile of money had gotten big enough, or he couldn't stomach the risk anymore, he decided he wanted to retire.

He talked to his parents, laid out his reasons, and even offered to train up a replacement. but they weren't too excited with the idea of him just walking away. He was making everyone too much money for that, so instead they gave him a counteroffer. Carry on shipping and smack from Soviet Russia and keep everyone's pockets filled, or he and his family would be filling up holes on some isolated piece of farmland somewhere. Dad pretended he got the message and carried on business as usual for a while, and then one day he just disappeared.

The reason he didn't tell any of us about the move to Scotland was because he couldn't risk anyone finding out he was leaving. Then when he disappeared, every one of his former partners up and down the country sent people out looking for him. Professionals, too, which was how one found us so fast. Mum had no idea how Dad really made his money, so when he finally told her, she immediately asked for a divorce. In the way she saw it, his line of work had put us in dain. since the day he started, and she couldn't reconcile the fact that he'd forced her and the kids to live in that kind of ignorance. We then started the process of moving abroad, and Dad came with us for a little while, but like I said, he ended up doing a second vanishing act. Last we heard,

he was living in Sophia with a woman half his age, making the most of the exchange rate on what little money he had left. And I don't hate him, not like my brother does. I just see him as a deeply flawed human being who thought that he was smart enough to game the system. He taught me a lot in life, but that lesson is the primary one. The people who think they're smart enough to do so are actually the ones too stupid or arrogant to realize they can't, because you can never game the system. The system only ever games. You.

I was 22 years old when this happened. I worked in a grocery store which had been featured in the news, and you could see me in the clip, and it was clear where I worked. I just came back from vacation, and a coworker told me that some guy had been coming around every day for a week asking for me. When I asked who or why they told me, they had no idea, but he was around my age and seemed a little off. A few hours passed by, and my co-worker came and told me that the guy was back, and again asking for me, we'll just call this guy James. I can't even remember his name anyways. In the back room, we had a computer and you could see all the camera footage from all over the store. I looked and didn't recognize who James was, but decided to go ask what he wanted.

and he was clearly drunk and said that he had seen me on TV and wanted to ask me out. I replied, I'm sorry, but I'm in a relationship, even though I was single. I said that I needed to get back to work, and he asked me if he should come with me. I was confused and said that I am working, and he then left, but I could see him through the cameras outside the store drinking. A few hours had passed, and he was waiting for me outside, so I had to use another exit when I left. The next day I came to work and saw him waiting for me outside the store. He had this huge smile on his face and walked up to me. He was really shy and didn't say a word

until I said, hey, while passing by to get into the store. And he followed me inside and said that he needed to talk. I asked him what's up, and he replies, how about we go to the movies? At this point, I could tell that he was really creepy, and I replied, I'm sorry, I have a boyfriend, remember? As I was walking away, he started following me again and asked if he should come to help me with my work. No thanks, I replied once again. And I looked at the camera footage and yet again he was waiting for me outside. And at this point I started asking my male co-worker to escort me safely to the tram every night when my shift ended. I started getting really scared once this had been going on for a while and he clearly wouldn't leave me alone. I asked my brother if he could

drive me to work on his motorcycle and hug me outside my workplace, so it looked like he was my boyfriend, and James would maybe finally leave me alone. Since I knew he was somewhere watching and waiting for me to get to work, but that didn't seem to help. I started getting messages like, is that your boyfriend, and he doesn't need to know if we go out. And I was confused about how he had gotten my number. I asked all of my coworkers, and a new one said that she'd given my number because he said he was a friend of mine, and I was pissed. At this point, I asked my male co-worker to throw him out if he ever came back, which was a lot to ask. And a couple of weeks went by without any harassment, and I finally thought that he had left me alone. But boy, was I wrong. I came to work one

day and was in the changing room and heard that we have a new co-worker, and it was his first day. I didn't think anything of it and proceeded to change my clothes. Once I got out of the changing room, my jaw dropped. Another co-worker said, hey, this is James. And I looked in horror as she asked me what was wrong. I said, I know. This is the creep that had been stalking me for weeks. As James started to smile. I went and searched for my boss to ask him what in God's name happened. My boss said that he had no idea that this was my stalker and kind of just laughed it off as no big deal. And I told him, either he leaves or I will. And he said that I wouldn't have to work the same shift as James and that he couldn't fire him right there.

But he lied. I had a lot of shifts with him, and whenever I went, he would just follow me without saying a single word, and he would just continue to follow me. I would often have my lunch break by the computer so I could see where he was. And every day I could see him just staring at me, behind me as I ate, as we had a lot of cameras there also. And this went on for a while. He would text me every day, but at work, he'd work. he didn't say a thing, just sit there and stare. Now my boss finally understood what a freak James was and that he really didn't do any work either, just kind of stalking me, and started to think of

ideas of how to get rid of him. And one time I noticed James was clearly drunk at work and I finally told my boss. And thankfully that day, he got fired. And this is when the stalking finally stopped. Hey there. Did you know there's a cool online cannabis company that can ship federally legal THC straight to your door? They've even mixed it with some awesome functional ingredients to help with just about any mood or health concern you might have. I'm talking about mood.com's incredible line of functional gummies, and you can get 20% off your first order at mood.com with promo code read.

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to save 20% on your first order. Some conversations in hell feel less like discussions and more like dissections, cold, clean, bloodless. No fire, no fury, just silent blades carving open the future. This one began with Asmodius. He was no creature of deference. He didn't kneel, didn't beg. But when he came to Lucifer, it wasn't with pride.

It was with hierarchy and necessity. Something had gone wrong. A deviation. A fracture in the clockwork of sulfur. Victoria, a strange daughter of the elder succubis, Mrs. Robinson, was pregnant, and the child wasn't normal. Not human, not angelic, not even something hell had a word for. A hybrid.

half-incubus, half-vampire. It wasn't the mix of bloodlines that disturbed Asmodius. It was the absence of predictability. The child wasn't bound to anything. No prophecy, no allegiance, just raw, unshaped potential. Left alone, it could become anything. A king, a weapon. And worst of all, a rival.

Asmodius had already decided to invest everything into Talia's unborn son, a pure-born incubus carefully bred to rule. There could be no contest, no second line, only one heir. So he proposed a solution. Not death. It was too messy, too loud. The hybrid would be taken at birth and erased, given to the humans who operated in silence,

off the books, beneath the maps, behind layers of redacted history. Black sites, places where screams were data and souls, were test subjects. Lucifer didn't object, not because it protected Hell's order or Asmodius' station, because it offered something better,

opportunity. He didn't see a threat. He saw an empty vessel. No ties to heaven, no loyalty to hell. A blank page, and in its hunger, for meaning, for power, for love, he would write a new story.

He would give it a name, a cause, a target. not today, not tomorrow. But one day the child would outgrow its chains, and when it did, Lucifer would be waiting, arms open, smile sharp. He didn't fear chaos. He cultivated it. And so, without parchment, without trumpet, without witness, the plan moved forward.

Hell held its breath, as Modius departed in silence, and Lucifer remained, already imagining the sound the cage would make when it opened, not to punish the child. but to watch what it would become. The summons came days later. Mrs. Robinson and her daughter Talia answered without hesitation. No one declines a call from Lucifer, especially not during sacred times. And this was sacred. Talia stood at the threshold of delivering a true-born incubus, the first since her own father.

Before his untimely death, he had been sculpted for a succession, molded by centuries of Asmodius's ambition. Even in hell, succession matters. Retirement may not come with peace or gold watches, but it comes. Eventually, even the oldest devil step aside. Talia's chambers were already draped in blood-red silk, the circle of lust thrumming with anticipation. A celebration loomed, won derivial coronations.

This meeting was private. No court, no entourage, just four. Lucifer, Asmodius, Mrs. Robinson, and Talia. Lucifer didn't bother with ceremony. He gave the plan plainly, like a blade-handed hilt first. Victoria's child, the hybrid, would be taken at birth. No trace, no memory, clean, surgical, final. Mrs. Robinson raised a brow.

Talia, by contrast, wore her stone expression. like a veil, though her mother noticed the flicker of hesitation behind her eyes. I may be estranged from my daughter, my lord, Mrs. Robinson said, dipping into a shallow bow, but if you expect me to steal my own grandchild, Lucifer didn't speak. He didn't need to. The task had already been assigned. To humans. Operatives buried within governments beneath history. They were watching, waiting. Ready. It would be as though the child had never existed. Mrs. Robinson understood. The time for protest had passed. What remained was the price for silence, the reward for obedience.

And for my silence, she asked. Lucifer smiled. The offer came soft, like sin whispered through silk. Queen of the succuby. Not a puppet title, but the crown Lilith abandoned. Recognition, power, legacy, all hers for the price of a child she would never hold. My lord is generous, she murmured, hunger tucked beneath a polished tongue. Talia stepped forward, unwilling to be eclipsed. She demanded her share, Lucifer obliged. He would name her high matron of lust, the destined consort to the future incubus king. Her son would be raised in hell, trained by Asmodius himself, sculpted into a ruler. Victoria's child would only ever be an obstruction, and now it was being cleared away.

Talia didn't hesitate. Her future had been unsure, but now with a path clear she could walk it unchallenged, no contracts, no blood seals. In hell, a demon's word is enough. The deal was done. And elsewhere, far from the quiet treachery, Victoria imagined painting a nursery. She dreamed of folded baby clothes, smiled at the thought of her husband holding their child, fantasized of something tender, a life, a home, a family she thought that she could finally have. It was all she ever wanted. She believed her mother might soften, that Talia might be there when the time came, that maybe, just maybe, things would get better. But the ending had already been written, and when her child came, when its first breath split the air, it would not be greeted with joy,

only screams, ones of fear, survival, and desperation. A betrayal dressed in maternal robes, because in hell, love is never love. It is currency. And betrayal? That's just part of the exchange. My name is Kathy. I'm from New England, and I have a story from my childhood which you and your viewers might be interested in. Back when I was just 12 years old, so almost 50 years ago now, my God. My family and I moved from Providence, Rhode Island, to a little town called East Corinth,

up in Maine. My dad had been running his construction company since before I was born. And then after it took off, he started to make some real cash, and he bought us a beautiful three-story home on Main Street. He said he did it so me and my little brother could be raised someplace with small town values, quote-unquote. But to us, it was like stepping into another world. We went from Big City Providence to a one-stop-light town where the biggest attraction was the Corinth Historical Society. And needless to say, my brother and I were not happy at first, and mom wasn't too pleased about it either. But after just the first few days in Corinth, we started to take a real shine to the place, so to speak. The food at the local diner was fantastic. There were basketball courts

near our house, and the peace and quiet you got at night out there was amazing. Everyone in town was really welcoming, too. The local pastor came over the day we moved in. Our new neighbors left gift baskets, and when the weekend came, two girls from the house across the street knocked on our door asking if I wanted to come hang out. Their names were Jenny and Joy, age 14 and 12, and they walked me over to the basketball courts to show me where kids hung out on weekends. There was the softball field,

the two basketball courts and the tennis court, and then a big wall of trees with some woods behind them. Jenny and Joy said everyone's parents were cool with them hanging out there because everyone could keep an eye on them from the street. But we were never to walk beyond the woods, and that reason had a name. Trent

Baxter According to Jenny and Joy, the Baxter's lived in the manor-road apartments on the other side of the woods, and 15-year-old Trent was the biggest bully in all of the county. His dad was in jail, I guess, and his mom was a drunk, and young Trent had been so badly behaving in school that he'd been removed from the school system altogether around age 12. He used to get into fights with other kids.

Throw chairs at his teachers, and one time, they said, he even drowned the class hamster by trying to flush it down the toilet. Luckily, Trent knew better than to go wandering around our street or near the basketball courts, because every time he did, the town councilman would see him from his office and threaten to call the town sheriff. As a result, Trent mostly moped around the woods near the man-in-road apartments, setting rabbit traps and starting fires. And I appreciated the heads up, but since Trent didn't hang out at the courts and he didn't go to school, I didn't think that he'd be any sort of problem for me. But I could not have been more wrong.

It was during our first meeting that Jenny and Joy gave me their general warning about the Baxter's. Then that Friday, they walked across the street and asked if I wanted to come hang out with them and some other kids down at the basketball courts. And it was here that I got my second and more specific warning about Trent. Down at the courts, a kid named Stevie told me that when Trent found out a new family had moved into town, He was furious. Stevie also lived at the Manor Road apartments, but unlike Trent, he wasn't a predatory miscreant who broke, burned, or stole everything that wasn't nailed down.

He'd come hang out on a Friday and a Saturday night, often with tales of Trent's trials and tribulations over at the apartments. According to Stevie, Trent would target an older widower who lived on the ground floor, banging real loud on his door because he knew the guy had a heart condition. and he'd also target his neighbor's cats and dogs, and there was a rumor that he fed one a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with ground-up glass as the secret ingredient. But that Friday night into my absolute horror,

I learned Trent's newest target was my family. And like I said, Stevie mentioned Trent being furious when he heard we'd moved into town and had overheard him saying that he was going to burn our house down. Jenny and Joy, along with these other kids, assured me that Trent said stuff like that all the time, directed at just about everyone, but only rarely did he go through with any of his threats.

I'd like to be able to say that reassured me, but if Trent really was just all bark and no bite, how had he managed to earn such a bad reputation? That evening, after I returned home from hanging out at the basketball courts, I told my mom what I'd heard about this Trent Baxter threatening to burn down her house. She'd also heard stories about the Baxter from some of the neighbors that had stopped by our place.

some pretty frightening things, too. But she knew that the people in East Corinth were mostly good, sought of the earth folks who wouldn't allow the Baxter's to terrorize anyone, let alone the newest arrivals. And that was a lot more reassuring than anything the kids at the basketball court said. I still really appreciated them being so welcoming, but nothing sounds truer as when it's coming from Mom, right? I figured the whole Trent Baxter situation might be a storm and a teacup, so to speak.

But again, I was wrong. One night, about a week after moving into our new home, I woke up in the middle of the night to an very loud crash coming from downstairs. My dad grabbed his gun from the closet, ran downstairs to see what was happening, and then walked into the family room to find someone had thrown a brick through the window. And attached to the brick was a note saying, move. And that's all it said. Dad reported the incident to the county sheriff the next day,

who sent out a deputy who'd grown up just north of town. Deputy Daniels said that he was familiar with the Baxter's, and would try to ascertain Trent's whereabouts from the previous night, but he also said it probably wouldn't be easy. As I already mentioned, it was known around town that Trent's dad was in jail and wasn't coming home anytime soon. According to the deputy, Trent's mom wasn't so much a sedentary drunk because she was a wanderer.

She disappeared for days at a time, and if you did manage to catch her, there was no guarantee she'd remember the exchange the next time you talked. Apparently, Trent often ran off and slept in the woods whenever he was in trouble, and his mom was more concerned with chasing bottles and boyfriends than she ever was with her own son.

Finding him would be much easier said than done. And even if he did find him, Deputy Daniels wouldn't be able to do anything without concrete proof that it was Trent, had thrown that brick. The only good news the deputy had was that it was unlikely Trent would try the same thing twice. He was a spontaneous kid of spitefulness, not a focused one, and as long as we stuck it out a little, he'd eventually get bored of us and just sort of move on, he said. I remember watching them fit in a new window with my dad talking about how it was just growing

paints. There's always bad people any place you go, he'd say. But here, there's just one or two, thousands like back in Providence. And mom agreed. She said all Trent Baxter needed was a short, sharp shock to make it clear that we were not to be messed with, and then he'd just leave us alone. Dad stayed up late a few nights, sitting in the dark in the family room, looking out of our newly fitted windows into the street outside. He didn't keep his gun with him, he just wanted to catch Trent in the act and scare him a little. But Daniels appeared to be right, and Trent never showed. At school, Joy told me that she and Jenny had heard about Trent breaking our windows and that they were very sorry that he'd chosen to target us.

It was definitely scary, having such friendly, supportive people around. It did make things easier to bear, though. Joy said the same thing the deputy did, and that if Trent ever did get a whiff that he was the prime suspect, he'd probably disappear for a few days and we'd be able to carry on in peace. And she was right in a way, because the next few days and nights went on without incident. And as I said, we got the window replaced.

Dad stopped sitting up late in our dark family room, and for about a week at least, it seemed like Trent had moved on. But then, the birds showed up. One morning after realizing that we were all out of milk, Dad decided to walk down to the general store to buy a carton or two, but he took just one step out of the front door and froze. He had a Cadillac Fleetwood Brewing, room, a real beauty, but all over the hood and roof were a bunch of dead and disand-bowed

birds. It looked like someone had gutted them on the spot because the insides were splayed out next to them, having pulled through slits which had been cut into their bodies. Whoever had done it had taken the heads off, too, and at first, they were nowhere to be found. Dad takes one good look at the cadaver-covered car, turns back around, and then walks inside the house to call the county sheriff. He then spends the next hour or so, disposing of the headless birds and hosing down his Cadillac until it was spotless again. And once he'd finished, and because he'd wasted a bunch of his morning cleaning off his car and talking to the cops, Dad figured that he'd drive down to the general store and order to claw back a few minutes of his day.

Dad said that he climb into the driver's seat, then slid his key into the ignition, but when he turned it, there was nothing but a muffled sputter from the car's engine. He said he kind of just frowned and checked the choke and then tried to get it. But then instead of starting like it normally would, there was a strange, high-pitched wine from the rear like air was escaping a balloon. He started to panic a little as the series of dull thumbs sounded from underneath, and then suddenly there was this huge boom as something exploded out of the car's tailpipe. Dad said he jumped up and then ran around to the rear of the car, only to see blood dripping

from the exhaust, and then splatted on the ground behind him. were all the little heads of the dead bird that had been lying on his car. That afternoon, Deputy Dandals was back in our kitchen talking with my mom and dad over a few cups of coffee, and he recommended that Dad park his car in the garage from then on, and that when he caught up with Trent Baxter, he'd be arrested on suspicion of animal cruelty. A brick is a brick. We're hurting animals like that was exactly the kind of behavior people had come to expect from Trent the troll, as some kids called him.

He was probably laying low, said Deputy Daniels, especially after the bird incident. It was also very likely Trent was angry that we dared to call the sheriff and wanted to give us one less F-U before he backed off for good. At least that's what Mom and Dad chose to believe. Yet it proved to be nothing but wishful thinking. About two weeks went by and we'd once again assume that we were in the clear. When one morning, someone started banging on our door at around eight. Dad went downstairs in his slippers to see who it was only to find the mailman,

looking white as a sheet, and pointing at something that sat on our doorstep. It was a plastic can of gas, along with a box of matches, and the can actually had some gas in it, too. It was Trent. He was leaving us a message and one that clearly said, leave, because next time, I might go through with it. The appearance of that can mark the third time that Deputy Daniels came over to our house, but that time, Mom and Dad weren't quite so patient and understanding as before. I distinctly remember my dad telling him to do his damned job, and that if the deputy couldn't find a juvenile delinquent like Trent Baxter,

and he was in the wrong line of work. And to his credit, Deputy Daniels took Dad's comments on the chin. He said he understood his frustration, but that it was something that most other folks have felt at some point, too. Trent and his family were this dark cloud that hung over the town. And much like all the other dark clouds which pass over the state of Maine, and boy, are there many, you learn to live with them. On the bright side, Trent had never burned anything down before,

at least nothing as big as a house. But as you can probably guess, that didn't reassure my dad one bit. The deputies and our neighbors could be as supportive as they liked, and it was all much appreciated, but they couldn't keep an eye out for us all the time, and the knights seemed to belong to Trent. By the time of the gas and the box of matches showed up on our doorstep, and my dad was yelling in Deputy Daniel's face, I was starting to get really, really upset by the whole thing.

After about a month of being there, I actually liked living in East Corinth. I liked my new friends. I like the idea of starting high school there too, so the idea that some fire-obsessed bird-murdering psycho was about to ruin all of that for us, let's just say it started to weigh on me. Especially the day when I found out Trent wanted to target me, specifically. It was a Friday at lunchtime, and I was getting myself some food in the school cafeteria, when Stevie, from over the road, sat next to me in joy.

And right away I could tell that he had something to say, and when he did, I felt my appetite leaving as this feeling of dread crept over me. Stevie said that had been riding his bike out near the apartments when Trent Baxter came out of the bushes, yelling for him to stop. Stevie knew he could outpedal him if he needed to, so he stopped and asked him what his problem was. Trent asked Stevie if he's friends with the new kid, i.e. me, and then when Stevie said yes, Trent told him that the new kid was in a quote, dead meat. Since we hadn't got the message about leaving town, Trent was going to have to up the Annie,

and upping that ante meant targeting me. I was terrified, and the only thing that stopped me from descending into a full-on panic were Joy and Stevie's reassurances. They promised me that if I came to hang out with them that evening after school, they'd do anything and everything to protect me from Trent. Bullies like that were only ever successful if they could isolate someone, when there wasn't that strength in numbers. So if I stuck with them,

Trent wouldn't be able to touch me and I'd be fine. What I felt in that cafeteria was one of the most bittersweet moments of my whole life. I don't think that I've ever been so scared of someone before, but I'd also never experienced such kindness and acceptance before either. I was so grateful that I was holding back tears by the time I gave Joy a hug and thanked her for all that she and her sister had done for me. In terms of making me feel welcome, introducing me to my new friend group, and most importantly, protecting me from the town's

resident psycho. When I got home from school that afternoon, I told my mom everything Stevie and Joy had said in the cafeteria. She said that I was really lucky to have such nice new friends, but if I saw Trent at any point during that evening, I was to run home immediately so that her and dad could call the sheriff. She had no doubt that my nice new friends could keep their eyes out for him. She even figured they'd try and defend me if need be. But the bottom line was that, at the first sign of trouble, I should just walk or even run away. And that way, I could avoid any trouble before it even started.

I remember suggesting that if a deputy or town councilman saw Trent doing something violent, then they could actually do something about him instead of just beating around the bush all the time and letting him run riot. I mean, sure, I might end up with a few bruises and a black eye, but if that's what we needed to get Trent out of the picture, then maybe it was a price worth paying. And Mom gave me a very concrete no to that suggestion and explained that violence in the movies is a hell of a lot different to violence in real life. Only in the movies did people walk away from fights with nothing but a split lip and a good story. In real life, one punch was all it took to put one person in the ground and the other in jail for the rest of their lives.

Mom wanted to see this Baxter kid punished, just like everyone else in town did, just not at the expense of her only daughter. And late that afternoon, around 5.30, Jenny and Joy stopped by our house, and then we walked down to the basketball courts to hang out again. All of the usual kids were there, either shooting some hoops or riding their bikes around the courts, and although I was kind of tense at first, I soon started to relax as we fell into the usual rhythm of things. Maybe an hour into hanging out I was really enjoying myself, and I'd also totally forgotten about the whole Trent thing. When Stevie comes riding his bike across the fields away from the woods shouting, Trent's coming. Trent's coming. Everyone kind of flew into a panic for a second because this one older kid, Ryan, started yelling about how he was sick of running and how we should fight back for once instead of just going to get the adults.

I didn't like the sound of that, not after what my mom had said of. about avoiding violence. But most of the other kids, instead of just leaving, latched on to what Ryan said and were basically saying stuff like, yeah, let's get them. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. It was like something out of a movie and beside me. Jenny and Joy were both saying,

come on, come on, let's go make sure he leaves you alone. It was odd, but I thought about the smashed window, the birds and that can of gas, and I got angry. I loved my new home, and I wasn't about to let some scumbag ruin it for me. Ryan and the other kids started storming across the field yelling about how they were going to kick Trent Baxter's ass. It was the bravest thing I'd ever seen, and as I watched, I stood up and then told Jenny and Joy, All right, let's go.

And they were smiling and clapping, and then after following me over to the field, we ran to catch up with the kids ahead of us. When we got to the tree line, we kind of fanned out a little and then started to start. started looking all over for this Trent character. We walked deeper and deeper into the woods, and the setting sun in the sky was ahead of us, but since we were together, we weren't very scared. I remember stopping at one point and looking around. If Trent Baxter had been in those woods,

he sure as heck wasn't there anymore. And I turned to Jenny, Joy's older sister, and then said something like, look, look, he's gone. But the way she was looking at me was wrong, very wrong. I know I'd only known her a few weeks, but I'd never seen her make a face like that before. Yet it wasn't just her that was staring at me with very cold eyes. It was everyone.

I turned around in the spot and realized that they all started walking towards me. And then right behind me, I heard Jenny say, That's where you're wrong. Trent Baxter's right here. And I turned just in time for Jenny to shove me backwards into the, the dirt as she yelled, here. And I fell in my butt. But the pain of her turning on me dwarfed any I felt from the impact. I asked her what she was doing, but she didn't answer. And then I heard someone yell something terrible about me from my right before someone kicked me in the side

of the head. I immediately went down, clutching my head, and that's when everyone jumped in and started kicking me. Trent Baxter's right here. Someone repeated. And the others laughed, but they never stopped kicking me. All I could do was just lie there, shielding my head from those blows, while I felt their sneakers and shoes smashing into my arms and my ribs and my back and my butt. I soaked it all up until someone tried stamping on my head, and that's when I realized I had to move. I felt like if I didn't, they'd kill me.

I managed to make it to my knees before someone shoved me down again. Then the stamping and kicking and punching continued for a minute until I kind of just threw myself forward and made it to my feet again. That time I was able to run. I tried kicking my legs out from under me, but it didn't work, and I was able to get a real sprint going. The kids ran after me, and I remember looking over my shoulder, seeing them, and then feeling this surge of adrenaline take hold of me. And I ran, and I ran, and I ran, until I was all the way back to my head. to my street, before I realized that I wasn't being followed anymore. I remember looking back over my shoulder again and thinking, where the hell are Jenny and Joy? They lived just over

the street from me, so wherever they'd run to, they hadn't been home. But then as I got closer to my house, I could see people gathered outside, and when I saw who it was, my heart sank. It was my mom, one of the ladies who lived across the street from us along with Jenny and Joy. I was still in so much shock that when my mom ran over to escort me into the house, I didn't say anything. I wanted to get the blood off of me, get the dirt out of my mouth, and I didn't want to look at Jenny or Joy for a single second longer than I had to. Then his mom sat me down and got out the band-aids and antiseptic wipes. She kept saying to me, Trent Baxter's going to pay for this, sweetie. You just wait and see.

The only folks they're going to be moving out of this town are him and his mom when they're carted off to jail. I didn't know how to tell her right away. I didn't even cry at first. I just sat there quietly letting her wipe the blood from my face and hands, almost like the calm before the storm. I was in shock. And a few hours later, after I'd cried my eyes out finally and gotten a long, hot bath, I walked into the TV room and just told her straight up.

Mom, it wasn't Trent Baxter who beat me up. It was the kids who hang out at the basketball courts. it was all of them and she was stunned and if you hadn't already guessed jenny and joy had ran ahead of me to tell everyone it was trent baxter who'd ambushed me after i'd wandered into the woods so to have me telling her something different and that in fact there might not even be a trent baxter to begin with it all came as an obvious shock to her she was in denial at first talked about how our neighbors had mentioned the Baxter's on more than one occasion. It wasn't out of the question that a bunch of kids were all just in on some cruel joke, but the whole town. It wasn't

until Dad called the county sheriff and asked to speak with him directly that he too realized something was going on. The sheriff had someone run some files, only to discover that there hadn't been a Baxter family living in East Corinth since 1934. Dad then gave him an earful about Deputy Daniels, and how one of his peace officers had lied to his face about having met Trent Baxter and his mother. But when accused, Deputy Daniels played dumb and said that he was just trying to reassure the newcomers that he could keep them safe. The sheriff apologized for his deputy, saying that he was just young, dumb, and eager to impress. But Dad didn't buy it, and he too began to realize the same thing I had. There were no Baxter's living in those

apartments. The townsfolk had invented them. It took a few days of subtle investigation before Dad moved us back to Providence. He said he wanted to be sure before he got us packing our bags. But when he was sure, when he'd driven out to that road to ask around and was certain that the Baxter's were some fabrication, we got the hell out of town and never looked back. Dad said he tried talking to the sheriff about it and that he tried explaining. how the people of East Corinth invented the Baxter's as a way of terrorizing each other and terrifying outsiders. But the more he talked, the more the sheriff seemed to act like he was crazy. The sheriff said that he'd spoken to the townspeople, to the mayor, and to the town

councilman, and not a single person had mentioned anything about any Baxter family. It was a damn shame what was happening to that new family, they said, but as much as they wanted to help, there was nothing they could do. Once Dad realized the extent to which the townsfolk were willing to hoodwink us, he decided to quit while he was ahead and just simply get us to safety as soon as possible. And we moved back to Providence, checked into a hotel, and then stayed in an apartment for a while before Dad could find us a more permanent place to live. And we rarely speak of East Corinth, but it was always there.

I guess no one wanted to remind each other or remind ourselves that the move had ever had. happened, but it had, and there was no getting away from it. And every so often I thought about that area and why people acted the way they did. I guess the idea of the Baxter family was something they used to blame all their problems on it first, and then maybe over time the Baxter's became something they'd used to solve their problems, namely the problem of newcomers, and how to keep them out of their town for good. It was mid-March. My friends and I were in our early 20s and really into backpacking, hiking, camping, etc.

Living in the Pacific Northwest, we were definitely in the right area. to satiate our cravings for the outdoors. We wanted to go on a weekend camping trip, so earlier in the week, we went out scouting for an area to camp. After we drove a ways out of town, we found a rural road that looked pretty promising. A few miles down the road, we came to an intersection. We could continue straight where the paved road turned to gravel, turn left to be near a creek about 20 feet from the road,

or turn right onto what looked like a little-used, mostly grass-covered road. We decided to turn right and see what the area held. The grassy road followed a gentle left curve for about a hundred yards and then opened up to a small roundabout with a flat campground-looking area to the right of it. The site looked like it had been used plenty of times, but there was a lot of untouched grass on the road in a flat area, so we assumed no one had been there in a while. We like the spot, but it was a little close to the road for us,

so we decided to get out and have a look around. Shortly into our inspection, we found a trail that went deeper into the woods. We hiked up it for a quarter mile or so and really liked the way it looked. It was rural enough that we could really feel like we were in the outdoors, and there was no pesky cell reception to distract us from Mother Nature. After deciding this would be our spot for the upcoming weekend, we packed up and headed home. Once we got back to cell service, one of us used Google Maps to make sure our prospective campsite wasn't on anyone's property. To our relief, we were in the clear for several miles around the area. We decided that

since we were able to get Friday off work, we would pack up Thursday after getting home and head out that night to squeeze the most out of our trip. Fast forward to Thursday night, all of her gear was packed and we had all the food, water, and illicit substances we would need for three days of unwinding in the woods. As we pulled up the familiar grassy road and came around the bend, we saw the reflection of our headlights glaring back at us from the darkness, like the eyes of a large demon, angry that we'd intruded on its slumber. It was the taillights of a parked car. Our hearts collectively dropped as we slowed to a stop and decided what to do. We could hear a dog barking and saw a tent set up near the car, so we decided to turn

tail and head home in defeat. After regrouping at home, we decided that if we tried again the following night, it would be enough time that hopefully whoever was there would have packed up and left. Fast forward to Friday night, we pulled up and the car was still there, along with the tent and the barking dog. Big let down for sure, but after a brief talk amongst ourselves, we decided to risk it and stay. We parked on the roundabout, about 50 feet away from the car and tent, and hiked up the trail so we could be away from whoever was already there. We got out and the dog's barking reached a feral crescendo. Based on the fact that it hadn't already come over and started mauling us, we assumed it was leashed up or something. We quickly put on our packs and hiked up the trail in

the dark with our flashlights on. It was a creepy walk, especially since everyone was practically holding their breath and fear of someone coming out to yell at us for trespassing or ruining their night or something, but nothing happened. After making it to a good spot in setting up camp, we got right to partying. We joked about what the camper or or campers we pass must be thinking or doing right now and tried to scare each other with half-cock theories about whoever it was and what they might do to take revenge on us for barging in on their quiet evening. Little did we know, the memory of our trip would be ruined in a way that none of us could have guessed. Eventually, we all fell asleep and the next day rolled

around. I spent that Saturday hiking further up the trail and exploring. Nothing major happened and we ended to the night much the same way that we did the previous one. Sunday is when the story takes a turn. Everyone was tired, hung over, and pretty much ready to go back to civilization, so we started hiking back to the car. When we got there, we all noticed a complete shift in the atmosphere. I can only describe the scene as eerie. It felt like all the life had been sucked out of the wilderness.

For the first time since arriving, the woods were completely silent. The car was still there, and so was the tent. but we didn't hear the dog barking anymore. Being daylight now, we could see more of the encampment. It was unusual, to say the least. The car was up on the type of little ramps people used for working on their vehicles. The tent was open, and there was a plastic fold-up picnic table set up next to the car with all kinds of things on it. Motor oil, transmission fluid, automotive tools, a gallon of milk with a lid off, paper plates, miscellaneous food items, etc.

and it looked like someone was working on their car in the middle of the woods and stopped to prepare a meal only to seemingly vanish in the thin air. Curiosity took over better judgment and we decided to have a look. Walking cautiously through the campsite, we looked for any clues about why the person or people could have left in such a hurry. And my mind immediately went to the missing 411 cases. One of my friends pointed out that the windows of the vehicle were heavily fogged up so we tried her best to peer inside. The windows were also pretty heavily tinted, so looking through

them proved difficult, but the fog hadn't quite reached the edges of the glass. This made it possible to just barely see the silhouette of a large dog in the back seat. It sat there upright and panting hard, but not moving or making any other noise. And my heart sank. It was Sunday morning, and for all I knew, that dog had been trapped in this car since Thursday night when we first arrived. I assumed that's why it wasn't barking anymore. It probably didn't even have the energy and was likely badly dehydrated. We debated what to do and decided trying to break a window or open a door to let the dog out was a bad idea since it could be violent or hurt itself on the broken glass trying to get out itself. We didn't have cell reception. We decided with heavy hearts that the best choice

would be to drive back to town and call animal control as soon as we had service. We left and I made the call and did my best to explain the situation to the person who answered. He told me he would head out to the area in a few hours and update me on how it went, and I thanked him, and that was the end of the call. I waited around for hours to hear back from the guy and I started getting restless. Worried for the well-being of the dog, I ended up calling him back when it reached around 7 p.m. He said he tried to follow my instructions, but to my dismay, he mistakenly continued straight down the gravel road for several miles, rather than turning

right onto the grass he wrote. He had actually just gotten back to cell phone service when I called. He told me that he would head back there the next day and try again, as it was getting late and he had other calls that he had to get to. And I was distraught. I started debating heading out there myself to let the dog out of that vehicle, but ultimately decided it would be best to let the professionals handle it. I had no idea how good that decision was at the time. The next day I heard nothing back from the animal control guide despite several calls from me. And by about 7 p.m. I was really frustrated, desperately hoping for the best, but ultimately fearing the worst. That's when one of my friends who had been silently browsing her phone for a while suddenly gasped. When we asked what was wrong,

she started reading aloud from her phone, and it was a news story from a city about four hours away from ours. To this day, I have no idea how or why they were able to report this news so quickly, and the story roughly went as follows. On Redacted Road, the same one we went down to camp, and the town of Redacted, Animal Control was called about a dog trapped in the vehicle for several days. When they arrived on the scene, they tried the door of the vehicle, which was locked. The Animal Control employee called the local deputies and a state patrol officer who was in the area showed up to assist. Upon shining his flashlight through the tinted window of the vehicle, the state patrol officer was able to identify the body of a woman in the back seat, accompanied

by the dog in question. When the local deputies arrived, they were able to open the vehicle and help animal control capture the dog, a pit bull who was very aggressive upon the door being opened. The woman, identified as redacted, was deceased. Cause of death at this time is unknown. We all sat in silence for about, I kid you not, maybe ten seconds, and then my phone rang, showing a private number. I answered, and a female voice said, Hello, this is Detective Redacted? Is this Mr. Redacted? To which I answered by saying,

Yes, I ask what this is about. Or something along those lines, and she asked if I was the person who called in the dog trapped in the car, and I told her that I was. She asked me to explain what had happened, and I told her everything from the Thursday night we went up there until our present phone call, minus the bit about us just having to read the news story. Something in my gut told me that it would be better not to mention what we had just learned, and she seemed surprised and said, oh, that's it? To which I replied, yes, that was all. And as an afterthought, I asked how the dog was doing, and she said it was alive in the hands of

animal control, and I then asked if she needed anything else for me, and she said no, but that I would hear from her if anything else came up. The call ended, and we all started talking at once, asking each other if anyone had touched the vehicle or anything at the campsite, and to our relief, it appeared none of us had. We couldn't help but imagine what would happen had we broken a window to rescue that poor dog. The next day I called the animal control guy and introduced myself and apologize for his experiences after explaining that we saw a news story about what we had found. I asked him what would become of the dog and he told me it was going to the Humane Society and that they were going to try to rehabilitate it. Apparently it had been

trapped in that vehicle so long that it started eating the person who was in there with it. I asked if I could come visit the dog and he said that right now the dog was technically evidence related to the case and that I couldn't see it, but he would let me know if anything changed. After a few weeks of waiting and wandering, I called the humane society to ask about the dog and was told they regrettably had to put it down. I guess there was just no coming back from what that poor thing went through. And I didn't get or ask for any more details. Eventually, we got word about the coroner's report.

The woman was transient, a mother with an ex-husband and a nine-year-old son. She died from a drug overdose. Time of death was recorded to have happened at approximately midnight of the very same. same Thursday that we first went to the campsite and saw our car. After all this time, I googled the old news story about what had happened just to refresh my memory on the details, and what I found really took me by surprise. According to several other news stories that came up in my search results, stretching back to at least as early as 16 years before our event took place and up until the current year of 2025, there had been a surprising number of mysterious deaths that occur on that

specific road that we found. We haven't been back to that neck of the woods since and probably never will. This happened about a year or so ago, but I just read something fairly familiar, and it reminds me of how it still gives me the chills. I have three kids who were around nine, seven, and two at the time, and also living with my husband. We live fairly rural in the UK, just on the outside of a small village. Every night I always check the door as locked and sometimes even the chain put across as well. This night, I was woken up very abruptly by a harsh banging on the front door. At first I thought that it was just someone drunk, thinking it was their house, but then they started trying to turn the handle. My husband wasn't near the door and I stood in the stairs with my phone

in case I needed to call someone. My husband told the man he had kids in the house who were sleeping and to go away right now. The man started rambling and slightly slurring his speech. It wasn't extreme slurring, but his voice wasn't quite right. It seemed clear that he was either on something or mentally unwell. He kept asking for a certain woman by name, and my husband told him that there was no one by that name here and to go away, and the man kept insisting that we were hiding her and said he was coming in. During this time, there were a lot of strange sounds coming from behind the door, thumping, scratching, and another sound that I couldn't quite place. My husband then told him that I had called the police. He gave a few more frantic thumps, and then, I assume, left because

we heard nothing else. We didn't hear anything like him attempting this with the neighbors either. And for a few hours I waited in case he came back. I had a tennis racket that I would have used if I had to, and luckily it didn't come to that. In the morning, since it was a weekend, I decided to go check outside, and honestly, I felt a little ill. There was a massive dent in the door, which I thought surely couldn't have been caused by a fist alone. Then, on the door in the panels near it were fingernail marks and blood. It was enough that it needed to be washed off. Between the door and where the bins are, there was a smashed ashtray, also with blood on it and lots of pieces. One of the outdoor plants had been tipped over with the plant and soil all over the

ground. My best guess is he tried to smash the door with the ashtray and cut himself, but that's just speculation. And my blood ran cold thinking about how clearly aggressive this man was, and we have absolutely no reason to be targeted. We told our neighbors, who were absolutely horrified, and they said they thought they heard something, but just assumed it was a drunk. When we mentioned the woman's name, the neighbor says, oh God, that's said her name. She used to live where you do, a few doors down. She used to be into drugs and had a few shady people around and the neighbor reckons maybe one of her old drug-using companions was searching for her. And even now, there have been a few incidents at her house where the police have been called,

but I'm not sure what for. Now we have a video doorbell and alarms fitted, so at least a button now goes straight to a security system that, if you don't answer, we'll send the authorities. It didn't end in danger, but it so easily could have, and that's what's scary as hell. So seriously, she doesn't live here, and to the absolutely insane door-knocking guy, please never come again. This begins when I was 15. I'm 18 now. And just for some background, I work in a five-star Michelin restaurant as a waitress in a sweet little area. And we usually don't get anyone with bad intentions, usually just snobs. On Easter Sunday of 2022, one of the busiest days of the year, a man who will be known as the Easter man, came looking for a table for one. He was in a

three-piece suit, carrying a carton of chicken eggs. He was seated in my section, so I went over to get his drink and food order. And once I got his order, he kept talking, asking about my education, what I was doing in school and what my plans were for the future, what my hobbies were, my name, etc., etc. It was just a little too much to be polite, but I let it slide. I was busy, tired, and I didn't want any trouble, and eventually he left for the day, and I thought that was that. And was I wrong? For the next couple of months, he would come in two to three days every week. He got more confident, attempting to flirt with me, asked me to come out with him after work, etc. However, things just got worse during one shift.

I was walking him to his table, and he slid his hands down my back and over my butt. I turned around and, somehow, politely told him not to touch me and not to push my boundaries as I was only 15, and he knew that. And I didn't serve him that day. Now a week later, he comes in, and I refused to serve him again. My manager took over his table, yet when everybody was on break and I was the only one on the floor, he came inside, and he knew by this point that it was table service only and he came up behind me, bringing his hands down my arms. I was shaken up, but politely again, told him not to touch me.

And I didn't hear from him again until next Easter, 2023. Last Easter, things got worse. He showed up again with his usual shenanigans. However, my managers were prepared this year, not allowing me to go near him and keeping me safe, though this was only useful inside of work. I walked through the town center to get to work. It's about a 25-minute walk from the train station. I walk through the town center to get to work. It's about a 25-minute walk from the train station.

As I was walking to work one day, he saw me from his car and followed me into work, and I immediately told my managers, who again told me to stay away from him. A week later, I was having coffee before work, and about a 50-minute walk from my job, what do you know? Guess who sees me and follows me on foot to work? I told my managers again, who kept me away from him again. Yet that day was different. He asked my managers for me, saying he knew I was there because he'd seen me. Now, last year, 2024, I took a lot of holidays around Easter time and was off for exams. supposedly he came in a few times asking for me and didn't come in much when I wasn't anywhere to be seen. It's just truly terrifying that I have a stalker who shows up every Easter.

This is a completely true story, and it happened just an hour ago, and I wanted to talk about it somewhere. Now, for context, my wife and I were on vacation in Mexico. We're both honestly loving it here, and the situation doesn't change that, but I am re-evaluating security. My wife and I went out to dinner and walked back to our hotel. We got inside our room, we're setting things down and all that, and a few minutes go by and there's a knock at the door. A man quietly says something in Spanish and an inflection that's clearly trying to get our attention. Think room service or something.

My wife looks at me wondering who would be at the door. And at this point, I should clarify that we had the Do Not Disturb tag on the door. A few seconds go by and there's a knock. My wife signals for me to go to the door so I go over. At this point, we've made no sounds for probably a minute. before and during the knocks. And just as I reach the door, the key card unlocks it, and it opens. A dirty-looking man is standing there, about two feet from my face. I put my hand on the door to prevent it from opening any further, and I think he was as surprised as I was. He starts speaking in

Spanish, and I hear the word Wi-Fi somewhere in there, and I say, no ablo Espanio. In broken English, he tries to ask if the Wi-Fi is down. My wife says, it's not. I'm just kind of shell-shocked by what just happened, and I keep my hand on the door as he talks and eventually leaves. I shut the door and engaged the physical lock this time. I usually do this, but we had just walked in and were setting our stuff down. I talk with my wife as we try to gather our thoughts about what had just happened. Essentially, a man knocked, got no reply, and then let himself in and asked about our Wi-Fi. No, this was a clear burglary attempt. He had a master key card and thought that we weren't home.

A minute or two after this went down, once we collected ourselves and understood what just occurred, I passed the information to the front desk in case this guy attempts other doors. They seemed to take it pretty seriously, but there were no updates beyond that. The fact that this just happened has my mind kind of blown, and I don't know if I fully processed it yet. Like, what if we were back 30 minutes later? Probably would have lost some stuff. Five minutes later, we walk in on a guy in our hotel room.

What if we'd gone to bed earlier tonight? We could have been asleep. The AC is loud and I don't know if I would have heard the knocking through my sleep. If it was going to go down, surely the way it did was optimal, but those ifs are crazy. I'll definitely be storing our valuables in the safe now. Should have done that already, but we just recently got here. Lesson learned, I guess. In the future, stuff is going immediately into the safe and the lock is going.

getting engaged right away. it here now, but it's been on my mind again, and I just need to get it out. At the time, I lived pretty far out in the country, just me and my dog, no close neighbors, and it was usually really quiet, and I liked it that way. One night, I woke up in the middle of the night to the motion sensor light going off outside. At first I thought it was just an animal, maybe a deer or something, but when I looked out the window, I saw a man standing at the end of my driveway. He wasn't moving, just standing there facing my home. I don't know why, but I froze.

I just stood there staring at him and he didn't move at all. The lights went off after a while and everything went back to dark and quiet, and I didn't sleep much after that. The next night, it happened again. The light came on and there he was. Same spot, same stillness, just standing there, staring at my home. By this point I was starting to get really freaked out, so I called the sheriff's department, and they sent someone to check it out, but by the time

they got there, this guy was already gone. The deputy told me that it was probably just some drunk guy or someone passing through and that I shouldn't worry unless he started coming closer. But that didn't make me feel any better, but I tried to move on. This went on for about a week. Every night, like clockwork, I'd wake up and see him standing there at the end of the driveway. And it was always the same. He never moved. Never. said anything. Just stood there staring in my house, and it got to the point where I started closing the blinds at night, but I still felt like I could feel him out there. And then, just like that, it stopped. I never saw him again after that week. With no explanation, no reason, it just

ended. I've never told anyone about this before. It's probably not that big a deal, but it's something that's obviously stuck with me. I guess I just needed to write it down. It was just past midnight, and my wife and I were in bed. She was asleep and I was watching TV trying to fall asleep. All of a sudden I heard a loud thud at the back door. Our master bedroom is at the front of the house. Then I heard a bunch of bumps all along the walkway on the side of the house, and meanwhile the dog was losing his mind.

They was pounding at the front door. I thought it might be the cops or some kind of emergencies, so I jumped out of bed and turned to the corner to the front door, only to see a girl, probably in her 20s, very small, yelling, Let me in, let me in, four men in a van. They're hunting me. and I'm just responding what the F is going on as she's pounding on the front door. I looked around and didn't see anyone.

I told her as much, but then my wife rounded the corner and said to let her in. The girl ran in with no shoes on, wearing muddied pajama pants. I told her to sit down and said that I'd check things out. As I was putting on pants, she starts yelling, They're right here, four men. They want to murder me. There's one aiming at me. They want to kill me.

But there was no one. She started running around our house, jumped on our bed and slammed our window shut, and then ran into the guest room, then the bathtub, and then the laundry room. At that point, I was losing my patience, so I told her, go to the couch and sit down. There's no one out there. If you live two blocks away, I'll drive you. And that was a big mistake. At this point, I realized that she was unhinged and probably experiencing some kind of neurological episode. I just wanted her out of the house, so I got the car while my wife brought her outside. I checked the mirrors, totally empty streets.

The girls started saying that they were crawling on my car, and I assured her that they weren't and asked for her address. 16th Avenue and 15th Street, she said. I told her that didn't exist in this neighborhood. She screamed and said they were coming. We hadn't even left yet. I told her again, no one was out there. I asked her for directions if it was close and I followed the rough two blocks that way she mentioned earlier.

She started spitting out wrong addresses and everywhere she said it should be it wasn't. And then she covered it up by saying that she was just trying to lose them, crawling around the back seat and checking out the windows. They're chasing us on scooters. I can see the gun, she yelled. And she shouted, go left, right, right, right, left. And of course, no one was there. I hit the brakes, and I turned her and said,

Sit your butt down and put on a seatbelt. And she protested, so I said that I wasn't driving until she did. And then she pointed to a really nice house and said, That one's mine. And it occurred to me. Maybe I was the one in danger. Maybe she was directing me somewhere to get jumped, so I told her, I'm not driving you anymore.

Where do you actually live, and where can I drop you off? And she said 7-Eleven, so that's where I went. It was just a couple of doors down from my house, and I told her to stay there and called the cops. I ran back home to see if we had any old shoes that she could take, and I assumed that she had taken some kind of weird drug. Five cop cars ended up combing the neighborhood for a while, and it was obviously her who had made all that ruckus. I hope she got herself figured out, but I left that to the cops. So this happened last night.

Around 3 a.m., my brother and I were woken up by loud banging and crying at our front door. We live in a rough neighborhood, so naturally my brother grabbed a shotgun, cocked it loudly, started yelling, it's 3 a.m. go away through the door. We were both tired as hell and freaked out. We'd recently had a girl from the neighborhood break into my car, so we assumed it might actually be her. I looked through the front door's window. We've got a one-way film on it and didn't see anyone else around. I crouched near the door and listened. It sounded like a young kid, completely hysterical begging us to help her call her mom. I told her I was calling 911 and that help was on the way. My brother, in full adrenaline mode, opened the door,

still holding a shotgun and started yelling at her to calm down. I didn't agree with his approach, but in all fairness, she had woken up about half the blocks with her screaming while she pressed up against our door. After he opened the door, I got to see her. Honestly, I was kind of hoping it was a homeless person from our area or even someone looking to do some weird stuff to us, but it was a kid. And the look in her eyes while she was kneeling at our doorstep made my heart drop. I was thinking that she was around 14, but she said someone had crashed into her car down the street, and she left her phone in the wreck so she couldn't call her mom. Things weren't really adding up as I asked her a few more questions. She kept begging me to go down the street with her,

but I told her no way. We're waiting for the cops. About 10 minutes later, three tow trucks drove by heading toward where we told 9-1-1 the crash happened, so I felt safe enough to walk with her down the street. On the way, she kept asking to hold my hand, and I'm just thinking, you look like a teenager, you're barely dressed, and I'm a grown man walking through a neighborhood you just woke up. Not a good look.

And I awkwardly asked how old she was. She said 18 and grabbed my hand anyway. I felt very uncomfortable, but her emotions were definitely outweighing mine at that time. And halfway there, the cops showed up. I flagged them down and explained the situation. Meanwhile, she kept telling the officers over and over that I have really bad ADHD and anxiety while handing me her eyelashes, a full set of false lashes.

I really didn't want to touch them, but I took them just to help her feel a little safer or whatever. And one of the cops pulled her aside and the others started casually asking me a few questions. He told me they got another call about 30 minutes earlier that a teenager had been running across someone's lawn barefoot, which, when I looked over, realized that she had been barefoot the whole time. Then I saw them cuff her. I think they suspected she was on something, which I myself thought as well. As we were wrapping up, the officers saw me still holding the eyelashes and goes, what are you going to do with those, bro? And I just told him I'll sleep on it. I just want to go back to bed. I headed home and started talking to one of the neighbors about it, and he assumed

it was her parents' house or something, so he didn't want to get involved in domestic drama. Makes sense, and I just assumed that's why no one else got involved. I couldn't really go back to sleep because I was shaken up and pretty annoyed about her, and I imagined it was a traumatic experience for her. I don't know if this was a justified reaction for her situation, or if she really was on drugs or mentally ill, but I would definitely be praying for her and her family. So I guess the wildest thing I've ever experienced happened last year, and I still don't know how to explain it without sounding like I'm making it up.

You see, it started with these little things going missing. I live alone in a pretty quiet neighborhood, so I figured that I was just being forgetful. A protein bar here, a sock there, whatever. And then my TV would be on a different input than I left it. Nothing huge, just enough to make me second-guess myself. The weirdest part, I'd hear these faint bumps in the ceiling sometimes, and I'd chalk it up to raccoons or something. My house is old, stuff creeks, but then one night,

I came home late from work and I could swear that I'd swear that I'd. I saw a shadow move past the vent opening in the hallway ceiling. I told myself I was tired, imagination, but I couldn't shake that feeling. So I set up one of those cheap motion sensor cameras that I bought off Amazon, pointed it straight at the attic access panel in the hallway. Two nights later, I get a notification at 2.17 a.m. motion detected. I opened the clip, and my stomach dropped. There was a person climbing down from the attic, like full-on, quietly stepping down the ladder,

looking around and heading into my kitchen. I froze. I was in the house at the time that clip was taken. I called the cops immediately, locked myself in my room with a bat, freaking out while they did a full sweep. They found no one at first, but when they checked the attic, there was a little setup up there. A sleeping bag, some snacks, a small camping stove, empty water bottles. Someone had clearly been living up there. The person was my neighbor's grown son, who apparently had some drug issues and got kicked out a while back. He broke in when I was on vacation a few months earlier and just

never left. He'd sneak down at night to grab some food or watch TV. He got arrested, and I moved out three weeks later. I still have trouble sleeping in total silence because now every creek makes me think someone's crawling around above me. Even though this happened almost 10 years ago, I've never been able to get it out of my head, so I thought I'd post here. I was about 11 or 12 years old living in an apartment with my mom. Right across from my apartment was a very creepy neighbor. I could write a whole book about all the creepy, wild, and downright insane things he said

and did during the two years he was our neighbor, but this is the one thing that stuck with me more than anything else. My mom and this neighbor were having a casual conversation. Her goal was to try to find some common ground with him and clear up any misunderstandings or miscommunications that may have led to him disliking us so much. He had a pretty blatant feeling of disdain towards us, I guess. But evidently, something went wrong during the conversation

because my mom suddenly came stomping into our apartment, loudly shutting the door and locking it. She was visibly upset and shaken, so I asked her what was wrong. Her voice was trembling, and she said the neighbor had said this, completely unprompted. You know, if I were you, I'd keep your daughter away from guys like me. Now, while I'll never know exactly what he meant by that, my mind definitely had plenty of ideas as to what that meant. At the very least, it felt like a thinly veiled threat, and the worst part was that I was often home alone, since I did online school when my mom was at work.

And from that point on, I never felt safe being home alone. My imagination ran wild, thinking about what he might end up doing to me while I was home alone. Now, I never thought that I'd say something like this, and I feel a little guilty about it, but thankfully, he ended up dying before he ever followed through on his creepy comment. Now, also, before anyone asked, my mom only told me what he said because she wanted to warn me to stay away from him and to never, ever leave the door unlocked. friends, thanks for listening. Don't forget to hit that follow button to be alerted of our weekly episodes every Tuesday at 1 p.m. 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.

Thank you.