The Lets Read Podcast - 329: I WITNESSED A MURDER IN THE WOODS | 11 TERRIFYING True Scary Stories / Rain Ambience | EP 314

Episode Date: January 13, 2026

This episode includes narrations of true creepy encounters submitted by normal folks just like yourself. Today you'll experience horrifying stories about Home Invasions & Trail Guide EncountersHAVE A STORY TO SUBMIT?[e-mail] ME ON -►YouTube - https://www.youtube.com/c/letsreadofficial► Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/letsread.official/♫ Music & Cover art: INEKThttps://www.youtube.com/@inektToday's episode is sponsored by:- Quince

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This happened to me in early 2024 and I'm still receiving counseling about it. So I'm a college student in my final year and at the time I rented a house with a couple of friends. We were away for spring break and our house got broken into. It was heartbreaking. A whole bunch of stuff was taken, a MacBook Air, our PlayStation and a bunch of cash that one of my roommates kept hidden under their mattress. Who knew people really did that these days? Thankfully, it was only a few hundred dollars. but still, that's a lot of money to broke-ass bitches like us.

I remember coming home buzzing but tired from the vacation and just staring in dismay at the door standing there, ajar. We went in carefully, probably should have called the cops first, and were just met with chaos. These thieves hadn't actually taken all that much, but they'd thrown everything around and made the biggest damn mess with books, food items, throwing the couch cushions around,

Thankfully, I kept my room lock, so I thought that they didn't bust in there. But one of my roommates, the one who kept the cash under her mattress, her stuff all got trashed. We spent that night in a motel, and then the next day began the long and upsetting task of cleaning up our life. My roommate's boyfriends and a couple of our friends all pitched into help. By the end of the day, things were almost back to normal, minus the shared laptop we kept in the living room, the PlayStation, a bunch of food we had to thrown out and things like that. From the next day, we were tasked with itemizing all the missing items. And at first it seemed like it was only a handful of things, which I've mentioned.

Then as time passed, we started noticing more missing items, an expensive crock pot that I'd brought from home, a photography book that we kept on the living room bookshelf, and disturbingly a framed photo of the three of us from spring break the year before this. I hated the idea of the thief having our photo, especially since we were posing in bikinis. And I've never wanted them to frame that and put it up in the first place. It just sort of felt weird having it on display. And this kind of made me start suspecting that what if the thief was someone who knew us?

And maybe I was reading too much into it. Maybe he'd just been some dirty purve who saw three college girls in bikinis and decided to stash it for the spank bank while he played on our stolen PlayStation. and the thought wouldn't leave me though, and it began to bother me more and more. I started pushing my roommates to keep checking if anything else was missing, smaller items that we wouldn't necessarily be able to claim on insurance, and could maybe give me a clue as to who had broken into my house. My roommates and the cops kept reminding me that there had been a bunch of burglaries,

and it was likely just an opportunistic thief, but I was really fixating on the idea of a stalker or being targeted somehow, My other roommate noticed that some of her clothes were missing, particularly a few items of underwear. She couldn't say for sure that they'd been stolen. She said that she might have left them on spring break. Not in that kind of way, just forgotten in the hotel. But I knew that she was just trying to make me feel better. They'd been stolen, just like the photo in our PlayStation.

The Money Mattress roommate then noticed that a couple of pieces of jewelry had gone missing. None of her clothes, though, they were all accounted for. I remarked that I was extremely grateful that the thief hadn't gotten into my stuff, which is when my roommates pointed out that the lock that I have on my door, even though you lock it from the inside, is possible to open and close from the outside with a screwdriver or something similar. I immediately began checking my things, because my room hadn't been disturbed and because nothing of value was obviously missing.

I hadn't even thought to check. Imagine my relief when I couldn't find anything missing at all. All my clothing, underwear, keepsakes, and even a pretty expensive necklace I'd inherited from my grandma. If the thief had gone in my room, he would have stolen that, obviously. I was lying in bed one night, struggling to sleep with paranoia, when I noticed something on my side dresser. I turned on the lamp, got out of bed, and went over to it. It was a pen, a cheap-looking ballpoint pen. Now, it was a bit of a nicer one, like the kind that you get in banks or something, and I picked it up, scribbled on a bit of paper, and it didn't work.

Strange, and I just shrugged and then threw it in the trash. Now, back in bed, thoughts were whirling around my head, and I continued to fail to sleep. Something about the pen just being on my dresser without me remembering it was bothering me. What if? No. It couldn't be could have. it? And I began studying my room, my photo board, my paintings, my computer, my shelf of plushies. There was a teddy bear sitting there among them that caught my eye.

I tried to think, when had I gotten that one? I didn't recognize it, and I was sure I didn't recognize it. Hiding under the cover as I reached out and snatched my nearby robe and then pulled it on under cover. Finally wrapped up, I climbed out of bed, hit the lights and went over to the teddy. It was an expensive-looking bear, and I definitely didn't remember buying it. Picking it up, I could feel something hard inside its body. Its glassy eyes stared at me, dead shark eyes and a cute little teddy bear. Was it my imagination, or could I see a little glint in the eye? I turned the bear over, and sure enough, there was a slit I could open. I reached in and felt a large, hard object. I tore it free from the bear, and once again, sure enough, it looked to be a spy cam.

I was horrified. I threw it face down and began to scour the room for other devices. And in total, I found the teddy, the pen, a smiley face badge, a plush snail, and then finally, hidden in my bathroom, a second spy cam pen. Of course, I freaked out. Even though it was the middle of the night, I called the cops and woke up my roommates. I was frantic, insisting that we checked my light switches, all the fixtures, and all that kind of stuff. Hey, I've seen plenty of spy movies and creeper-type stories. I'm pretty sure I know where they hide these types of things. They helped me dismantle everything while the cops bagged up what I had found.

We didn't find anything more, and I don't know if that made me feel better or worse. I couldn't shake the idea that there had to be more, but I'd never know. The cameras were broadcasting wirelessly, which meant that there was no actual way to tell what was receiving that signal. And I assumed law enforcement would be able to trace those things, but apparently the tech available, at least to civilian crime stuff, isn't that advanced. I'm sure they could probably have worked on it if the cameras had been planted in, say, the Pentagon, on, but it just wasn't worth the expense for some weird home invasion. And so in short, someone

broke into our apartment, made it look like a robbery, then planted spy cams in my room, which were left undiscovered for a few days. I tried not even to think about the amount of times I'd undressed or been in a vulnerable position in front of those cameras. If I do, it still makes me feel sick to my stomach. I could not stay in that room after that, and my room, and my roommates were paranoid that they'd been bugged too, even though we could never find any other cameras. We stayed with various friends and kept returning to that house to scour for cameras but never found anymore. And it really screwed with all of us, honestly, and I'd be lying if I said that we were over it. The absolute scariest thing to me is knowing that the spy cams left in her house were

fairly basic, cheap ones that you can find in Walmart or on Amazon. Why does that scare me? Because they don't broadcast very far. And this suggests that the culprit was nearby, maybe one of our neighbors. Maybe it just means that whoever put them there wasn't getting a signal, and I hope to God that was the case. But all I can picture is some creepy purve guy watching me changing from his living room next door and even sitting in a car outside our place. I've never felt safe since this happened, and I hope that one day I can finally get over it. Before I joined the park service, I used to work as a trail guide for a company based out of Groveland near eastern Yosemite. It was awesome work, and for the most part, all the memories I have of it are happy ones.

But there's one job I remember for all the wrong reasons. I was guiding a group of young corporate types up half dome and one of those team bonding exercises. A lot of jobs were kind of like that, especially around the holidays. We'd take them up to Little Yosemite Valley and then set them up for a night around the campfire, and then take him up half dome the next morning. This bunch, four men, and three women seem pretty average. Some were a little more comfortable than others being outdoors, but they didn't strike me as trouble.

But the next day, as we were taking a break coming back down half dome, we heard a scream. While the rest of us rested our legs and got some water, two of the men had gone off to take pictures of the view overlooking the valley. Maybe a minute or two later, we heard a gun, God-awful yell coming through the trees. Then one of the men came running back looking scared to death. He said his buddy was taking a picture near the edge of a cliff,

when he'd suddenly slipped and fell. I had an idea of how bad it was just from his expression, but when I got there, I saw it was way worse. The guy was lying at the bottom of a steep slope. Not quite a sheer fall-off type of cliff, but all the tumbling he'd done on the way down had left him in a really, bad way. He'd fallen maybe 200 feet down this slope. He wasn't moving, and he wasn't making any noise. I asked the group that I was guided and keep away from that slope, and to gather,

where we'd just been resting until I got back. I needed to run down the trail to find a gentler portion of slope to scramble down so I could administer first aid to that wounded man, and I needed them all safe and in one place so I could find them afterwards. Everyone agreed, except for the taller guy who'd seen the fall, as he insisted on helping in some way. He looked to be in decent shape and able to keep up, so we took off down the trail at jogging pace as I radioed for help from HQ. I remember as we were running, the tall guy kept asking me about the dude that had fallen saying stuff like,

Do you think he's dead? And I told him I had no idea. Some people survive some crazy falls, not always in one piece, but they still survive. And this seemed to reassure him a little. but not by much. As we kept running, I relayed a more detailed description of our location to HQ. My boss had been in touch with the park rangers who were sending out ATVs in a life flight.

I tried to describe where we were as best I could, but after that it became a case of trying to get the ATV's attention when they arrived in the area so they didn't roll past us and waste valuable minutes. The taller guy and I kept on running until we found a gentler slope we could get down, and then we made our way down to the bottom, careful not to trip and make our own selves casualties. At the bottom, we ran around back to where the guy had fallen, and when we got there,

we were greeted by what was probably the worst thing I'd ever seen on the job. That fallen man had multiple fractures, severe abrasions to his face and head, and he was completely unconscious. But after a quick check of his pulse, I found that he was actually still alive. I radioed HQ again and told my boss that somehow our guy was still around, and that was the good news. But the bad news was that the state of his injuries meant that he was probably quickly running out of time.

My boss said that he'd pass that on to the Rangers, and then after giving that injured man what little first aid we could, what came next was essentially just a waiting game. We had to stay put and hope either the ATVs or that life flight spotted us in time. It was tense, very tense, and the taller guy kept asking, is he dead? Can you hear us? And all that kind of stuff. He kept trying to talk to this guy saying, you're going to be okay, man. Just hang in there. I didn't think the injure man could hear him, but I wasn't about to interrupt him when he was essentially trying to make himself feel better. But then after, he started saying stuff like, he just tripped, man. There was nothing that could have done. and one second I was looking through my camera, and next he was just tumbling down that slope.

I tried my best to reassure him that accidents happen in the wilderness, and he kind of echoed that same point in the next thing he said, but there was something about the way he said it that just didn't sound right to me. And the thing he said was, it wasn't my fault. I know that makes sense for him to say something like that, and hearing it read out loud like that, it's probably not going to raise any red flags for you. But at the time, it sounded like he wasn't trying to reassure his buddy anymore. He was trying to reassure himself. I've seen some pretty

bad accidents and injuries during my time, everything from animal attacks to accidental shootings, and every single time I'm amazed by how selfless folks can be. They'll rip up their own shirts and use them as tourniquets or offer to carry the injured person from miles and miles without a break. What they want, what's good for their well-being, that isn't important anymore. Priorities have been totally rearranged, and it's all about the injured person, always. So when this guy started talking about himself, repeating how the injured man had suddenly slipped, and it totally wasn't his fault, I'm thinking, huh, this guy's a total douche. And that's legitimately all I was thinking, that the taller guy was some kind of self-centered a-hole,

and I didn't devote any more brain power to it because I had obviously more important things to worry about. I was 110% focused on the horizon. Eyes and ears peeled for any sign or sound of the ATVs or the helicopters, so I let the comments slide and carried on trying to do my job. The taller guy started freaking out again and asking me a whole bunch of questions. I told him to shut up and check the injured man's pulse. It was weak, but it was still there. I remember saying a silent prayer for someone to show up soon.

This sort of full-body sensation of like trying to force something into being. And then after a few more minutes of feeling my hope start to dwindle, I heard the sound of ATV engines getting louder and louder as they came round that mountain. Myself and that tall man started yelling and jumping up and down waving our arms, and then that's when they saw us. The guys on the ATVs came in fast with the same. the stretcher and some first aid. They not only had the gear to stop the injured man's bleeding, but they also had the GPS and the radios to tell that air ambulance exactly where it needed to land

so that they could get him on board as fast as possible. It was a terrible thing to happen, and all my sympathies were with that injured man, but those rangers were incredible to watch. They kept their heads cool while dealing with injuries so bad I could barely look at them, and then just as they were getting the injured man on their stretcher, we all heard the the sound of rotor blades booming above us as that air ambulance flew into view. It was like seeing an angel coming down from heaven. Not so much the sight of it, of course, but the feeling I got when I saw that crazy brave pilot suddenly pitch and turn the air above us. There were heroes in the truest sense of the word, putting their own bodies on the line just to save a few seconds because a

couple of seconds could be the difference between life and death. The helicopter landed not far from us, and then the two Rangers picked up the stretcher and then ran over to the thing as it set down but kept its blades spinning. The door swung open as the Rangers got close, and then two medics hopped out to help them haul the stretcher into the belly of that chopper. And after that, they hop back in before the Rangers backed off, and after the door slammed close, they took off and disappeared behind that mountain again. The Rangers ran back over to us as the sound of those Rotterblaze eventually faded, one of them asked where the rest of the group was. When we explained that we were further up the trail, they gave me and the tall guy a ride back up to them. Then slowly but

surely, they helped us all get back down the valley floor before we made our way back to camp. Looking back on it, I feel like I should have noticed sooner, but it wasn't until everyone was back at camp that I started to notice something about the tall guy. Every other member of the group seemed devastated, like truly heartbroken that something so terrible and random could have happened to them on what was supposed to be a fun team-building exercise. But the tall guy seemed almost, and how do you really even put this? Distant. He didn't seem to do any kind of grieving or hurting on his own.

He just walked around offering cold comfort like it was nothing but a chance to display leadership capabilities. It was strange. And he even repeated what he said about. it not being his fault. And then while reassuring everyone that there was nothing he could have done to stop it and how just witnessing the fall was traumatizing to him, it seemed like he was trying to divert a little of that sympathy onto himself. That time, instead of just thinking of what an asshole, I remember thinking, okay, now this is strange. Now, don't get me wrong, I understand that

seeing something like that is a terrible thing, and it has an awful effect on a person's mind. Maybe it's just something that you had to be there for. But take my word on the fact that something about the way the guy was behaving just didn't pass the smell test, so speak. It had a lot to do with something I'd heard that previous night, but I'll get to that point later on. Now, anyways, I waited with a group at the Valley Campsite till their ride showed up, and then I made my way back to headquarters to fill my boss in on everything crazy that had happened. I went through the whole thing with him, start to finish, and then when I was done, I told him what I'd been starting to suspect over the past couple of hours. I didn't think the injured man slipped.

I thought he was pushed, and I thought the taller guy was the one who did the pushing. It might sound cruel, but my boss was a veteran ex-ranger who was just about carved out of wood, and by that, I mean, he'd been there, done that, and gotten the t-shirt, too. He laughed when I told him what I thought, and then he jokingly asked if the taller guy had tried to finish the injured man off when we got to the bottom of the slope. When I told him no, that he helped me stem the bleeding and check his pulse, he told me, hmm, doesn't seem like a stone-cold killer, does he? But he didn't laugh after I told him what I'd heard that night before, and was the same thing that I told the cop who came to visit me a few weeks later. My boss gave me the heads up that someone was about to call, and when he told me it was the cops, I felt like every dark suspicion of mine had been confirmed at once. Two detectives stopped by to ask me a bunch of questions, and I didn't tell them outright because

I knew that they had their list of questions to ask me, but when it came to the question of me noticing anything suspicious during the night before the accident, I gave them both barrels. I told them how that previous night, the tall man and injured man went off to talk in private. I told them to stay close and to come back to the fire as soon as possible, but they didn't listen. And then after some time I decided to go look for them. I walked off the direction they'd gone and although I couldn't see him right away, I heard him loud and clear. They were trying to keep their voices down, but they were clearly having some kind of heated debate, and I don't want to say that they were yell whispering because that sounds kind of dumb,

but it clearly was loud. I got closer and closer, honing in on the sounds of their voices when I suddenly heard one of them say something along the lines of, oh, is that it? You'll me out of the way? Well, good luck, buddy. The other guy cut back in with this reassuring tone to his voice, but I didn't catch anything he said after I called out to them both to come back to camp, and they assured me that they'd return in a minute or two, which they did, and I put their discussion down to something to do with

business. It didn't occur to me that out of the way might mean physically out of the way, and not just sort of like fired or laid off. When I mentioned a thing about the out of the way argument, both the detectives stopped writing notes, and they sort of gave each other this sort of look. They didn't come out and say it, but I could tell that they had their own suspicions about the accidental fall. But what they did tell me, was how the injured guy was in a coma, meaning he wasn't talking to anybody anytime soon. It was a relief to hear that he'd survived,

but it sucked hearing that he hadn't all the way survived, you know. But that's why they were talking to me, instead of just asking the guy if he had really slipped or if he had been pushed. After thanking me for my time, I helped them out of the trailer and then call my boss to tell him everything that had been said. I guess it was a little, I told you so, moment,

because those guys were quite clearly about to launch some kind of attempted murder case. And although I don't know how it all panned out for them or if the injured man ever woke up from his coma, my mind's already made up. I think that not only was there an attempted murder during one of my guided hikes, but I got a front row seat to watch that psychopath try and worm his way out of it. So I got a bit of a weird one for you that happened to me in the fam quite a few years ago now. myself, my wife and my three kids decided we wanted to break from big city life just for a bit it was the mid-2010s and there was a big spike in crime in our city and things were just feeling

really oppressive and bleak we needed a pallet cleanser which is why we jumped at the opportunity when my buddy derrick offered us use of his hunting lodge over the thanksgiving week i'd been on hunting trips with derrick and the boys before but this would be something different just my family free use of Derek's excellent cabin and some quiet, chill, quality family time without any distractions or disturbances. The cabin was just off of a forest community near the base of Grand Teton. There's a small town nearby, then a 30-minute drive will take you to the cabins. My buddy's cabin is relatively isolated. Then there are a couple of neighbors on the other side of the medium lake nearby. Me and the family made the six-hour road trip to the cabin.

Our youngest is four, and she kept needing us to stop for breaks, so the journey was a little stressful. But by the time we arrived, it was taking everything in my wife and I's power to keep the kids from killing each other. It wasn't the first time they'd visited the cabin, so as soon as we pulled up, the kids spilled out of the car and darted onto the porch, throwing the front door the cabin open. I was climbing out of our Ford when I saw my eldest, Lisa, she's 10, freeze in the entrance, and then come running back to us. Her face was a look of absolute embarrassment. Daddy, she said, breathless.

Then when she finished telling me what she'd seen, I had to ask her to repeat herself. And in short, there was someone already in the cabin. I had no idea what was going on, so I sprinted up the stairs and burst into that place. My youngest daughter, who's four and our middle son, who's eight, were standing there, I rose into the spot.

My son is autistic and not the best with strangers, and my four-year-old was, well, four, so I don't blame them for not knowing how to handle the situation. A guy was sitting on the couch in the center of the hunting cabin's open living room reclined back in his boxers. He was holding a beer, and even though it was only mid-afternoon, I could see a bunch of other empty bottles littering the ground. I asked him what the hell he was doing in there, and I admit, that I may have been a little aggressive, but only because Lisa had seemed so bothered by the guy. She thought he'd been, well, touching himself when she burst in, which obviously filled me with rage. The guy springs up from the couch and held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. Now, I've been ready for a fight, but this thin, wiry guy didn't look like much of a threat.

Then he smiled and laughed and seemed to catch his breath. He said his name, was Blake and told me his last name as well. And long story short, he explained that he was a buddy of Derek's from high school. Derek had told him that the cabin would be free over Thanksgiving, and since he was going through a messy and very painful divorce, he was welcome to stay over the holiday to clear his mind. And then we had a good laugh about this because it was so completely Derek. We called him the bubblehead blonde. He was what the kids today call a hymbo. Everything made total sense. Blake even seemed like a real nice guy, and I was beginning to wonder how we'd rectify the situation, though, when Blake said he'd happily move on. He lived an hour or so away, so it was only a small

hop skip and a jump to the cabin, and he didn't want to put the kibosh on a family vacation. The polite part of me wanted to offer to let him stay, but the hunting cabin didn't exactly have many bedrooms and our kids needed their own space, especially my son James, who as I mentioned, is autistic and takes time to adjust in new situations. Grateful, I took Blake up on his offer. He asked if it could be possible for us to give him a couple of hours so he could wash up, pack up, and actually head out. And it seemed reasonable to me. The local town was only about a 20-minute drive away, and there was no cell reception at the cabin, so I figured that I'd drive there and call up Derek let him know how the chaos had all gone down.

Me and the family piled back into the car, wished Blake well, and drove down the winding trail to the village. Once we were there, we headed into the general store, bought a few snacks, and treated the kids to some ice cream, and then I called up Derek. I didn't outright tell him that he double-booked us. I decided to mention his friend Blake and sort of let him figure it out. And when I did, what Derek said caused a shiver to run down.

my spine. I'll never forget it, word for word. He said, quote, Blake? That prick? That guy who used to bully me in high school? I heard he was busted on drugs charges. I think at first I thought Derek was pranking me because I grilled him on it and told him that a guy called Blake had been at the cabin. Derek began to get more and more frantic with me when I was skeptical, eventually yelling at me to listen and take him seriously. And that snapped me out of whatever doubts I might have had. Derek never yelled, and he never got mad. He told me to return to the cabin with the cops, and to have my wife and kids stay in town for now. He even offered to Venmo me the money for a motel for all of us, but I told him not to worry. And then he called his buddy at the

sheriff's department and had him and an officer meet me on the outskirts of town and take a ride back to the cabin in that cruiser. And when we got there, the front door was hanging wide open. The place had been utterly trashed, completely and totally ruined. The TV was smashed. All the various glasses were in pieces on the floor. The couch was shredded with what seemed to be a knife. The deputy and the officer made me wait outside at first while they checked the place,

but I soon followed them in, hot-blooded and angry. Swear words had been spray-painted on the wall of the master bedroom. And based on the fact that the paint was dry, and the extent to some of the damage, law enforcement figured that the vandalism must have started long before my family and I arrived at the cabin. I guess Blake had been planning a little payback against Derek for some time, and we just sort of interrupted him. Why? It was hard to tell. Like Derek said, Blake had bullied him in high school and eventually been expelled for it among many, many other things. He then went down a very dark path of drug manufacturing,

apparently running a meth lab in a trailer park somewhere, but he'd been released on some type of technicality after that, and instead of him trying to turn his life around, he'd gotten hooked on the meth himself and decided to go on an all-out tour of vengeance and destruction. I have no idea if Derek's cabin was his first stop, but he'd certainly been filled with that enthusiasm. When I saw what he'd left in the bathroom,

I had to cover my mouth and step outside. What a disgusting individual. And it made me furious to know that this chuckle effort had met my family. He'd spoken to us, smiled with us, laughed with us, all the while knowing that he was there for violence. I was just thinking how infinitely grateful I was that he decided to trash the place and leave. When I heard a creak from the ceiling above us.

And then a bunch of coughing, more creeks, and more coughing. There was an attic crawl space in the cabin, and it was apparent to myself in the two cops that something, or someone, was up there. I showed them where the hatch was that led to that crawl space. The deputy pulled it open, and a ladder unfolded. A head peaked out. He was covered in dust and filth, but I recognized Blake immediately.

And thankfully, he handed himself over. He was too drunk and high to resist, and that stifling air in the cabin attic had started to trigger his asthma of all things, and he was brought down and taken into the cop car in handcuffs. By now, a handful more of cops had arrived, and Derek's buddy deputy drove me back into town while other officers secured the scene. Thankfully, I didn't have to share a ride with Blake. My wife and kids and I didn't stay in the cabin over Thanksgiving after all. I booked us into a nice little hotel in town, and we got to experience the place Derek had grown up. He had to come up to assess the damage, so he brought his wife and stepdaughter, who is my youngest daughter's best pal, and we made a good week of it after all.

Derek was surprisingly unfazed by the cabin invasion and damage, but I guess that's Derek for you. The most chilling aspect of all of this was what they found in the guest bedroom. Blake had come equipped with rope, duct tape, a hatchet, and a handgun. It turned out he did have a license for that gun, and we have no way of knowing what he intended to do with those things, or if he did actually have nefarious intent. But knowing an unhinged guy like that had been lurking in my family's vacation cabin ready to snap at any time,

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Refresh your winter wardrobe with Quince. Go to quince.com slash read for free shipping on your order in 365-day returns, now available in Canada, too. That's Q-U-I-N-C-E.com slash read. Free shipping and 365-day returns, quince.com slash read. Okay, I guess this is kind of two stories for the price of one, but the first one is kind of an explainer that's also kind of upsetting, so I'll just breeze through it to get to the stuff that actually matters. And for the record, I'm a woman, and I was still a 20-year-old college student when this happened to me. I used to work as a trail guide way down south,

taking folks out into nature reserves to make sure that they see all they want to see without getting themselves lost. One day I was out walking my dog down one of the trails when I heard a gunshot. My dog and I went to investigate because hunting is super not legal in that nature reserve, and that's how we found ourselves a poacher

doing something despicable to an innocent animal. And I ran back to my cabin, called the rangers, and then within just a couple of hours, the guy was actually in cuffs. And it felt like an incredible achievement, knowing that we'd help put someone who threaten the animals behind bars. But one of my fellow guides seemed a little less enthusiastic about it than the rest. I figured that she was maybe a little jealous or something like that, and now I know otherwise. Regardless, I rode that wave of good feeling for about a week or two, but after a while, everything went back to normal, and it kind of faded into the background.

Six weeks after the poaching arrest, I got a guiding job for a solo hiker. We mostly dealt with groups of people, be it families or classes of middle school kids, but requests for solo guides weren't entirely unusual. Some folks wanted to go hiking. They just didn't have anyone to go with, and that was one of our company's selling points. We'd get the odd older gentleman coming in to book a guide because he wanted to go. wanted to go visit a trail he'd visited during his younger years, and at the same time, those could be the easiest and the most rewarding assignments of all. The pace wasn't too hard, and seeing how

happy they were when you arrived at a certain creek, valley, or waterfall, it was priceless. And that's why I didn't hesitate when I saw the single name appear on my schedule for the week. Mr. Cliff was all that read. And when I asked what reason he'd given for requesting a guide, I was told he was a gentleman in his 50s, scouting locations for a photography project he was planning. I thought that sounded really cool. And when Mr. Cliff arrived on the day of the hike, he was just as nice as I expected. He was a widower with grown-up kids who picked up photography as a way of occupying himself. He lived locally, but since he wasn't as spry as he used to be and didn't know the trails, he figured it wouldn't hurt to pay for a trail guide so he can enjoy a little

company during his walk. We worked out a route at the office, one that'd take around four hours there and back, and then we hit the trails at around 11 a.m. He said Cliff was his first name and that he'd worked as a trucker for most of his adult life, and to a work-related injury just put him on workers' comp. That was the reason he wasn't as mobile as he used to be, and why his kids thought it'd be safer for him to enlist the help of a trail guide. He was great company too and asked me a bunch of questions about my life and the plans I had for it. He apologized for all the questions at one point, saying that he didn't get to talk to people much anymore, not since he retired and his kids moved out of town. I told him it was no problem at all, and I was grateful

to be guiding such a friendly conversationalist. He gave me this big, warm smile, and we kept on walking. We talked about photography for a while, and he sounded really passionate about it, and then at around an hour and 30 into the hike, just as we were reaching the destination we picked out, I started asking more questions about him. I'd asked him a couple of pretty basic things upon being introduced, but since he was a widower, I didn't want to probe too much into his family

because of how upsetting it might be for him. But then, as we got into the subject of family, and after explaining my own, was a mix of Irish and Puerto Rican, I asked where his family was from. And I'll never forget how he smiled, as I look back at him and how he said, I was hoping this might come up. Then he explained that since it was such a long story, we'd better wait until we got to the top of the rise that we were heading up so we could both get comfortable.

I had no reason to suspect that I was in for anything but a good story and a well-deserved rest, but when we got to the top and we caught our breath, things took a nasty turn. The whole hike, Cliff had been sweet as pie, and every word he'd said had had. a sort of cheeriness about it. But as he started to tell me all about his family, his tone of voice slowly shifted until he barely even sounded like the same person anymore. He explained that his family had been some of the first colonists to arrive in what later became known as the Georgia colony, and that they'd lived in the area for almost 300 years. He said not all families could say that because not all of them lasted that long.

But he and his had faced down the natives, the British, then the Union and the federal government, all one after the other, and they were still there to tell their story. I remember saying, well, that's amazing. I understand why you guys are so proud. I had no reason to think that he'd react any other way, but, well, to what was intended as a compliment.

And yet somehow Cliff seemed to be. to take issue with that. He told me, I don't think you do understand, but you will. And then he launched back into a story about what his family had done to survive. He said when the natives tried running them out of their homes, they learned how to fight. Then when the British tried starving them out, they learned to live off the land, just like the natives had done before. When the union took everything of value, they found other ways to make their money, and since folks were always going to need meat for their pots and furs to keep warm in the wintertime, hunting and trapping became their way of keeping food on the table when times were at their hardest. They later

brewed moonshine during Prohibition, but when the price fell after Prohibition was rescinded, they didn't mind, he said, because they still had their oldest, the most faithful way of winning their daily bread, by working the land that God Almighty had given them. I might have been very naive back then, but I wasn't stupid. All that mention of living off the land and the hunting, trapping, and skinning his family had done to make money. All that had me thinking of one thing, that he was going to be killing animals on the land. And when I thought of illegal hunting, I thought of that guy that I'd found six weeks prior, the one we'd reported and had arrested after I caught him hunting on the reserve. All that came to mind, all right, but I guess I was still too young and naive to really piece together.

what I was hearing until was far too late to do anything about it. Cliff pointed off into the distance, toward a hill maybe a mile or two away, and then asked if I knew the name of it. I turned and looked at it for a moment, but as much as I liked to think that I knew the land, I didn't know the hill's name, so I asked Cliff what it was called. He said it had been called many things over the years,

but his family had always called it home. Everything they could see from the top of the hill that counted as home too, and although many had tried, no one had ever been able to stop living the only way that they knew how. Not the British, not the Union, and not some stuck-up Yankee college kid who thought that she ought to tell others how to live. I turned to defend myself, verbally, of course, and that's when I saw the handgun Cliff was holding. And panic hit me, and my first instinct was to run, but when Cliff raised the gun at me and told me to stop, it was like he'd cast some spell on me or something. My legs just stopped, even though I wanted to keep running like hell.

And when Cliff told me to kneel, it was like my knees buckled upon command. I remember sobbing, like really sobbing and saying, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please don't kill me. I didn't know over and over because I'd realized who Cliff, definitely not his real name, really was. and the poacher I'd reported hadn't been some lone hunter, straying out of bounds to cheat the system a little. He was part of some organized poaching racket, and Cliff was one of his partners. I remember how in the middle of all that begging and sobbing and listening to metal sounds of the gun being loaded, I remembered my co-worker's muted reaction to the poacher being arrested during the previous month. She knew what was going to happen, and that's why she couldn't be happy for me.

me, but she was still too scared to warn me. Had she gotten a similar warning before, one that she'd kept quiet about, or had she just heard stories? I'd never find out. I quit the company the day after this whole thing happened, but up on that hill, I didn't think that I'd live to see that next day come at all. Cliff walked up behind me as I kept on begging and pleading, and then I felt and pushed the gun onto the back of my head before I heard a loud click. I stopped sobbing, held my breath, and I felt my whole body seize up as each one of my final thoughts seemed to be of my mom. I heard Cliff behind me say, this is what we do to folks like you around here. But then instead of a bang when he pulled the trigger, instead of everything going black,

I heard another metal click at the back of my head before Cliff took the tip of the gun off the back of my scalp. I peed myself. I'm still kind of embarrassed to say it, but it's the truth. I heard that click, and it was like a full body release. But it was only yellow, no brown. But I was so terrified of death in that moment that even when it didn't come, I still peed my pants. I think there's probably an exact medical term for what happened to me in the moments after, as I heard Cliff laughing at how scared I was.

I don't want to say it was catatonia because I could still see and hear everything okay. I just couldn't move. I could breathe all right, but after curling up into a ball, I just laid there, taking shallow breaths and waiting for the end to come. I didn't quite realize what he'd done yet, as in like performing a mock execution on me. I thought maybe his gun had jammed or something and the shot was coming any second. But then Cliff spoke. He told me his paw had said not to kill me, as that had bring even more trouble down on them, whoever them was.

But he was to make it very clear that if I reported any more poaching or trapping in the areas they called home, they wouldn't be playing pretend anymore. They'd be playing for real. And after that final warning, the man who said his name was Cliff left me lying there in the dirt, and I didn't get back to the office for hours and hours because I was way too short. shaken to drive at first. We called the cops. They searched the area and put out an APB, but no one was ever found. The cops told us they offered a reduced sentence to the guy who was caught poaching, saying they'd chop his jail time in half if he just gave them a name, but he was just stonewalling them

and said that he didn't know what they were talking about. I'd like to be able to say that I went back to the trails, but unfortunately, that incident marked the end of my guiding days. for good, and I moved back to Michigan once I graduated. I'm a woman in my 20s, and this happened to me a few years ago, and it still gives me chills to think about. It's kind of ridiculous, and I can look back on it with friends and laugh now, but it was absolutely heart-wrenching at the time. It started when I was walking home from work one summer evening. My car was in the shop, and I didn't want to take the bus, because I can't stand the smells. It's kind of a running joke with my loved ones. I have an incredibly sensitive nose and I get bothered by smells pretty easily.

And that's why I first became alerted to the guy following me. I could smell the strong scent of dead fish. At this point I'd walked a couple of blocks and this foul lingering scent was persistent. At first I assumed it was the area. I lived in the coastal town where fishing is a core aspect of our commerce, so the smells associated with fishing aren't uncommon. They weren't usually around my area of the town though, because why would I choose to live in an area that stank of fish when I have a sensitive nose? So it was a bit unusual for it to wreak this bad, and that's when I wondered if it was someone, not some thing, who was serving as that source of the smell.

Since I was alone, I didn't want to attract anyone's attention, so I ducked into a nearby alcove and pretended to check my phone while scanning my surroundings. There was a man, about 30 feet behind me. He caught my eye because he was stumbling along, not drunk as such, but almost like he had a limp. And then when I stopped, he quickly found a reason to stop too, pausing at a bench to tie his shoelace. I'm not normally the type of person to assume I'm the center of attention, but it was so obvious to me that this guy was following me, and so I tested it out. moving along the street some and then stopping to check my phone.

And sure enough, every time I stopped, he would stop too. A few more times than I was certain. This guy was following me. He kind of looked disheveled and I noticed he was wearing a waterproof fishing coat, even though it was a very warm day. He had a scraggly black beard, a beanie cap, and he was carrying a huge brown fabric bag. I could see wetness soaking through the bottom of that bag, and I figured that was where the smell of the fish was coming from.

And it seemed like he had his catch for the day, and maybe he wanted to add me to the net. Gross. I was only a block or two from home now, and so I hurried, and there was this panic building up inside me about what I'd do when I got home. There was nowhere else nearby that I could go, which meant that he'd see the apartment where I lived. Not much I can do, I figured. Either I hung around and he potentially caught me, or I darted inside my three-story apartment and locked the front door behind me. And so that's what I did. And then I watched the front window, hidden out of sight, while the guy kind of lingered outside for a while before scurrying off.

He looked lost and confused, and I wondered if maybe I'd been imagining it after all, or there had been some innocuous explanation for the following. Regardless, I informed the building superintendent who I got along with pretty well about my concerns. And he assured me that there was no way any weird men stinking of fish were getting into the apartments. Relieved, I went upstairs to my second floor apartment and forgot all about the incident. I didn't see the guy again for a few days. It had mostly drifted to the back my mind, but my car was still in the shop, so whenever I walked home from work, I did keep an eye out for any strange men following me.

I was home free, or so I thought. It was around 1.30 a.m. when I woke up, startled. You see, I live alone. No roommates, no pets, nothing. I'm usually a heavy sleeper, so when I snapped awake, I figured something must have alerted me. I could just kind of feel a sense of wrongness and unease in the air. You know when you'd enter a house as a kid and you could just tell if someone is or isn't home? It felt like that. But of course, nobody was supposed to be here.

And I strained my ears to listen. Nothing. All was quiet, but then I smelled it. Something fishy. Literally, that is the unmistakable, strong smell of dead fish wafting through my apartment. Of course, my... mind immediately went back to my stalker, a label that I'd just given him even though I'd only seen him that one time. Maybe deep down some part of me knew that he would be back. And I listened,

trying to make out any noise over the sound of my own panicked breathing. A clatter sounded from the living room, and then a sort of muttered voice. Yeah, it definitely wasn't my imagination. Someone was in my damn apartment. Ever since the guy had followed me home, I'd been thinking about this eventuality. I didn't own a gun back then, something I've since rectified, but I did have my brother's baseball bat. He'd given it to me when I'd moved down to the coast, mostly as a joke, but told me to keep it on hand to protect myself.

I'd quickly moved in, put it in the closet, and forgotten about it. but I had been sleeping with the bat beside my bed ever since the guy followed me home. I grabbed the bat now and crept into the living room in my t-shirt and shorts. As soon as I left the room, I saw how the intruder had gotten in. The front door was busted open. We later found out that the wood must have been rotted around the latch or something because he'd seemingly used some kind of tool to crack it open. No wonder I'd woken up.

The man of the moment was standing in my living room, right there in the darkness. He wasn't moving. He was still holding that damn bag, and as I crept closer, the stink of rancid fish grew stronger. It suddenly struck me that I had no idea what I was going to do. My phone was charging in the kitchen, which opened onto the living room on the other side of fish intruder. I couldn't call the cops without going through him, and from the way he was swaying on that spot, he seemed to be a little bit of the other side of a fish intruder. I couldn't call the cops without going through him. drunk or high or something. But from what I could remember of him in the daylight of the previous week, he'd been fairly well built. Definitely strong enough to cause me some serious harm if he chose to,

even if I was armed with a baseball bat. I really didn't like the idea of head-to-head confrontation with this dude. And that's why I was so relieved, if not a bit surprised, when he suddenly collapsed to the ground. Well, he didn't collapse really. It was like, you know how little kids suddenly just sit down out of nowhere? It was like that. He just sort of dropped to the ground in a sitting position, froze there for a moment, and then began rummaging through his bag of dead fish.

If the smell had been bad before, it was terrible now. The foul, rotting stench of seafood wafted up and out of that bag. causing me to gag. I remember stifling my breath and crept out of the outskirts of the room, but my eyes were glued to the man the entire time. He was fascinated by whatever deceased, rancid fish he was digging through. I caught my hip on the side table and almost knocked over a lamp. Freezing, I checked to see if the guy had heard me, but he hadn't. I swallowed, darted for the kitchen, grabbed the phone off the counter and ran straight to the door. to the bathroom. It was the only other door in the apartment with a lock. Seeing as how the guy

had smashed his way through the front door, I didn't have much confidence in the flimsy lock that sealed the door, so I called 911 as quickly as I could. The operator asked me what was going on, and I told her, and then got transferred to dispatch, and they got me to stay on the line while the cops double-timed it over to my place. While I waited, I could hear footsteps from my apartment. It was too soon for it to be the cops. Plus, they hadn't announced themselves, so I knew the guy was on the move. Part of me wanted him to leave, and part of me wanted to be sure that the cops actually caught him. I whispered at the phone what was going on, and the operator told me to stay put.

Under no circumstances should I leave the bathroom, and the cops would be there shortly. I heard a crash from the apartment, and later I'd found out that it was the same lamp that I had almost knocked over myself. The guy had also bumped into that table, wandering around. It was silent for a moment in the apartment, and then I heard a creek right outside the bathroom door. This was followed by another burst of that dead fish stench, and I think I started crying at this point telling the operator he was right outside the bathroom door. I had no idea what he might do to me or what he even had in mind. And it felt like hours later, but it must have only been a matter of minutes. I heard shouting, the voices of cops, then a scuffle. I yelled out, and a cop called back to me saying to stay put,

and then the sound of something breaking, more banging, and footsteps leaving the apartment. There was a knock on the bathroom door, and the gentle, welcoming voice of a female officer told me it was safe to come out. My hands were shaking, and I unlocked the door and stepped out. I was surprised that that fish man hadn't caught. much more damage. The lamp was laying there broken on the hallway floor, and for some reason he'd also removed a framed movie poster I had on the wall and smashed the glass. To cut a long aftermath short, it turned out that the guy was a local fisherman who'd apparently fallen on hard times. It was kind of a tragic story. He'd lost his business, then his family, then his sobriety, and then, I guess his sanity. This wasn't the first.

time he'd been in trouble with the law, but it was the first time he'd broken into someone's home. We have no idea what he intended to do with me, if anything, and frankly, I prefer not to know. Also unexplained is why he was carrying around a bag of dead fish, other than the fact that it was something that he was known to do. His fish transporting days were over, though. The guy was incarcerated in a psychiatric hospital, and to my knowledge, is still receiving the much-required treatment he needs. And I honestly wish him no ill-will, and it could have been a lot worse. That doesn't change the fact that he did still break into my apartment, though, and he clearly had something in mind by doing so. He'd definitely followed me home that one day, and then returned

a few days later, which suggests a degree of intent. I make myself feel better by reminding myself that the mental illness, alcohol, and whatever drugs he'd used, cooked his brain to a point that it blitzed all of his mental faculties. I couldn't stay in that apartment for long after that, though. Thankfully, the landlord let me out of my lease early, and I moved right over to the other side of town. I don't think that I could have tolerated staying in that place because, for one thing,

I could never get rid of that lingering smell of dead fish. I've got a pretty traumatic story to share from a couple of years. years back when I was 21 and still in college. Since we're both outdoorsy, my friend Jaded and I decided to go hiking in the Cascades one weekend, and we thought it'd be fun to hit the trails and take in the views. So we meet Warren on the trail, and he's this good-looking dude probably in his early 30s and has super friendly vibes. He also said that he was a professor at Evergreen State University and knew the cascades like the back of his hand. We chatted for a few minutes, and he offered to show us around this cool spot that he knew of. He seemed legit, clean cut, confident, the kind of guy

you'd trust. And so we both think, sure, why not? We follow him to this nearby beauty spot, and it's honestly gorgeous, like literally perfect to take some pictures. Warren's easy to talk to. He's cracking little jokes and pointing out random plants to give us facts about. And it was like he was giving us a private tour, and at first it felt like we lucked out meeting him. After maybe an hour or two, Warren offers to walk us back to our car at the trailhead. Me and Jada figure it was about time to call it quits, so we took him up on his offer. The weather was still great, and we're still talking back and forth with Warren, so we're moving at a leisurely pace while enjoying the last trail of the day when Warren suddenly makes a suggestion.

He says, wait a second. By my calculation, if we just hike through this section of trees here, it'll take it'll take us to the trailhead without having to loop around. Or he said something along those lines, and we trusted them, so we figured, cool, shorter walk sounds good. We started heading off the main trail in the trees, and I figured it'd only be a few minutes of walking or whatever before we started to see signs of life. But to me and Jada, it kind of looked like he was leading us deeper into the woods. It got real quiet, and Warren kept trying to keep the conversation going, but but Jada in particular got very quiet too, and she's only that quiet when she's nervous.

When she started lagging behind, I glanced back and saw her shake her head at me, signaling that she didn't want to continue. I knew exactly what she was talking about, so I told Warren that me and Jada weren't so sure about this shortcut and wanted to head back toward the trail. Warren turned around, and at first he just smiled. And he says, Oh, come on. It's just a shortcut. I've been here dozens of times. His voice was still friendly, but it had this weird edge to it, like he was forcing the friendliness now.

Jada shook her head and then backed up by saying she wanted to go back too, not just me. Warren kept on smiling, but his eyes narrowed over a little as he looked at us. He told us we were being silly, there was nothing to worry about, but Jada wasn't backing down. She said she wasn't taking another step into those woods, and not a thing he could say could convince her otherwise. And that's when he started to get mean. He responds by saying, Oh my God, what's wrong with you? I said it's fine.

He tried to smile at us after, but we heard the aggression in his voice when he asked Jada what was wrong with her. And that was the mask-off moment for us. I grabbed Jada's arm, and then we turned and turned and, started quickly walking back toward the trail we'd just been on, but then seconds later, I heard it, fast and heavy footsteps crunching up behind us. Warren yelled, Where do you think you're going? And we sped up, almost jogging then, but he was faster. Suddenly I heard Jada let out this yelp of panic, and I felt this horrible chill go through me. I spun around just in time to see Warren's hand clamped around Jada's arm before he,

yanked her back so hard she stumbled. She screamed at him to let go as she tried to wrestle herself free, but Warren was too strong. The look on his face was totally different, too, nothing like the charming guy we'd been laughing with just an hour before. He screamed at us, you're not leaving. Then the next thing, he shoves Jada to the ground so hard it sounded like it knocked the wind out of her. She sprawled in the dirt for a second.

and then started scrabbling for a grip as she tried to push herself to get away from Warren. I froze for a split second, my mind going 200 miles an hour thinking, what the hell's going on? Is this really happening? But it was, and I needed to do something to stop it. I remember seeing Warren just looming over Jada with his fist clenched and his chest heaving, looking like he was about to jump again. And then a thought hit me right between the eyes. I unzipped my fanny pack, fumble past my keys and sunscreen, and then grabbed hold of a cold metal

canister of pepper spray. I then yanked it out, pointed it at Warren, and then yelled at him to back off. My voice shook so badly I barely recognized it, and at first when he turned around, he just laughed as almost mocking, sounding cackle at me. He took a step towards me, staring me right in the eye, and dared me to use it. He didn't have to ask. He didn't have to asked me twice. I pressed the button, unleashing a stream of pepper spray that hit him square in the face. He screeched so loud and crazily from the pain that it sounded like an animal, and then he backed off rubbing his eyes and face. The pepper spray worked, but the breeze hit us too. Some of the spray blew back in a stinging mist that hit my eyes and nose like fire. I choked, tears were forming

in my eyes, and Jada got some too. as she got up and ran towards me and was pressing her hand to her eyes as she yelled at me to run. We knew that that was our chance, and so we bolted through the woods even though we were both half-blind. I remember branches whipping at my face and snagging at my hair, but neither of us were about to stop for anything. Because behind us, we could still hear Warren's screaming stuff like, run, bitches, I'll catch you anyway. I'm not joking. And we ran to our lungs burned and our legs were screaming. screaming, and we kept going until we finally burst out on that main trail.

But I was so relieved I almost collapsed against a tree. Gasping for airs, my eyes still streamed from the stray pepper spray. But even then, we didn't stop to catch our breath for long. We kept on going back to the car where my hands were shaking so bad I could barely get the key into the ignition. Jada was frantically looking out for Warren and later told me that she was terrified of seeing him crashing through the bushes before he attacked the car. I managed to start the car, then we got the hell out of there.

My eyes were still burning from the pepper spray, but I didn't care. Getting out of there was the only thing that mattered. As soon as we hit a spot with cell service, I pulled over and Jada called 911. She spilled everything while I sat there in silence staring out the window with eyes that were still sore from that pepper spray. I couldn't hear exactly what the dispatcher said, but she sounded constantly. and kept Jada on the line until the cop showed up. We gave our statements, still in shock,

and then the cops said that they'd do everything they could to bring Warren in. We told them about his job at Evergreen State, too, but they later called back saying that there was no such professor who was employed at that college, and that there were two students named Warren, but neither matched our description. In looking back, it's insane how fast our fun little hike turned into a complete and utter nightmare.

I still think about sometimes, and the thought of how he went from charming to terrifying in a heartbeat, and how close we came to something worse, it sent chills through me. I'm so glad we got out and that we're both okay, but it also taught me to trust my gut and that if something feels off, even just a little, it probably is. Be careful out there, especially hiking or in places where it's just you and some rando, and carry pepper spray if you can. You never know. when it will save your life.

So a while ago, I met this amazing girl on Tinder. We clicked really well over chat and met up for a few dates. She was perfect, sweet, lovely, had a great sense of humor, and was pretty hot to boot. Can you tell that I regret how things went with her? Now, I'll warn you up front. This is one of the most shameful stories of my life, and I still feel really bad about it, even though it must have been nearly seven years ago now. After a few dates, the girl, I'll just call her Kara,

shyly asked me if I'd like to stay over at her place after we'd been out to dinner in the movies. Of course, I said yes. We had a great night, a great meal, and I don't remember what movie we saw, but I remember enjoying it. Back at Kara's place, it was pretty obvious that this was our night to get physical.

We'd only held hands and kissed a bit previously, but that night we got straight to it, so to speak. Now, I won't go into gritty details, especially because of what happened next, but it was one of the best nights in my life. It makes it all the more bitter sweet with what came after. Eventually, we fell asleep in each other's arms in her bed and slept for a few hours. I woke up to the sound of breaking glass and two figures bursting into the room. I was stunned and had no idea how to react. It was all sort of a blur.

They man-handled me out of the bed and dragged me into the living room. I wish I could say that my first reaction was to try and protect Kara, but mostly I was just so scared that all I could do was flail and yell like an idiot. One of them had a knife, and the other had some kind of baton. I didn't feel like testing whether they'd use either. They tied me to a dining chair, and then they went and got Kara. When they brought her out, the two hooded-mast figures were a lot more dangerous. gentle with her, I noticed. Now, I should note, I am a naturally suspicious person. I tend to

overthink everything and maybe back myself into a corner because of it. Now, I will be the first to admit that this is not a nice trait, and this story is intended to be a cautionary tale about being like me. Don't approach everyone with suspicion. It will come back to bite you in the ass. Now, with that aside, back in the living room, the two masked men, and I could tell from their voices that they were dudes were rummaging through my overnight bag. They took my expensive watch from the bedroom and dangled it in front of me, asking if it was real or fake. I told them it was fake. They didn't believe me, and into their bag it went. Then they forced me to unlock my phone. They did this by threatening to hurt Kara in very unspecified ways. Again, I kept noticing that they

were actually pretty gentle with her, and I don't know why that just kept sticking in my mind, but it did. I don't think I paid much attention to it in the moment, but I definitely did after the fact. Regardless, though, I unlocked my phone and they changed the passcode to ensure they could access and, I assume, wipe it. This meant, of course, they'd have access to my bank details, my Apple Pay service, which was fairly new at the time, my iTunes account, and they could do a lot of damage with this info. Finally, they went through my wallet. These A-holes even shredded up a photo that I had in their of my sister, her husband, my niece and nephew, just spiteful, angry robbers who wanted to upset me, which again made me suspicious. Was there a personal angle here? How did they get in? Why did they

break in? I was gagged, so I couldn't ask the many of this, and eventually they stole what cash I had in my wallet, took my cards too, and just left. They didn't rob Kara at all that I saw. They didn't search for her handbag or purse, didn't steal anything from me. the apartment, it was just me. I was the sole target. Afterwards, dealing with the cops, I started to get more and more suspicious. It seemed like one of the officers did too because he kept asking me how well I knew Kara, if it seemed like Kara knew the assailants, etc. I guess this is where the seed was really planted in my mind. We filed police reports. I canceled my cards, reported my phone stolen. Thankfully they didn't take anything out of my bank account, but they

disabled my find my iPhone, and I'm sure they managed to jailbreak or wipe and sell it. In the days after, I sunk into a spiral of paranoia about it all. Kara was being evasive with me, I thought, and didn't seem to want to talk to me. I kept trying to ask her if she had any idea who the home invaders were or why they'd targeted us. She said she had no idea, but told me that while they broke the glass, they had gotten in through an open window in the living room. And I guess I was kind of a jerk about that because I replied a little snappily saying that I would have preferred to know that the place was actually locked up

before staying there. Then when she stopped replying, I started sending her messages about why the thieves had targeted me specifically. And at first, I sort of framed it like, hey, why do you think it went down like this? And then I started getting a bit more direct. I told her it was incredibly convenient that only I had been robbed and that she was totally fine. I could tell this hurt her and also made her mad because she started getting pretty angry and defensive about that. And I just like to say now that I don't blame her. I was a complete jerk and I deserved to be chewed out about it. I guess all I can say in my defense is that it was pretty traumatized from the event and it didn't really know care all that well. And in the end, after it seemed like the case

had gone cold and there was no hope of the police catching these people, I just flat out accused her of setting me up. And she lost it at me, of course, which in retrospect I fully deserved. Again, I cannot stress how bad I feel about all this. And as you can probably guess, Kara did not set me up. The reason I suspected it, other than the behavior of the thieves, was that I had become sure that I had identified at least one of the culprits. Kara had an ex-boyfriend, who I found by stalking her Facebook and Twitter profiles, and it seemed like she'd kicked him to the curb and he wasn't very happy about it. He was a weasly, wiry-looking guy with a very snide expression, and I didn't much like him.

A social media feed was filled with performative nice guy's self-pitying crap, which also rub me the wrong way, and I discovered from his own Twitter posts that he had a record for breaking and entering and had narrowly avoided Juvie as a kid. Hilariously, he was an upper middle class guy with a chip on his shoulder, who acted like the world owed him a favor, but really his rich parents had gotten him off that charge. In my conspiracy brain-coated mind, I put two and two together and came up with five,

a scenario where Kara and Nice Guy had faked their breakup on social media and were luring in poor unsuspecting Tinder dates like myself to be robbed at knife point. I even went so far as to tell the cops my theory and they said they'd look into it. I have no idea if they ever interviewed this nice guy, but I hope they did. I also became certain that the other thief had been my friend Bill, who he also interacted with on social media. I built up this whole narrative in my head. In the end, I completely cut off Kara, convinced that she'd been responsible for one of the worst nights in my life. For the next six months, I callously recounted the story of the Tinder date who scammed me to a few friends

until one day something stopped me dead in my tracks. It was a news story about a breaking and entering gone wrong, where a woman in my town had been the victim of a break-in and assault and suffered life-changing injuries as a result. It was Kara, and the culprit was nice guy. I've been so fixated on the idea that Kara was in on it that I never considered the possibility that I was mostly right, but wrong about that part. From what I can gather, Nice Guy did break in out of jealousy and did rob me in revenge, but Kara wasn't part of that plan. He simply wanted to scare her out of dating anyone else.

When that clearly failed, he grew more and more jealous and I guess eventually went back for Kara, this time causing permanent damage to her. I guess there's still a tiny possibility that Kara was complicit in the first home invasion, but I really don't think so. Instead, I blamed an innocent girl for the actions of her awful ex, and then left her to deal with him. I've spent the last few years trying to forgive myself for this, because I sure as heck won't be asking Kara for forgiveness. That woman's heard enough from me for a lifetime.

I used to work as a trail guide, and this one time, I had to scout a trail that we didn't use much to make sure that it was safe for a guided hike that we had coming up. It was a simple process of checking for fallen trees, washed out paths, or anything else that might prove hazardous to the group. Probably one of the easiest things you get to do as a guide. I get to the deepest part of the trail, way out where it's just me and the trees. I'm kind of poking around looking for signs of trouble when, out of nowhere, two guys step out

from behind the trees. They were rough looking, like they'd been out here a while with dirty clothes and scruffy faces. My stomach dropped as soon as I saw them because I could tell right away that their intentions weren't good. One had a knife in his hand, and the other was giving me this big, creepy smile. I remember trying my best to stay calm, but my heart was pounding so hard I could actually feel it. As they got close, the guy with the knife started yelling at me, telling me to hand over my

my stuff. He was vicious, waving that big knife around saying he'll cut me if I don't listen. I gave him my backpack, my water bottle, my tomagachi, and even what little cash he had on me. While that's happening, the other guy, the one with a smile, was acting very nice and saying things along the lines of, just do what we say, sweetheart, and you'll be fine. They tell me to turn around, and before I can say anything, they tie a blindfold over my eyes. It was an old rag that I remember smelled like sweat and dirt. After that, they tied my hands behind my back with more of that same kind of rag, probably old torn up clothes, and then they yanked it tight so it hurt my wrists. I was trying to stay tough, but internally I was completely freaking out.

I told them, hey, you can't leave me like this. There's bears out here. If I'm tied up, I'm dead. I was hoping they'd have a heart, maybe loosen the ropes or something. But maybe that was the good cop having worked on me a little more than I'd like to admit. Because when they heard me asking for mercy, they just laughed like it was the funniest thing they'd heard all day. The mean one said, hey, that ain't our problem.

And then I listened to the sound of the footsteps, crunching away through the leaves before everything went quiet again. Once I was sure they were out of sight, I started wiggling my wrists and pulling hard against the rope. It were really tight and it hurt like heck, but I kept at it. And before long I was sweating, my arms were aching, and the bindings were starting to rub my skin raw. I tried twisting and tugging and even trying to pick at the knots with my fingers. Then after what felt like forever, but it was probably a half hour, I finally got one hand loose.

From there I yank the rag off completely and pulled the blindfold away. I was free, but I wasn't safe yet. I didn't stick around to look for my stuff those guys might have left behind. I just started running back down the trail as fast as my legs could carry me. The whole way, I was looking over my shoulder, half expecting those creeps to pop out again. But I kept moving until I finally saw the trailhead in the distance. When I got back to headquarters, my boss was there doing paperwork, and he just about jumped out of his chair as I burst in.

I remember panting, trying to get the words out, but all I could manage at first was just call 911. He didn't ask questions. He just grabbed the phone and dialed as I sat down. Then after handing me the phone, I spilled the whole story to the dispatcher, the two guys, the knife, the blindfold, all of it. My boss stood there wide-eyed as I talked,

listening to what I've been through. He couldn't believe his ears, and he told me later that nothing that terrible has ever happened to any of his employees past or present. Given the severity of the call, the cops showed up quickly, at which point I went over the story for a second time. They asked me to go into as much detail as possible in terms of describing the guys, as well as what they said in which direction I figured they might have gone. I did my best, but it was all a blur.

They were unshaven, wearing dirty jackets. One was taller, the other one shorter, and I told them about the knife and that creepy good cop, bad cop routine too, and how it seemed almost rehearsed like they'd done this before. The cops said that they'd send a team out to search the woods, but I didn't hold my breath. I knew those guys would probably be long gone. As the cops left, my boss told me to take the rest of the day off. It was a great guy like that, and he could see how rattled I was. I sat in the break room waiting for my ride and trying to calm down,

but every time I remembered how they'd laughed, this feeling. Feeling of anger and dread would get all fat and heavy in my chest, and it'd only go away if I cried or yelled or hug somebody. Those guys didn't care if I lived or died, and it makes my skin crawl to think about it today, but I still eternally am grateful to God for making sure that I made it back in one piece. So I got a bit of a crazy story for you that happened to me a few weeks ago. I'm in the UK and we have a bit of an epidemic on our hands. I don't mean COVID or anything like that. I'm talking about IRL streamers. Have you ever heard of a little tow rag called Secret Mizzy?

He's a 20-year-old man-child called Bakari Bronze Ogario, who in 2023 used to film himself pranking members of the public by breaking into people's houses while live-streaming. Hilarious, right? He allegedly did a bunch of stuff like breaking and entering, theft, property damage, etc. and I say allegedly because I don't remember which things he got charged for in which he didn't and I don't care enough about that little scrote to go digging. Either way, he ended up serving six weeks in prison for it

and then came out and gave an interview about how he's turning his life around. And props to him, I guess, maybe he will, but that doesn't change the fact that he inspired a bunch of dumb-ass TikTok kids and overgrown kids to follow in his idiot footsteps. Now, I'm just going to insert this in here. I did go and look him up to find out his actual name, and it seems like he's got a kid. Christ, poor child. I hope Secret Mizzy turns his life around for the sake of that kid, if nothing else. Anyway, this isn't about him. This is about a guy in my year at college who, I guess, thought Secret Missy was the coolest mother Hubbard in the whole

of Stockton-on-Tees. I remember overhearing him at college with the girls and rolling my eyes hard as he was playing those dumb secret Mizzi clips. This was this year, too, 2025. Imagine still idolizing this guy a year after he'd served hard time for his stupid TikTok actions. I'm only 18, but people say I'm old and grumpy for my age, and maybe that shows, but holy heck, I cannot relate to some people of my generation. This guy, who I kid you not called himself the jizzler, well, He was particularly unrelatable. Also, horror of horrors, he had a crush on me, so he'd often lurk around me at college, flanked by his idiot friends who just guffawed at his lame jokes,

and encouraged him to do stupid stunts like leaping down the stairs and filming it, pranking the teachers and other students, all that kind of obnoxious stuff. He would film it, and also live stream it to TikTok, where he had something like 10 followers. Secret Mizzy, he was not. This lameo couldn't even troll well. The jizzler wasn't really someone I thought about unless I had to, but that day in March, when this happened, he didn't leave me any choice. I'd walked from college with my bestie and Elise,

and we were hanging out at my place doing media studies homework. My dad and stepmom were out with my baby brother and wouldn't be back until late that night. It was just past six when the doorbell rang. I went to answer it, figuring it, was an Amazon delivery driver or something. The Jizzler and one of the stupid mates stood on the doorstep. They absolutely reeked of spirits, and as I looked, Jisler took a deep inhale from a balloon.

Whippets and all that crap had been all the rage at our college this year, and Jisler was particularly fond of killing a few brain cells before committing his latest stunt. I didn't even have time to react. He shoved his way into my house, leaving his mate on the doorstep. Alarmed, I quickly slammed the door locking the maid out. That didn't deter Jisler, though, who was staggering and stumbling his way down my hallway, holding his phone up on a selfie stick. He was narrating into the phone, but his words made no sense.

Whatever he was on or had been drinking, it had scrambled his brain. Jisler reeled and staggered down the hall. He knocked into the side table and sent an expensive vase crashing to the ground. I shrieked, trying to grab at him and he, he shoved me hard against the wall, sending family photos crashing to the ground. In that moment, I was incensed. He couldn't do this. This was a crime. I shouted as much at him, and he just laughed and didn't seem to care at all. I followed him into the living room, grabbing at him, trying to stop this maniac. Annalise had come running from the kitchen to see what was going on, and she looked horrified.

Annalise is a quiet, shy, gentle person. The polar opposite to me, someone who does not shy from picking a fight if I feel an injustice as occurring. Jisler was picking on my parents' things, his phone held up all the while, and he found my grand's ornament cupboard, which we'd inherited from her when she went into the home. And I'll know. All her little glass models and ornaments, swans, dogs, clowns, things like that. Jisler turned so the camera was filming him and reached behind him sweeping ornaments off the shelf. They crashed to the ground, shattering, and I began to scream and so did Annalise.

Jizzler just laughed, grabbing another ornament and flinging it at the wall. I lunged at him again, slapping and trying to claw at him, but I guess whatever drugs and alcohol he is on made him oblivious to any pain. Instead, he shoved me again even harder, and I felled back and jarred my back against the fireplace. Instant pain as my tailbone connected with the grate and I started soft. While, the jizzler was now pulling the settee cushions off and throwing them around. Our living room had a lot of fragile things on display, and he was damaging all of it.

One hard throw of a cushion caused the TV to topple to the ground and actually spark. Next, he was using his phone on the selfie stick to smash the light fixtures above his head. I was freaking out. Annalise, meanwhile, had fully disappeared. I felt a moment's anger at her. How could she leave me with this lunatic? But then she reappeared and she was holding a phone in one hand, which I could see had an active call and a kitchen knife in the other.

She yelled at the jizzler to stop. He did pause, looking at her holding the knife, and then began to let out the most insane, hooting laugh. That's when I noticed that the phone he was holding didn't even seem to be switched on. This absolute maroon thought that he was live streaming his whole rampage, but he was too drunk and high to notice his battery had obviously died. Annalise told him that the cops were on their way and that he'd better stop. Instead of stopping, Mr. Jizzy grabbed an ornament from above the fireplace.

I scrambled to get out of his way and looked up at what he had. Oh, no. Granddad's ashes. The jizzler had grabbed the urn with Granddad's ashes in it and was holding it recklessly in the air. I jumped to my feet and shouted the only thing I could think of. That's my bloody granddad! I expected him to hurl the urn at me or something, but instead it was like this sort of snapped him out of it. It felt like I'd slapped him or thrown cold water in his face.

He stared at me, and suddenly a look of stupidity and shame crossed his face. I saw him looking around the living room. A sick expression formed and he veiled. very gently, almost comically, put granddad's urn back on the mantelpiece, and then collapsed onto the living room sat tea until the cops arrived. Long story short, this happened a couple of months ago, and the case is still ongoing. We don't think it'll go to court. The jizzler's family are paying for the damage and trying to persuade us to drop the charges,

which I guess we might. Turns out he'd gotten super drunk on his day off from college and then dropped a few pills that he'd gotten from a mate. Then, he did the nitrous, and I guess it made him go temporarily insane. I do feel a tiny bit bad for this stupid kid. He's not going to be able to complete his A-levels, and he's kind of tanked his life a bit, but I can never forgive him for terrorizing me and almost smashing my beloved granddad's ashes. Many years ago, I was out on a trail with my group, leading them through the woods like I'd done a hundred times before. It was a nice day.

The sun was shining and the birds were chirping, and since we'd been hiking for a couple of hours, I figured it was time to take a break in a nearby stream. It's one that I regularly stopped at with my guys, and they'd top up their water bottles or splash their faces to keep cool, and then as usual, they put down their packs, pulled out their snacks, and then started chatting among themselves. I'm keeping an eye on them, making sure nobody wanders off or does anything dumb,

like stepping on a loose rock when one of the guys, a guy with a big old backpack, asked if the water's safe to drink. It was a fair question. Nobody wants to chug something that's going to make them sick, so I tell them I'll check it out like I always do. And the routine was pretty simple. I walk upstream a little, maybe 50 yards or so, to make sure there's nothing funky in the water.

Usually I'm looking for stuff like dead birds or small animals that might have fallen in and started rotting, because that kind of thing can leach nasty bacteria into the stream, and I ain't about to let my group get sick on my watch. In all my years guiding, I'd never found anything worse than a few leaves or some mud, and it's usually just a quick check to be on the safe side. So I leaves a group to munch on their granola bars and head upstream. It's gurgling along all peacefully, and I'm just strolling, keeping my eyes peeled,

and thinking about how I'll maybe crack a joke about how it's cleaner than something. city tap water. But then, I stopped dead in my tracks. Right there in the middle of the stream, sitting in the shallow water, there's a deer's head. Not just any deer's head. It was rotten, like really badly rotten too. And the thing's a total mess. The eyes are cloudy, there's flies buzzing around it, and the smell hits me like a punch to the nose. I've seen dead animals before, but nothing like that because the cut where the head was chopped off was clean, way too clean for it to be some predatory animal. It was like someone took a sharp blade, made a hunting knife,

and sliced clean through the thing's neck before they left it right in the water. My gut was telling me it wasn't an accident. It felt like someone put it there on purpose, like they wanted it to be found. I figured maybe it was a warning, though I didn't know who'd do something like that or why. I remember standing there for a second or two, just staring at it and trying to wrap my head around what I was seeing. The water's flowing around it, carrying who knows what downstream to where my group's sitting, and I knew right then we had to move. The water wasn't safe, and from what I could tell, neither was being there in the first place. The only thing was I knew I couldn't tell the whole truth either.

Those folks were out there for nothing more than an afternoon hike. If I told them the truth, they might panic, and I didn't need a bunch of city people freaking out in the middle of the woods. I put on my calm face, the one I used when I need to keep things under control, and then I tell them that we need to head back to HQ. When they asked why, I kept it simple and I calmly said that I thought there was a bear in the area, and it just so happened to be rutting season, and it's true that bears can get really dangerous during that time of year. It's a good enough story, and bears are scary, so now. nobody questioned it. I saw a couple of them looking a little nervous, but they trusted me to keep them safe, and that's exactly what I intended to do. I got them to grab their stuff, and then we

started hiking back the way we came. The whole way back, I was keeping my eyes peeled, checking the trees and trail for anything else weird, but if someone was watching us, I sure as heck didn't see them. I kept quiet, but my mind was racing. Who'd do something like that? Was it some hunter messing around, someone trying to just scare us a little or something worse? I didn't know, and I didn't like not knowing. But my job was to keep these people safe, so I focused on that. I kept the group moving at a steady pace, not too fast to make them worry, but quick enough to put some distance between us and that stream.

I cracked a few jokes and pointed out some birds, anything to keep their minds off that bear. They were wary at first, but I guess they trusted me. enough that by the time we were around halfway back, they were chatting and laughing again. When we got to HQ, I pulled the manager aside and told him that we need to cut that trip short. I didn't go into details about the deerhead, not right away at least. I'd just say that we spotted signs of a bear and didn't want to take chances. He nodded, knowing that I'd never call it quits for no reason, and tell me that I did the right thing. We got the group's fees refunded, no questions asked,

and while they were still a little bummed about the trip getting cut short, they were happy to get their money back. A few of them even thanked me for keeping them safe, saying they'll book another trip later when the bears aren't so active. And I just smiled and nodded telling them to come back any time, but once they're gone, I sat down with a cup of coffee and told my boss what had really happened. We agreed it was probably nothing, just some idiot trying to spook us, but as I told him,

it certainly didn't feel like nothing at the time. That deer's head still pops in my head sometimes like a message that I didn't fully understand yet. But the bottom line is I kept my group safe, and that's all that really counts. I don't have any home invasion stories per se because I'm homeless. Or I guess they call it unhoused these days because, sure, that's the kind of thing people like me worry about nomenclature and word use. Now anyways, I'm being a bit flippant. I do get it. It's why I realize that I do have a home invasion story even though, you see, I live in my car. And to me, that car is home.

I've lived this kind of nomadic lifestyle for quite a few years, thanks to a combination of being down on my luck and also wanting to kind of stay off grid. I'm doing okay these days, so you and your listeners don't need to worry about me, and I love having Let's Read by my side in the cold or right now extremely hot nights while I camp out in my car. And when this happened, I had a different car with a nice back seat. This occurred in the winter of 2018, and it was a bitter one. I was parked in the lot in the middle of nowhere, bundled up in my sleeping bags in the back of the 87 Ford Fiesta I called home. I was dead to the world, completely asleep. I woke up to the sound and sensation of my world being shifted, though. Quite literally, in fact, my car was moving.

What the hell, I thought? The sleep cleared from my head and from under the sleeping bag I heard two young sounding voices. They were talking about taking the car for a joyride and having some quote-unquote fun in the fields. Apparently they'd scored big by finding this abandoned car all by itself in the lot. Well, damn, I guess I'd been carjacked, except I was still in the car and they didn't know. So bear in mind we were driving along at a decent speed by then, and I also had absolutely no idea who these kids were or what they might do. I decided that the only course of action I had was to hunker down, hide under the sleeping bags, and hope they got bored. I knew the area, and knew the kids around here were mostly good kids, just bored farm guys and dumb university students.

I figured these guys were the former. They had local accents, and from their silly conversations, they honestly didn't sound like bad kids. On the other hand, they had stolen my car and seemingly hot-wired it and were taking it for a joy ride, so they can't have been that nice. I knew they must have hot-wired the car because I had the keys in my pocket, and I was always particular about ensuring the car was locked and the keys were on me before going to sleep. Hell, I normally didn't sleep in the back seat in case I needed to make a quick getaway, but it was so cold that I'd take into doing it at the time.

The car was bumping and flying over potholes. We were clearly in Backwood's countryside now, moving away from the coast into more touristy parts of Weston. I distinctly felt it when the car turned off the country lane and into a field. We were bumping and bouncing so hard that I felt my teeth chattering together. Recounting the story now, I probably sound pretty calm, but I was completely bloody terrified at the time. The more I wake up and my mind cleared, the more I realized what deep doo-doo I was in. They could crash and kill us all, or maybe they'd turn around and realize, hey, the homeless chump who owns this car is still here and we better not leave him alive to ID us. I couldn't even see them, remember? I was hidden under sleeping bags and too afraid to peek out, but I think.

figured that two bored kids probably hadn't taken the precaution to wear a mass. They drove around for a while and I was genuinely plotting my escape. My options were to spring up and surprise them and try to appeal to their good nature or leap out of the moving vehicle. They weren't going too fast and it felt like we were on muddy grounds so I was honestly preparing to take my chances with a sudden exit. What I'd do when I got out of the car, I had no idea. I didn't have to work it out though. because very shortly after deciding I was going to jump, the car pulled to a sudden stop. The kids were muttering something about being bored, and hope of hopes I thought I might be getting off Scott-free.

I even heard both of them slam the doors behind them as they left, and that's when I heard breaking glass, and then smell the smoke. What a joyriders usually do when they're done with an abandoned car? Well, in this case, they torch it. And that's exactly what happened here. I had no idea of this as a regular occurrence in the States, but here in the UK, it was almost a right of passage for some kids to steal a car, take it on a joy ride, and then light it on fire. They'd usually target old abandoned cars, or even their own, if they had reached the end of its life. Burning it and dumping it is cheaper than disposing of a car officially. So the kids had thrown a makeshift Molotov cocktail through the open window, and of course,

They didn't know that I was still in the car. Flames were licking up the front passenger seat already as I tore my sleeping bags off and tried to open the back door. It was locked. I fumbled with the awkward manual lock and then began to panic. I banged on the window. This got the attention of the Joyriders and I finally saw them. They were gesturing to me and it looked like they were talking frantically. For a moment I thought they'd leave me there, let the witness burn with the evidence, so to speak.

Thankfully, they were better kids than you might expect. I guess in retrospect, that's why it's easy for me to say that. They ran to the car, smash the windows, and then helped me get free. What followed was a panicked, tearful plea of contrition as the three of us ran from the field, none of us really wanting to have to deal with the cops. The boys were home from uni and swore they genuinely thought the car was abandoned. They said their friend told them that it had been there for weeks, and I choose to believe them.

I've never seen two kids more sick with guilt and worry, and while it caused me some short-term inconvenience, I don't regret my decision to write the car off and abandon it. The boys' families were incredible, kind and understanding, and they made sure things were and are right with me, and in them I found friends for life. It was a very happy ending to a story of extreme irresponsibility, but at the time it was absolutely.

terrifying. They know I'm sending the story to you and I think them and their family will get a kick out of it if you do actually run it. I've changed some details majorly and it didn't really happen near West and we picked that location for a reason. We stay in touch to this day and they've helped me more than I can ever express. But it's incredibly bizarre to think that I met these people by them stealing my home with me in it and driving me almost to my doom. Hey 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.