The Lets Read Podcast - 331: HE WAS WATCHING ME | 12 TERRIFYING True Scary Stories / Rain Ambience | EP 316

Episode Date: January 27, 2026

This episode includes narrations of true creepy encounters submitted by normal folks just like yourself. Today you'll experience horrifying stories about internet weirdos & terrible first datesHAVE 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/@inekt

So I've been a listener for a long time, and I've come into your live stream sometimes, and I'm ashamed to say that I've left a few comments laughing at some of the submitting authors for being idiots. I've always felt a bit guilty about it because deep down I know that I'm just projecting. As about eight years ago, I got myself into a situation with a weird internet creeper, and I know it really was my own doing. I guess it's easier to take out my frustrations on others than admit fault. My friend Allison warned me about this guy named Jeff. And yeah, it was my own stupid fault.

I admit that up front. And Allison told me, hey, Shan, I met this guy on such-and-such-and-such-Facebook, and he started being all weird and intense with me. And she told me he was into swords and horror and all sorts of edge-lord things. She told me that Jeff had mentioned me a few times, and that he thought I was interesting. She said she thought he'd been trying to hit me up next. And she was right. He did. And my bored, stupid self, against my better judgment, allowed him to strike up a conversation with me. If you've ever been on the internet at all any time between the 2000s and the late 2010s, you'll know guys like Jeff.

Intense, serious, quick-to-anger anime fans who love the killing joke, Sin City, Firefly, and Arma. They hate the MCU and any mainstream superhero thing. They claim to be huge, competition. comic book fans, but get all their information from the Nolan Batman movies. They're an embarrassment to genuine comic book fans and nerds and people who understand why the Joker actually is a cool character instead of why Mean Lord incels think he is. True ones understand. And Jeff was not a true one. His favorite game of all time was Bioshock Infinite, and this is not to insult that game,

but it is relevant and will come up later. And when Jeff started talking to me, it wasn't. actually as bad as I expected. He was surprisingly fairly interesting. He had a rudimentary interest in the same things I did, the same comics, movies, anime, and video games. And at first, the cracks didn't show. But then the more he talked about these things, the clear it became that he was getting all his information from probably Wikipedia or a handful of movie adaptations. He'd make definitive sweeping statements about media that was just completely wrong or misinformed. For example, he went on about how Batman was his favorite superhero because all of his

rogue gallery was totally grounded in normal, nothing weird or comic booky. And this was only true in the movie adaptations, but to an OG Batman comics fan, it's a ridiculous thing to say. I made the mistake of pointing this out to him, and he got super mad and started yelling at me that the comics didn't really count, eh? Weird. Now, I only knew Jeff online. thank God, but every time I'd come online, I'd find lengthy messages from him. After just a week of knowing him, he'd write elaborate essays about how close we were and how much I meant to him and how grateful he was to know someone like me. We had known each other for probably a week at that point. The close friendship he'd imagined in his head soon seemed to sway towards the suggestion

of a relationship. I had absolutely no romantic interest in the sky and had made it very clear to him that I wasn't looking, but it was like he heard what he wanted to hear. Multiple times he tried to impress me by crowing on about how he had to break the heart of his last girlfriend, because she wanted to sleep with him and he'd lectured her about how that was inappropriate. When I asked why it was inappropriate, he let slip that he, in his early 30s, had been dating a 16-year-old girl, not just online either. They were dating in person. And he very smugly told me that he wouldn't sleep with her because it was illegal, though, and she was a bad person for wanting to get with him.

Okay, buddy, that's the child at fault for sure, I bet. And this is when I decided that I didn't really want to be friends with this weirdo anymore. And one time I told him I was sick and that I wouldn't be online for a while. And after five days of frantic messages from him, I kind of snapped and said, Dude, I was sick. And he kept replying saying, I knew it. I just knew it. and then proceeded to ramble on about how we had a freaking psychic connection

and how he had the same thing with his beloved grandmother and could always tell when something was wrong with a loved one, so he had simply been able to tell that I wasn't okay. Oh, right, it was a psychic connection, and not the fact that I literally told you five days ago. Next, when I wouldn't reply, he began sending me messages saying that he was having severe chest pains and then narrating his journey to the emergency room and leaving vague hints that he had only hours or minutes left to live.

The first time, I stupidly fell for it, and then he would simply do it every time he wanted attention. But there was never any follow-up to these medical disasters. Absolute clown man. And when that stopped working, he began to spin sob stories about various elderly relatives he lived with who were on death's door. The problem was, he couldn't remember the stories that he'd, spun. So one month it was his beloved granddad who'd raised him who was dying, but the next month

it was his grandmother, and then it was his brother, and then his dad, and none of them ever actually did die, and most of them never even got mentioned again. It also contradicted the fact that he previously told me that he lived with a roommate who stole a ton of money off of him but still live with him, and also that he lived alone. It was just completely nonsensical gibberish, all designed to evoke sympathy. He'd write lengthy attention-seeking diatribes on Facebook about how everyone he knew always wanted to take, take, and take from him, and how he was an untapped well of positivity and generosity, who was literally incapable of being mean, that he genuinely had some kind of condition that meant that he couldn't be unpleasant to people. And yet somehow he was always managing to condemn women

and girls for their behavior, choice of dress, etc. Or calling other people fake fans of things he liked, even though he had the most rudimentary understanding of most things. And eventually, it all became too much for me. He'd go on these rants about how desire was disgusting and inappropriate, but also keep trying to hit on me. He'd send me random, poorly lit photos of himself. Nothing risque even.

Just weird photos of him in a hat. and then ask for lengthy opinions on how good he looked, and if he felt like I hadn't said enough, he'd just keep pressing and pressing. Now again, let me stress that I met this guy online for about six weeks, and in the end, I told him that things were way, way too intense for me, and that while I'd be happy to try a friendship with him, we just didn't have the same kind of relationship

where we were actually close BFFs or more like he seemed to keep insisting. This was of course my fault and he lost it with me, getting ragey and angry at the fact that I'd said that I was willing to be his friend. Now, why would I say that if I wasn't? I tried to explain to him that being someone's friend doesn't involve constant trauma-dumping, attention-seeking, and claims of psychic bonds. But he was having none of it. He started swearing and cursing at me, so I blocked him. Later, he messaged me on Steam, apologizing for what he was about to do.

It wasn't clear whether he was going to do something to himself or to me. I wasn't too concerned about the latter, though. We lived in totally different countries, and he was far too broke to fly here and do anything to me. Of course, nothing came of it because guys like him are all terror and bluster. And instead, he posted a huge rant on Facebook about how, if you have a beautiful songbird in a cage, it's your duty to let her fly free. It was a quote from Bioshock Infinite, and he decided I was Elizabeth from Bioshock and he was, I don't know, her dad? Yeah, way to make it even more creepier, pal.

It was a pretty terrifying experience, even if I can look back on it and laugh at him. Having someone that toxic in your life is horrible, and I severely learned my lesson about believing people like this are interesting. And I hope the same can be said for my third friend who decided to befriend Jeff even after all of what I told her. And last I heard, she'd cut him off because he was trying to convince her to cheat on her husband with him. When I was much younger, I used to hang out on various internet forums. I won't share the names of them because I have no idea if some of them still exist or their archives can be tracked down. And I don't want my dumb teenage self to get me canceled in 2025. Now, I don't actually remember where I specifically

met Baghead. It may have just been on Twitter now that I think about it. And he quickly started cropping up on a few places I frequented, though, but that wasn't too unusual since most of my online social group came from the same places. It was definitely Twitter where he'd first reached out to chat with me, though. And now I'm pretty guarded and savvy about people wanting to befriend and talk to me, but back then I was kind of happy to chat to anyone, which is a big mistake. Baghead wasn't the first weirdo who latched on to me through my forum use, but he was most definitely the most intense. After a few days of talking, he began to hint that not only was I his soulmate, but he was most definitely mine, too. If you've never had someone try to convince

you of that, there's a pretty big difference, and when someone's trying to get with you, it's easy enough for them to list all of the things they like about you to try and flatter you. Now, Baghead did all of this, but he also constantly talked about the ways we'd be compatible. And hopefully you can imagine what I mean by that. And I stress that I did absolutely nothing to provoke this kind of conversation. In fact, a bit of backstory about me. I have no interest in that kind of thing whatsoever due to some deeply unpleasant events in my childhood. In fact, I'd go so far as to say,

that I can be extremely traumatized by intimate talk and intrusive intimate suggestions. I learned very quickly on the Internet that, in the words of a great philosopher, not to be some woke asshole, but women have it hard, man. And that's why every time I made a new friend, especially a guy, I was always very upfront and clear about the fact that I only wanted friendship, actively wasn't interested in romance or more and simply wasn't wired that way. And I wouldn't become friends with a guy until I was sure that he understood. this. Baghead assured me that he understood this and sympathized, and even had a sister who was in

the same position as me and blah, blah, blah, blah. I'm not sure I ever really fell for it, but you can still see why that it was a bit of a shock when, after a week, he sent me a lengthy confession admitting his love for me. If it had just been that, I think that we could have moved on from it, but he also included some fairly explicit descriptive talk about things that he'd like for us to do to things that just hadn't ever been discussed between us. He also drew some very gross anime-style fan art of me, which pretty much unsettled me. And it was completely unprompted. I was horrified, but stupid me, I tried to explain to him that we didn't have that kind of relationship and that I didn't want to have that kind of interaction with him. Now, I can totally understand Baghead being

disgusted at his mistake. I kind of expected him to disappear forever after this, and so Instead, he threw a huge pity party tantrum, ranting and raving and screaming about how much of a terrible person he was and how he ruined everything, how he destroyed everything beautiful, and how no friendship could ever last because of his stupid head. He said he wanted to cave his own skull in and cut his own face off and all sorts of extreme frantic stuff. At the time, I was young and dumb and naive, like I said, and didn't realize that this was an emotionally abusive attention-seeking technique. So my stupid ass was genuinely concerned for Baghead. Naturally, I went out of my way to reassure him that it was okay, that he hadn't screwed anything up and that I'd still be his friend. I told him I didn't really appreciate the weird fanfic about me,

but I hadn't clicked on it so it was no big deal. Baghead calmed down but started sending me photos of himself, clearly not wearing a shirt and asking what I thought of his face and hair. and he had long, messy hair and was clearly proud of it, and beyond that, he was just a normal, stocky dude. Not bad looking, but like I said, I'm not wired that way. And I told him he looked good, though, trying to just be nice, and that was clearly a mistake. He kept sending me more and more photos, mirror selfies that showed off more and more of his pasty chest. And it ended with half of our conversations just involving him spamming me with selfies and asking what I thought

of his face and hair. And what was I supposed to keep saying? Eventually, I told him it was getting a bit much and that I didn't really know what to say in response to all the identical selfies that were getting more and more bathroom-focused. And I very gently suggested that I'd prefer that he would wear a shirt in them, you know. And this led to another absolutely terrifying meltdown. This time he sent me messages and posted tweets talking about how he should cut his heart out of his chest, carve loser into his flesh, cut his hands and arms off, and then finally cut his face off again. This time, I wasn't quite as intimidated by it because he'd made these threats before and never so much as even slapped himself from the cheek. But it's so pretty horrible to hear an adult male

screaming about how disgusting he is in voice notes, especially when you know that the implication is that you made him feel that way. Once again, it fell to me to try and make him feel better. and assure him that it was fine. He hadn't ruined our friendship and all that stuff. And he acted really sad and volatile for a day or two, and I was starting to worry that maybe he actually would do some harm to himself. And that's when he messaged me with the request that would make him feel better. His self-confidence was at an all-time low, he said,

and the only way he saw himself getting out of it was if a female friend could give him a confidence boost and tell him that his unclothed body was attractive. Yeah, he was asking to send that kind of photos, so I would say that he looks good to help his mental health. And this was too much for me. I told him that I would prefer that he didn't do that and that it's something that he should save for a future partner. And then I just hit offline for the next few days.

Now, during this time, he had an absolute meltdown on social media making vague references to how his toxic self-helfare. had ruined yet another friendship, and how he was a negative and cancerous presence in other people's lives, etc. All very intense, scary stuff for a young woman like myself, and I ignored it and pretended that I didn't see it. And after a few days, he sent me an offline message asking if I was okay and if he'd done anything wrong. Not wanting to get into drama, I told him that he hadn't, and I was just going through some really difficult PTSD things. Baghead told me he understood and that he'd leave me to it.

The next day I received an email from Baghead, and I expected some kind of drama or hand-wringing, but instead it was a videophile in a single sentence that said, to cheer you up. I did not click on that video file, because I know better than to open unknown video files emailed unexpectedly from weirdos. Instead, I asked Baghead what he'd sent me, and as blunt as you could imagine,

and he told me it was a video of him enjoying himself in a solo manner that he'd made for me to cheer me up and make me feel better. And I was so horrified to the point that I was actually mad at him, but I also knew how volatile he got and how he threatened to hurt himself every time I rejected him. I decided that I'd just politely say that I wasn't really interested, and then just slowly stopped communicating with him. If I blocked him on instant messengers,

he wouldn't know because I usually set my status to appear offline anyways. And I told him that I wasn't going to watch the video and reminded him that I was specifically dealing with childhood trauma, so it wasn't really my type of thing. And instead of losing his mind for a change, he actually started lecturing me on how it would be good for me and how it would make me feel better and how I really should just give his video a watch to see if I enjoyed it because he was confident it would essentially fix me. And I hope it's clear at this point, but Baghead didn't really know me that well or have any insight as to why I wasn't interested in this stuff, beyond him being creepy and weird in the first place. I just told him I wasn't and that I don't feel like he was owed any answers.

And all I'd say is that he was absolutely off the mark and there was no way that this was an appropriate thing to subject me to. I'm calm about it when I recount the story, but at the time it was genuinely really weighing on me. Baghead was a volatile, angry, pushy guy. He had this whole shtick of understanding women's struggles, but used it almost exclusively to talk down to me and then act like he could fix my trauma essentially by sending me all sorts of disgusting imagery of himself. It was gross, terrifying, and overwhelming.

So I stopped speaking to him on Instant Messenger, and he did not take this well. To start, I still followed him on Twitter and Facebook because I was terrified of the drama that would result in me blocking or unfollowing him in a way that he could see. And he fully took advantage of that. And the week after I refused to watch his creepy video, he posts thousands and thousands of words of rants on Twitter and Facebook. And at first he kept talking about how he always drove people away and how he was a toxic poison. Quickly, though, he started blaming a third party, me obviously, and ranting about how everyone took advantage of him,

spat on his kindness, manipulated and dismissed him, ble-blah blue, cry me a river. And he was clearly trying to make me feel guilty as hell, and it almost worked. Instead, something kind of snapped in me and I just got really, really mad. In retrospect, this was my first big experience with a guy being persistently creepy to me online in a way that encroached on my personal space and threatened to affect me directly. Since I'd never really dealt with anything quite like this before, I wasn't sure how to handle it and decided that it would be just better to tell him that I needed to cut him off rather than just do it and have him discover I'd blocked him by chance. Part of me was really worried that he could track me down where I live.

He lived fairly close by, definitely feasible to just drive to see me. And these days, it's not too hard to find someone online if you really want to. I DMed him on Twitter and said, hey, this is a very good. really doing a number on my mental health, and I can't keep seeing this on my feed, so I'm going to unfollow and block you, but please just move on and leave me alone, and I won't call you out for harassment and all of that. Then I unfollowed him, gave it some time so I could be sure that he'd seen my message and then blocked him too. I didn't look at his feed for some time myself, but a few days later, a friend I'd told about the situation, let me know that Baghead was posting

some pretty extreme stuff on his Twitter. He was again talking about how sick he was to being walked over and taken advantage of, and then on Monday, everything would change. People would look at him differently, and they would know that he was a serious person who wasn't to be messed with, and that the person who'd recently trampled on his heart

would discover the result of her actions. And I was sick worrying about this. Was he threatening to harm me or himself? I asked my friend and even my mom if they thought that I should try and report him to law enforcement and all that. And I didn't actually know his real name or address. I just knew the state that he lived in, so what could I deal? A relative is a local cop, so I at least let them know that this guy was potentially behaving threatening towards me. Thankfully, Monday came and I didn't have to wait for the knife to drop or the trigger to be pulled.

Baghead revealed the big dramatic event that he'd been foreshadowing. It was a haircut. He had a haircut, transforming his long hair into a short, neat, regimented buzz cut. And that was the dire action this chump took. And when I looked on his feed, he was a few tweets into rambling and a pretentious essay about how this was a new hymn, and he was no longer going to offer his heart and soul to those who'd trample on it. And sure thing, Frendo, feel free to keep your heart and soul firmly in your pants going forward.

And with that, I never looked at this creep social media feed again. And thank God he never decided to escalate things with me beyond online harassment. I'd been excited about my date with Alexi. He was a handsome Greek boy, successful and wealthy, and everything that sounded perfect on paper. We met through a mutual friend who said he was a great catch, and when he asked me out to lunch, I thought it could be fun. I got ready and headed to the fancy restaurant that he'd picked out. It was one of those places with white tablecloths and waiters who kind of hovered, and I felt a little out of my element, but I was ready to give it a chance.

And the date started off okay. Alexi showed up in a sleek car wearing a tailored suit, and he had this confident smile that made me think he was used to getting his way. We sat down on a notice that he didn't even look at the menu before ordering for both of us. Now, I thought it was a bit odd, but I let it slide, figuring that he just wanted to take charge. The food came quickly, and I tried to make small talk, asking about his work and his hobbies, and he answered in short, clip sentences, like he was too important to bother with details. It felt like he was sizing me up instead of actually listening, and then I noticed how he treated the waiter.

When the guy brought the wrong wine, Alexi snapped at him. His voice was sharp and cold saying that he shouldn't have to explain himself to someone who couldn't do their job right. The waiter apologized, but Alexi kept going, calling him incompetent with this low-cutting tone. And I felt my stomach twist. It wasn't just impatience. It was cruel. I tried to change the subject, but Alexi barely acknowledged me, like I was just there to fill a seat. He rushed through the meal, checked his watch every few minutes,

when the bill came, he tossed his credit card down without even looking at it. I offered to split it just to be polite, but he waved me off, saying it was nothing. By the end of lunch, I knew that I didn't want to see him again. His controlling vibe, the way he treated people, it was a hard pass, but I didn't say anything. I didn't want to make a scene, and honestly, I just wanted to get home. My car was in the shop, so I'd taken a cab to the restaurant. When Alexi offered to drive me home, I hesitated, but it was a long way back and I didn't have much cash for another cab. I figured that I could handle a short ride, smile, and say goodbye forever. We got into his car and at first it seemed fine.

He asked for my address and I gave it to him, expecting a quick trip. But as we drove, I noticed that he wasn't heading toward my neighborhood. The city streets turned into quieter roads and then into winding country lanes with nothing but fields and trees. I asked where he was going, trying to keep my voice calm, but he just sort of smirked and said he was taking a scenic route. At that point, my heart started pounding. Now, this was well before cell phones, so I had no way of calling anyone, no way to tell anyone where I was. I was just alone with some guy, and the further we went, the more uneasy I felt. The countryside stretched out, empty and endless.

no houses, no gas stations, just opened fields in the occasional barn. I kept my eyes on the road trying to stay calm, but my hands were shaking. I asked again more firmly to take me home. Alexi's demeanor changed. His voice got low, and he said he'd figured me out. He thought I'd used him for a free lunch, that I'd played him by letting him pay and acting like I was interested when I had no intention of seeing him again. He said I'd wasted his time and his gas money, like I'd tricked him on purpose.

I tried to explain that I hadn't meant to mislead him, that I just didn't feel a connection. But he wasn't listening. And then he said something that made my blood run cold. He looked at me. His eyes were very hard, and he said he could drive me deeper into the middle of nowhere. He said he could do whatever he wanted, and no one would find me for days, maybe weeks. and my whole body seized up. I didn't know if he was serious or just trying to scare me,

but at that moment, I believed he could do it. I was trapped in his car, miles from anywhere, with no way to get help. And I felt so small, so helpless, and I started begging him to take me home. My voice was shaking, trying to keep him calm. I told him I was sorry, that I didn't mean to upset him,

anything to get him to turn the car around. He didn't say much after that. He just kept driving, his hands tied on the wheel, while I sat there, my heart racing, watching the empty fields roll by. I kept thinking about how no one knew where I was, how I'd made a mistake getting into his car. I thought about my family, my friends, and how I might not see them again if this went wrong. It felt like hours, though it was probably less before he finally turned the car around. He didn't say why, didn't explain. He just started heading back toward town, and I didn't dare say anything to risk changing his mind.

When we finally pulled into my neighborhood, I felt like I could breathe again, but I was still shaking. He stopped in front of my apartment, and I reached for the door handle, desperate to get out. Before I could, he grabbed my arm, looked me in the eye, and said that he could have done anything to me out there, and no one would have stopped him. He said I should remember that. And then he let go, and I stumbled out of the car, barely able to stand. I didn't look back as he drove off. I just ran inside, locked the door, and sat there trying to process what had happened. I reported it to the police the next day.

I was scared, but I couldn't let it go. I told them everything, how he'd driven me out to the countryside, what he'd said, and how he'd made me feel like my life was in his hands. They brought him in, but Alexi told a completely different story. He'd said he'd just driven me home like I'd asked and that he'd taken a longer route because he wanted to talk and that I was overreacting. He played it off like I was some dramatic girl making a big deal out of nothing. The cops listened to both of us, but there wasn't much evidence, just my word against his. In the end, they'd let him go with a warning.

I was furious, but it wasn't surprised. He was rich, charming when he wanted to be, and he knew how to spin a yarn. I couldn't stop thinking about it for weeks. I kept replaying that drive and his words and the way that he made me feel so powerless. I started double-checking my locks at night looking over my shoulder when I walked home. I never saw Alexei again, and I was grateful for that. But the whole thing left a mark. It wasn't just a bad date.

It was a reminder of how quickly things can turn, how someone would be. can seem perfect on the outside and still be dangerous. I learned to trust my gut after that, to listen when something feels off, and I never let anyone drive me home again unless I was absolutely sure that I could trust them. So I've been a listener for a few years now. I have a story I've always wanted to share with you, but I've never been able to bring myself to actually write it down and send it in, because it kind of makes me sick to my damn stomach.

So my lovely wife who introduced me to your channel has finally convinced me to send it in, so I hope your listeners get a few chuckles, or more likely shivers, at the completely effed up thing that happened to me, my sister, and my mom when I was a kid. Do you remember AOL Instant Messenger? It started off as an instant messenger client for people who had AOL as a service provider, but eventually anyone could use it. It was the messenger program of choice for the 90s, 2000 kids, with the creative away messages you could write and being one of the first that let you

choose your own user picture and username display. You could also customize it so it would give you alert pop-ups for specific people in your friends list too, and you could assign any sound file you wanted as the alert noise. And because of what happened, I genuinely can't hear the audio clip of Cartman saying, screw you guys, without cringing and feeling a little spike of panic. Her name was Gloria, which sounded made up even then. I don't know why, but I could never believe that someone my age would actually be named Gloria. And she insisted it was a real name, though, and that she was named after the Laura Branigan song. And that's funny, I said.

That's my mom and stepdad's song. Small world, she said, and suggested it was fate that we became friends. Gloria messaged me a lot, always after 9 p.m. She told me she had various clubs and a lot of commitments. Her birth mom lived across the country and barely saw her, and her biological dad had died a couple of years ago, so she was stuck living with her strict Christian fundamentalist stepmom. I told her that I had a stepdad, but we got along pretty well.

But it was firm and fair, and my mom, on the other hand, treated me like the baby because I was. And we've been online friends for a few months by that time. I started telling her things about my family, and I trusted her a lot. She'd first added me on aim, which let you find and add random people as part of a feature it had that would never exist these days. A few of the Instant Messenger programs used to revolve around meeting new friends online, like IQC, IRC, Yahoo Messenger, etc. Gloria had added me as a friend one day and I'd accepted, because she just did that back then. It was before the days of Facebook and things, and when everyone's...

real name was attached to their profiles. It was totally normal to chat to a rando, and if they were a freak, then you just blocked them and moved on. It was the Wild West, and we weren't as careful as we should have been. But in some cases, that led to surprised long-term friendships. And that's what I thought was happening with Gloria, a genuine friend for life. And this all went down before cell phone cameras were a thing, and most kids didn't even have digital cameras, but I'd seen a couple of photos of her scanned from her yearbook photo, and I'd sent her scans in my class photos as well. And I came to really value Gloria's company. She was there for me when I was having a hard time at school with one of my teachers,

and she was there when me and my friends were being targeted by a couple of guys in the great above. She listened to me lament about my lack of love life, even though I was kind of vague about this at first as a shy 15-year-old. And one day I told Gloria about my sister, who was a few years older than me, and graduating from high school that year. Lacey is a good kid. And I say kid, even though she's my senior,

but I feel protective of her like that. And she was back then, too, but in her senior year, she was stressing about graduation a lot in the upcoming anxiety of college, and she started turning to very mild substances in order to cope. She was just taking something similar to Adderall

and occasionally dabbled in prescription painkillers, but none of them were things that she was meant to be taking. and so I stressed and worried about her. As a 15-year-old, I felt it a bit lame to tell my 18-year-old sister that I loved and cared about her, so I told Gloria instead. After that, Gloria kept asking about Lacey a lot. I didn't like this. It made me a bit jealous as well as protective,

and I guess Gloria picked up on that because she started to be extra nice to me. Love bombing, I think the kids call it these days. She'd asked me to hang out. with her almost every night, playing Habo Hotel and Club Penguin and various flash games. I started to develop a real strong bond with her, and I genuinely came to deeply value her company. I guess Gloria valued mine, too, because one Friday in the November of my sophomore year of high school, Gloria told me that she'd fallen in love with me. I didn't really know what to say. I loved Gloria as a friend, and I didn't feel that way about her. We'd never met for one thing.

and instead of breaking her heart, I suggested that maybe we could talk on the phone. Gloria freaked out at this and actually blocked me for a hot minute, and I felt awful. I'd somehow offended her and had no idea why. Had she been able to tell that I didn't feel the same? A few days of feeling lousy went past and then screw you guys played for my computer that Cartman sound, and Gloria was online. And I felt a little nervous and a little panicky. We talked long into the night.

Gloria spun a strange tale that didn't make a lot of sense, and I'm not going to bother repeating it, because, spoiler, it was completely made up. Short version, though, the idea of speaking on the phone terrified her, but she was down to actually meet in real life. She said she thought things could be a lot easier if we'd meet up and talk. This sounded like a terrible, dangerous idea to me, so, naturally, as a 15-year-old boy, I agree. to it immediately. We decided to meet in a park near my house, and I asked her how she knew where I

lived, and how she could be there when she lived across the state, and she told me that there was something that she needed to confess to me, but I shouldn't be scared. She was still the same Gloria I knew and trusted. Obviously, I was very suspicious, but I'd known this girl for months. We'd shared everything. We were close friends. Even if she had a dark secret, I could look past it. Maybe she was a friend from school who was too shy to admit who she was. Maybe she was a dude. Honestly, I would have been fine with Gloria being a boy my age. Maybe he had gender confusion issues or something,

but what I didn't really consider was the possibility that it was worse, and then worse again. I showed up to the park a bit early. The sun was just beginning to set, and I started to realize that even though we'd picked a public place to meet, the time and area of the park meant that nobody else. else was really around. It was a small parking lot and abandoned store on the edge of the park with a couple of benches I could wait on. And I sat there and eventually a car pulled into the parking lot,

windows down, blasting Thy Unvailing by insane clown posse from the open windows. I remember this vividly because I'd been hella into that band and that CD in particular when I was in middle school. This was a few years later, and I'd stopped listening to the album, but someone who knew me and was trying to impress me that hadn't really paid close attention for the last few years could feasibly play it to win me over. It wasn't just the song that caused my mind to go there. I also recognized the car. It was the car I'd rid into school many times a few years ago, listening to that very CD and refusing to enter in the conversation with the man in the driver's seat. my stepdad, mom's then new husband, Carl. Carl pulled the car to his stop, climbed out and walked over to me, and saying clown posse is still blaring from the stereo. I cringed. It was obvious what had happened. Carl had found out that I was meeting Gloria, a stranger from the internet, and had decided to intercept me. How did he know? Did Mom and Carl have some kind of parental lock or monitoring on the computer?

Carl sat down next to me and the truth was way, way more horrifying. Carl was Gloria. It had started out as a way to keep an eye on me and what I was getting up to online. And then he started enjoying being Gloria. He began digging his double life. I didn't want to believe it at first, but he was able to perfectly recount every interaction I'd had with Gloria. It was way more direct than if he'd read our chat logs or monitored our conversations. Only the other conversation participant could be this aware.

At first I was mad that my stepdad was keeping an eye on me. Then I remembered the event that had led to all of this. He, Gloria, said she, he, was in love with me. I asked Carl what in God's name had caused him to say that. and Carl looked sheepish and almost shy and then his face started to turn red. And in that moment, Carl changed. He'd always been kind of a pushover. I never really respected him because I thought he was less of a man than my dad had been,

and he let my mom push him around too. He certainly wasn't an abusive, cruel, or strict stepdad, but how he physically grabbed me by the collar, dragged me towards him and hissed in my ear. He said if I told anyone would he'd do. said or done as Gloria, then he would ruin my sister's life. I felt a cold, sick feeling in my stomach. I'd told Gloria all about Lacey's struggles. I didn't think it mattered because I thought Gloria was a kid my age on the internet who lived on the other side of the country. But no,

she was my damn stepdad, and now my stepdad had about a million pieces of damning info about his stepdaughter Lacey. We rode home, ICP was still playing, and it drove me nuts. And it and eventually I asked Carl what I could do to keep the peace and make sure that he left Stacey alone. And I was feeling sick and terrified. I'd lost my best friend Gloria and worse, found out that she'd never even been real. But I'd also screwed my sister over in the process and found out that the stepdad, who I'd always considered a non-entity, was a complete creepo. Carl said he wanted to keep up the facade, that I had to be a stepdad.

to continue talking to him as Gloria, pretending he was a 15-year-old girl whenever we spoke online. And something about this chilled me to my absolute core. He'd already confessed his love to me. What did he mean by keeping up the facade? How far was he expecting me to go with Gloria? And at first I really tried, for Lacey's sake, Carl kept up his persona of Gloria almost perfectly, just letting it slip enough to 100% prove to me it was in fact him. Comments like, see you at dinner, that could have looked innocuous to anyone reading the chat logs

or a vague reference to something he'd said in person. There was no doubt that he was Gloria, but for the most part he kept up the pretense of being my 15-year-old female internet friend, a very affectionate friend. I don't really want to talk about that part, and thankfully it could have been a lot worse. But Carl Gloria definitely did start trying to push things further with me, and that's when I broke. I couldn't take it anymore. I confessed it all to Lacey one night when we were alone in the house. I expected her to be furious at me and to kick my ass,

but she was totally chill and understanding. She explained gently to me that her drug problem was extremely minor recreational use and she hadn't taken anything in months. So even if Carl did try to expose her, there was really nothing to expose. She said it was very sweet that I was so worried about her, but kind of laughed at me for being overly cautious and neurotic and really sensible. And that was great news, though, because it meant that I didn't have to tolerate Carl anymore. And that night, Lacey and I assessed his computer, his password was our mom's date of birth,

and found chat logs between Gloria and a whole bunch of other kids online. And from what we could tell, Carl had been talking to at least five or six other teenage boys as Gloria. He'd never taken things irreparably far yet, but there was at least one conversation where he was beginning to try and encourage this one richer kid to use his allowance to buy a digital camera and send him revealing photos. We printed everything out that night before Carl could cover his tracks and then showed it to our mother. She obviously was horrified, and the next day, Carl was gone. Mom handled everything. I know law enforcement were involved, and I don't know if at the time laws allowed for Carl to be monitored for catfishing, as back in the early 2000s online laws were obviously pretty patchy.

And Carl died in the mid-2010s, alone and single, thankfully. I kept an eye on him all these years because I promised myself that I'd never allow him to actually hurt a kid. I can't be sure that I succeeded, but it seems like he kept his head down. till his death, so I feel like I did my job as best I could till he passed away of cancer. These days, it's very easy to verify who you're talking to, but as for us 2000s, kids, things were different. I knew plenty of friends my age who have had similar unpleasant experiences with adult strangers online, and my advice is not to suffer in silence, even if it happened years ago. Talk about it, even if it's just to a YouTube scary story,

channel. It really helps. Trust me. My name's Camille and I'll be honest. My dating history was a mess. I've been on dating apps for a while, swiping through profiles hoping to find someone different. I always seem to end up with the same kind of guys though. Mean, rough. And if I'm being honest, sometimes violent. A lot of them were into some pretty edgy stuff, like drug dealing or they were MMA fighters with egos that were bigger than their biceps. And I was pretty much tired of it at that point. I wanted something better, someone who wasn't like that. So when I matched with this one guy, we'll just call him Tom, I actually felt a spark of hope. And his profile seemed normal. He had a steady job, liked hiking, and didn't come off like he was trying to prove anything.

We started chatting and he was kind and funny even. And I told myself this could be a a fresh start. We texted for a couple of weeks and I opened up a bit about my past. Not everything, but enough to let him know that I'd been with some bad guys and was trying to move past that phase of my life. And he didn't judge, which was nice. He listened, asked questions, and seemed to get it. And eventually we decided to meet up. I suggested a place on the outer limits of the city, a quiet little pub that I'd been to once or twice. It wasn't exactly fancy. It wasn't exactly fancy. but it was far enough from my usual haunts that I wouldn't run into anyone I knew. Or so I thought.

I got to the pub and grabbed a table near the back. Tom showed up right on time and he looked just like he did in his pictures. Average height, brown hair, very kind eyes. And he smiled when he saw me and I relaxed a little. We ordered some drinks and started talking. And it was easy, just like our text messages. We talked about his job, my love for old. old music and random stuff like favorite places to eat. And it felt good, like maybe I'd finally

met someone who wasn't completely toxic. And about an hour in, Tom excused himself to use the toilet. I stayed at the table, sipping my drink and feeling pretty helpful. I was thinking about how maybe this could work, how maybe I could leave my old life behind. But when Tom came back, he seemed a bit off, not upset, just sort of distracted. I asked him. if everything was okay, but he brushed it off and said it was nothing. I didn't push him, though. We just kept talking, but I could tell that something had definitely shifted. He wasn't as relaxed anymore. I wondered if I'd said something wrong, but I couldn't think of anything. We finished our drinks and decided to call it a night. It was getting late and the pub was starting to empty out.

Tom offered to drive me home, which I appreciated. I didn't live too far, but it was nice not to have to take a bus or call a cab. We walked out to his car, parked in a dimly lit lot behind the pub, and the air was chilly, and I pulled my jacket even tighter. And that's when I noticed a group of people hanging around near the edge of the lot. They looked pretty rough, skinny, twitchy, like they hadn't slept in days. I knew that look. I'd seen it too many times before. I grabbed Tom's arm and whispered that we should hurry. And he nodded and we'd. And we nodded and picked up the pace. But before we could get to his car, the group started moving towards us. There were four of them, maybe five, and I recognized one of them, a guy named Johnny,

and he used to hang around with one of my exes, a dealer who had been bad news from the start. I hadn't seen Johnny in years, but I knew that he was trouble. I didn't say anything to Tom, I just wanted to get out of there. They got to us before we could reach the car, though. One of them, a tall guy with a shaved head, started shouting, asking who Tom was and why he was with me. Tom tried to stay calm, saying that we were just leaving, but they weren't having it. They started circling us, and I saw one of them pull out a crowbar. Tom grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the car, but they weren't letting us go that easily. The guy with the crowbar swung at the car, smashing the side mirror.

Another one kicked the door, leaving a dent. I screamed, and Tom yelled at them to back off, but that just made them laugh. Tom unlocked his car finally, and we jumped in. My hands were shaking as I fumbled with the seatbelt. The group was still banging on the car, shouting, but Tom didn't wait. He started the engine and peeled out of that lot. I remember the tires screeching. I looked back and saw them standing there, still yelling something, but thankfully they didn't follow us.

My heart was racing and I could barely breathe. I kept saying that I was sorry, over and over, like it was my fault. Tom didn't say much, just kept his eyes on the road. The drive to my place was quiet. I felt awful. I knew these guys were probably connected to my past, and I hated that Tom had gotten caught up in that. I kept thinking about how I'd wanted this to be different, how I'd wanted to leave all of that stuff behind, but I guess it followed me anyway. When we got to my flat, I'd turned to Tom and apologized again.

I told him I didn't know those guys would be there and that I hadn't meant for any of this to happen. He was kind about it, said it wasn't my fault. But I could tell that he was shaken. His car was messed up and he'd just been through something very terrifying because of me. And before I got out of the car, Tom said he'd like to see me again. And I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe that we could try again, that this was. was just a bad night, and I smiled and said that I'd like that too. I went inside, still feeling

shaky, but holding onto a tiny bit of hope. Maybe he meant it. Maybe we could get past this. But a few days later, I texted him and he didn't reply. I waited a couple of more days and tried again. Nothing. I checked the app, and he'd unmatched me. I realized that he must have deleted my number, and it hurt, but I couldn't blame. him. That night was a nightmare and I knew it was because of me, because of the mess that I've been trying to escape. I sat on my couch, staring at my phone, feeling like I'd ruined my chance at something good. I'd wanted so badly to change, to find someone who wasn't part of that world. But it felt like my past was never going to let me go. I thought about reaching out again,

maybe explaining more, but I didn't. I figured he'd made his choice and I had to respect that. And I felt embarrassed, ashamed even, and I kept her playing that night in my head wondering if I could have done something different. If I should have picked a different place or told him more about my past up front, but it was done. All I could do was try and move forward, keep trying to leave that old life behind, and I told myself that I'd be more careful next time if there was a next time. I just hoped that one day I'd meet someone who could see past the mess and give me a real chance. So something very strange happened to me a few years ago. Because I can't tell it without giving away some identifiable information,

I can't say exactly where it happened, but it was a major U.S. city. I don't think I'm in any danger from telling this story. I just have a very good reason to be cautious. I've been furloughed during the 2020 pandemic, and my stimulus check was starting to run out. I'd split up with my boyfriend because living together in lockdown had revealed that he was a massive Jordan Peterson guy, and before I blocked him on Facebook, I think he was getting into QA-Non.

So I was starting to get worried about money. I got into a routine of waking up and making some black coffee and then checking all the job listing sites for remote work. When nothing turned up, I'd usually hit one of the few gyms that were still open. Working out made me feel like that I still had some control over my body. And that day was different, though, because before I could, open my crossword app, I saw a Facebook message about an exciting new job opportunity with flexible hours and daily earnings up to $1,000. It was a multi-level marketing scheme to sell overpriced

makeup. I blocked and reported them for scams and thought that that would be the end of it. There was a new girl at the gym that day, but she seemed to be more interested in her phone than working out, probably trying to choose the right selfies to post. I tried to ignore her and worked on my arms. After showering and changing into a strappy top and leggings, I went to the nearby Starbucks for a frape. There was some more scam messages, which I didn't even bother reading this time before blocking them. And there must have been about five different accounts, all with the same kinds of messages and the same profile photo, of a woman in their 30s with lip fillers and pretty good eye makeup. It was about this point when I realized that she was in the

coffee shop, only about three tables away. I froze. I went to that gym almost every day. I was in the Starbucks nearly as often, and she had to have seen me here, probably got my name from them calling out for my drink orders and guessed the rest on Facebook. And this was no coincidence. Another terrible thought struck me. I googled the makeup brand Zero Results. And that kind of company is almost built on search engine optimization. There was no way that it would have had a digital footprint. And like most people, I didn't know much about multi-level marketing companies. The scale at which most of the recruiters message people is a little frightening, and you're

told to find up to hundreds of people each day and tell them their unique qualities make them suited to the MLM. So when I found out that the MLM company wasn't even real, it made a lot more sense how she'd had the time to do so much research on me. I later found out from friends and ex-co-workers that she'd been messaging them, asking questions about me and just giving a very weird vibe. I was so shocked that I almost ran out of the coffee shop. And of course, she followed me after taking a sip for my unfinished drink.

I asked her what the hell she was doing, and in the end, it turned out to be about a man that I'd just forgotten about. She claimed I'd stolen her ex. And in reality, he'd never told me that he was in a relationship, and when he proved to be useless in every way that mattered, I'd ended it. The next week, I'd seen him with another woman, and I barely even cared. I didn't steal her boyfriend, and she would have been better off without him.

I tried to tell her as much, but she was clearly obsessed with me now, and it didn't really matter how she'd started. It felt very strange trying to run away from her without wanting to make it obvious that something weird was happening, and as if by not showing it, I could avoid the situation that I was in. She didn't seem to care about that, so I was forced to run away from her. Not sure where else to go, I ran for the subway with, her not far behind. And I thought back to my wilder teenage years as I cleanly jumped over the

turnstile, leaving her scrambling to pay the fare. And I ran down the platform and jumped through the subway car doors and tried to make my way along the packed train. Just as the doors were closing, she made it into the car, and I waved at her as the train started to move and walk back up the steps to get a cab home. I don't have my name on any social media accounts now and I deleted most of them. even if you could work out who I am from this, you'll never find me online. I don't really take selfies anymore, not on any public accounts, and of course I got multiple restraining orders on her, but I still don't want to take any chances. Unless she's gotten the help she needs, then she's probably stalking someone else right now.

I have a very close friend who tells me I need to move because I resent having to keep a file on my own stalker. And I'm only writing this because I think if she escalates again, that she might be. get caught. I'd been looking forward to that date like a kid looking forward to Christmas. When he asked me out, I felt a little flutter in my stomach, and he seemed like a charming, old-fashioned gentleman with a warm smile and a way of being that made me feel like he was really listening, and not just waiting for his turn to speak. So we'd met through a mutual friend, and after a few texts back and forth, he suggested that we grabbed dinner and take a walk on the beach. It sounded perfect, like something out of a movie. I spent a while picking out my outfit,

which ended up being a simple sundress, nothing too fancy, but nice enough to feel good about myself. And I was nervous but excited, hoping that this could be a start to something. And the evening started great. We went to this little seafood place near the shore. It was cozy with string lights and the smell of fried shrimp in the air, and we talked about everything. Movies, music, our favorite places to hang out, and he was easy to talk to, and I felt comfortable like I could be myself. He told stories about growing up, his old dog and some of the dumb stuff he did as a kid. I laughed a lot, and he seemed to enjoy making me smile. After dinner, we decided to walk along the beach. The sun was setting, and it was kind of painting the sky this orange and pink, and the waves were calm,

lapping up at the shore. It felt romantic, like we were in our own, little Disney world. We walked side by side, our shoes were off, sand cool between my toes, and I was happy, thinking that maybe this was someone I could really like. We talked about random things at first, how he liked surfing, how I had always wanted to try it, but then it seemed like the conversation just sort of shifted. He started talking about his family, his parents mostly, and I listened, interested in learning more about him, and that's when he said it so casually like it was no big deal, how sometimes his dad used to hit his mom. And my stomach dropped.

I stopped walking for a second, thinking that I must have heard him wrong, but he kept going, saying that it didn't seem to hurt their relationship and that it was just how things were sometimes. Now, my heart started racing and not in a good romantic way. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I'd grown up in a house where my parents never laid a hand on each other no matter how mad they got, so the idea that a man was hitting a woman, especially for something as small as talking back, made me feel physically sick. And I couldn't stay quiet. I told him I didn't agree that no real man would ever hit a woman just for speaking her mind. I wasn't trying to start a fight. I was. I wasn't trying to start a fight, I just couldn't let that slide, because it felt wrong to nod along like it was okay.

I thought he'd maybe explain himself or say that he didn't mean it like that, but his face changed, and his eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened. I could tell he was mad, but I didn't expect what came next. Before I knew it, he was yelling about how I was insulting his dad, how I didn't know what I was talking about. I tried to stay calm to backtrack a little, but he refused to listen to me. And then he grabbed my arm, so hard that it hurt, and I froze. My mind was screaming at me to run, but my legs couldn't move. He gave me a sharp slap across my face that stung and made my eyes water.

I stumbled back, shocked, trying to process what was happening. This guy I had been laughing with for an hour ago was now hitting me. He didn't stop. He grabbed me again and I felt another blow, this time to my shoulder from a closed fist. And pain shot through me and I started to panic. I tried to push him away, but he was stronger. And I was scared, really scared, and all I could think was that I needed to get away. I don't know how long it lasted.

maybe just a few seconds, maybe a whole minute, but it felt like forever. My face was throbbing and my arm hurt where he grabbed me, and I was crying and trying to shield myself when suddenly I heard shouting, not from him, but from other people. Suddenly there were footsteps in the sand and a group of strangers appeared out of nowhere. They were yelling at him to stop, pulling him off of me. And I fell to my knees, shaking, trying to catch my breath. There were three or four of them, I think, and within seconds they were between us and keeping us

separate. One of them, a woman, knelt beside me asking if I was okay, and I couldn't answer. I was too shaken up, my mind racing with what had just happened. The guy was yelling at the group, cursing and trying to push past them. I looked up and saw him struggling. His face all twisted with anger. I was terrified he'd come back for me, but the people held him back, telling him to leave. Someone mentioned calling the cops, and that's when he bolted. He ran down the

beach, disappearing into the dark. And I just sat there, my head and my hands, trying to make sense of something I'd never make sense of. The woman stayed with me, her hand on my shoulder, telling me that I was safe now. Another guy was on his phone, talking to the police, and giving them a description of what had happened. My face hurt, and I could feel a bruise forming on my arm, and I was embarrassed, scared, and angry all at once. And I kept thinking about how fast everything had changed. One minute we were having a great date, and the next day was hitting me. I felt stupid for not seeing it coming, but for thinking he was a good guy.

The woman helped me stand, and I realized that I was still crying. She was kind, telling me it wasn't my fault and that I didn't do anything to deserve this. I wanted to believe her, but a part of me was blaming myself for saying anything about his dad. A couple of police officers showed up a little while later. I was sitting on a bench near the beach wrapped in a jacket one of the strangers had given me. The officer asked me what happened and I told him everything, from the dinner to the walk to what he said about his parents. And it was hard to talk about, especially with my face still stinging and my hands were still shaking.

They asked for his name, his number and anything I knew about him and I gave them what I could, but I didn't know much. We literally only just met. And they'd said they'd try to find him, but since he ran off, it might take some time, and I just remember nodding and feeling very numb. The woman who stayed with me offered to drive me home, and I didn't want to be alone, so I accepted. And on the way, I felt betrayed, not just by him, but by my own judgment. I thought that he was someone I could trust.

And when I got home, I locked the doors and just sat on my couch, still sitting in my nice dress, staring at the wall. My phone was full of notifications, but I didn't want to look at it. I didn't want to talk to anyone. Because that night changed me. I felt less trusting, more guarded, and I kept thinking about his face and how it went from warm and kind to that just cold and angry look so fast.

I had bruises for days, reminders of what had happened, but more than the physical pain, it was the shock that stuck with me. I'd gone on a date hoping for something good, and instead I, I ended up scared and hurt. The police called a few times after that, but they never were able to get in contact with this guy, and I honestly don't know if they ever will. All I know is that I'll never forget that night, and I'll never look at a first date the same way again. Like a lot of 80s and 90s, Edge Lord alternative kids, I was heavily into Marilyn Manson in the 90s and 2000s.

I was a fan of the band from the beginning and kind of fell off when Eat Me, drink me came out, but everything up to and including golden age of grotesque was my era. As anyone who was a Manson fan of the late 90s and early 2000s know, they were one of the bands that had an official forum on their website. For Noobes, a forum or BBS, as we call it, was basically like a band-related subreddit with different sections, where you could post threads similar to Reddit. Official forums for bands barely exist anymore because there's all sorts of legal culpability for what gets posted on them these days. Back then, it was basically a free-for-all.

Some very insane stuff went down on the Marilyn Manson forums, with people posting extreme shock images and remaining unband, or shocking photos of themselves or hurling abuse at each other, making the most offensive edge lord jokes you can imagine. And it was glorious. And I was a girly girl who loved pink and rainbows and prom and stuff, and also loved darky, edgy humor in Marilyn Manson, far harder and darker music.

I thought that this made me so unique, and so my online persona was based around being a glittery pink princess in a world of Goths and monsters. And what do you know? The Goths and monsters loved it, and me and appreciated the subversive nature of the joke. Cool, I did a funny. And I was a bit of a novelty when I registered on the forum

and immediately got taken under the wing of the cool kids, People like Perfect, Skinny Puppy, Stigma, and a sardonic lesbian called Katie, a skinny guy from Scranton who wore a tutu called Gordy, the DXM Queen, those types of people. And I was bullied by men with names like celibate Adam, Mugwamp, Cranboy, and Derek. But it was all in good fun, and I bit back. We all hated each other with loving affection, and to this day it was one of my favorite communities I've ever been a part of. I think it helped because three of the cool kids, perfect, skinny, and Katie, were actually kids I knew from school. I'd overheard them talking about the Marilyn Manson BBS and told them that I was a fan.

They didn't believe me because I was a cheerleader in theater kids, so I signed up and demonstrated my knowledge and showed that I was down for the lulls. And that's how we became friends. We didn't really hang out IRL, but it was nice to know that some of my online friends were also my school pals, if I never did need to show. with them. One member of the Manson forum was called Jordie Dark. He'd regularly post pictures of himself. He had this thick milk bottle glasses, a porn star mustache, huge sideburns, a mollet, and the lankiest, skinniest, palest body you've ever seen. A very odd-looking fella, but kind of interesting. And we never really hung out, but he'd sometimes comment on my posts with things like, or nice or lull.

And one day, Jordy sent me a private message asking when we were going to start chatting. I was down to chat with anyone, so I said, well, now is fine. And we began talking about music, of course. And surprise, surprise, we shared a lot of the same tastes, which is pretty expected when you meet on the message board of the band. There were about four things we talked about. The Blair Witch Project, Marilyn Manson, Hull, the band, and the X-Files.

We were both big fans of all of these things that for alternative kids was very mainstream. Jordy took this as a sign that we were absolute soulmates, though, and every single day after that, he'd commented on all my posts as if though we were best friends.

He'd also send me lengthy private messages talking about, I don't really know what, really. The weirdest part was that he decided that I was depressed, sad, anxious goth girl who was a danger to herself and needed to be lifted out of her pit of misery. At no point had I ever suggested this,

just because a lot of other girls on the form were like that, didn't mean I was. But it seemed like Jordy had just decided that I was as a means of saving me and didn't even care that it wasn't real. It was intensely infuriating, having a guy talked to you about your mental health disorders and depression that don't even exist, treating you like a patient who he can save with his love and care.

I could ignore it in PMs, but he started commenting like this on my post, too. It became really irritating, especially when others would try and interact with me and joke around, sometimes aggressively, sure, because that was how we interacted in fun. But he would rush to my defense. He'd warned people to leave me alone, threaten them if they insulted me, and it started making me look bad, too. I didn't want some creep defending me like this, especially from people I consider friends. I tried to tell Jordy a bunch of times that I didn't want this, and he flat out told me that

I simply didn't know what was best for me due to my mental illness. And he said that it was numb because of the medication. I'm like, bro, I don't even take aspirin. And I started to ignore Jordy after this. Unfortunately, the BBS software didn't have a function where you could block individual people. The only way they could stop messaging you was if they got banned. It wasn't really something we did, reporting each other to the admin, and it was generally considered a big no-no, so I didn't file any complaints about Jordy. We encouraged mob justice, which meant that me and my friends would clown on Jordy.

We'd call him a loser, creep, and weirdo whenever he posted strange crap about me. Jordy didn't care, though. He'd just reply with a, he continued posting his strange, poorly lit photos of himself where he'd look like a 70s serial killer. And one of the last private messages Jordy sent me, he told me he forgave me for how my friends treated him. He said that he wouldn't let it get in the way of our life together and that one day he'd come and rescue me from these creeps. Like I said, I was in high school at this point in my junior year. Perfect Skinny and Katie also went to my school and they were in their senior year, which is another reason that we didn't hang out in school really.

One day I was in class and got a message from the office that my dad had arrived to take me out of school due to a family emergency. Weird, since my dad walked out when I was three. I have a stepdad, though, but it was unusual that he'd introduce himself as my dad. We got a long grate, but he was Leon, not dad, and that was fine. Maybe the office just screwed up, though. I got a pass, left class, and headed to the office. Even down the hall I couldn't see Leon or anyone. The secretary said that my dad was out in the parking lot and that she was sorry to hear about my aunt.

I did have a crazy wine aunt living in another state, my mom's sister, so my heart flip-flopped as I rushed into the parking lot. Once there, I froze in my tracks. There was a filthy-looking camper van parked up across the three spots. It was covered in faded flower-power graffiti and some lewd imagery of women. Leaning against the camper van was a guy both recognized and didn't. It was Jordy from the Maryland Manson forums, but wasn't exactly him. Remember I said that in his photos he looked like a serial killer from the 70s? That's because those photos likely were taken in the 70s.

The guy who stood lounging against the camper smoking a cigarette looked like Jordy but aged 30 years or more. His long hippie hair was grazed and so. was his mustache, and his face was a map of wrinkles and lines that suggested hard living and hard drugs. He wore filthy bell-bottom jeans in a cow-skin vest, open over his bear pigeon chest, and I kid you not, he'd look like a hippie who hadn't changed his clothes or washed since 1969. I stopped short, but elderly Jordy caught sight of me across the parking lot. His deranged face split into a frantic grin, and he'd be able to a frantic grin, and he'd be a very much.

began striding toward me. He called out my forum username and that's when I knew that it was definitely him. He began ranting about how he'd finally come to save me and take me away from the filth. And I began to back away and told him to F off. But he came over to me and grabbed my wrist, hard. I yelled at him to get off of me and by now some other students and faculty were beginning to pay attention. I saw a friend I recognized and yelled that this dude was some random him guy off the internet and he was trying to kidnap me and to please go get the principal, the cops, or whatever. They ran off and Jordy began dragging me towards his stinking, dirty camper van. God knows what depraved faith lay in store for me behind those doors. Then I screamed and tried

to pull away. But for an old guy, he was incredibly strong and his sandaled feet slapped over the parking lot as he heaved me towards a serial killer murder van, or so it seemed to me at the time. Out of nowhere, a voice yelled at him to let me the F go and back off. I turned, and my three forum buddies from school, perfect, Skinny, and Katie came barreling over. Skinny raced her skateboard and cracked Jordy across the back with it, causing the old board to actually break. Jordy let go of me and howled in fury. Katie swung her bag, covered in band badges and patches, and battered Jordie in the head, sending him back further.

And then, Perfect, the guy who was this tiny short goth kid, displayed surprising strength by pinning hippie's arms behind his back and rushing him forward across the parking lot, slamming him against the minivan. Jordy then crumples to the ground, and Perfect pinned him down yelling for security or really anyone. Katie and Skinny guided me away and checked that I was okay. I told them I was, and then mentioned how wild it was that Jordy had literally tracked me down from the forums and arrived here. They were floored. They had no idea who they'd been fighting. They'd just seen some old guy dragging me across the parking lot and ran to my aide. They hadn't even paid attention to who it was, but as soon as I told them, they realized I was right.

It was him. The cops came, and he was still. taken away, and the four of us got to go home for the rest of the day. The first thing we did was talk online, and finally we did report this to the forum admins who banned Jordy immediately. The others really wanted to post this epic tale to the forums, but we realized that it probably wasn't a good idea since it was an ongoing investigation, and it probably would show where we're from. And to this day, I have no idea how Jordy actually found the town that I live in and the school that I go to. He insisted I told him, and also claimed that I'd asked him to come collect me from the school that day.

It was my word against his, ultimately, and as much as I hated having to let things drop, there was a talk of him trying to push assault charges on my friends if I didn't. Ultimately, I had to let this potential predator go free, and my mom and stepdad were absolutely furious about all of it. It kind of sucks knowing that Jordy didn't face any real repercussions for his actions, and I have to really hope that it was enough to. to snap him out of whatever kind of weird stupor he was in and make sure he left teenage girls alone. Oh,

My name is Maria, and although I think I'm a little older than your usual crowd, I think my story is just as scary as any other. Back when I was just 21 years young, I went on a date with a guy in my home state of Florida. Since it was our first date, I felt nervous as hell just sitting across from the sky I'd met at a friend's party a week earlier. His name was Roddy, short for Rodrigo, and he seemed really nice. He had a cute smile, he was kind of shy, and he worked at a record store downtown. This was 1983, and Miami was buzzing, and I was excited for our first date at this little Cuban restaurant in Little Havana. I'd never been there before, but everyone said the food was amazing, and it had this cozy vibe with colorful tiles and old photos on the walls. Roddy picked me up in my apartment and we drove to the restaurant in his beat-up Chevy,

and I wanted to make a good impression, but I was already second-guessing everything by the time I got there. The air was warm and sticky, it was typical Miami, and the radio played some new wave song that I pretended to like. And I just remember fidgeting with my bracelet trying to calm my nerves. And then when we walked into the restaurant, the smell of roasted pork and fresh coffee hit me, I started to relax a little. The place was packed. Families were laughing and waiters rushing around, and we got a small table near the window,

and I remember thinking how the streetlights outside made everything just feel alive. We ordered some food, and I was just starting to feel like maybe this date wouldn't be a disaster. Roddy was telling me about some vinyl he'd found at work, and I was trying to act interested, even though I wasn't big into music.

I sip my soda, and I glanced out the window every now and then. The street was busy, with cars cruising by and people walking under the neon signs, and everything felt normal, like any other night in Miami, and then it happened. I didn't even realize what was going on at first. There was this loud pop, like firecrackers, and the window next to us shattered. Glass sprayed everywhere, and I froze, my heart pounding harder than I never felt before. The pops kept coming, fast and sharp, and people were. people started screaming. I ducked under a table, my hands over my head, not even thinking, just

moving on instinct. I could feel bits of glass under my palms. My dress was probably ruined, but I didn't care. All I could think was, please God, I don't want to die. And Roddy was under the table with me, and his face I remember being pale as a ghost. I could hear plates crashing, chairs, scraping, and more screams. The gunfire kept coming, but it wasn't like in the mood. movies. It was messy, chaotic, so loud that my ears were ringing, and I kept waiting for it to stop, but it felt like forever. I was shaking. My breath was coming in these short gasps, and I couldn't stop picturing someone bursting through the door to finish us off. I didn't know what was happening or why it was happening. All I knew was that I was terrified. When the shooting finally stopped,

it was like the world held its breath. There was this terrible silence at first, one that was eventually broken by people crying or shouting in Spanish. I stayed under the table, too scared to move. Roddy grabbed my hand, and even though it felt weirdly intimate for our first date, I led him. But my mind was racing. Were we safe? Was the shooter gone? Or was he just waiting for round two?

I kept thinking about my mom, how I hadn't called her that day, and how I might never get the chance. ever again. And somehow, I think it was a waiter, yelled that everything was over, and for everyone to stay calm. I peeked out from under the table. The restaurant was a mess. There were tables flipped over, food spilled everywhere, glass glittering on the floor like little razor-sharp pieces of confetti. People were huddled together, some crying, others checking on each other. I saw an older woman holding a napkin to our arm with blood seeping through and staining the white fabric. But thankfully, that was the worst injury I saw. Nobody seemed to be dead, and although I felt a wave of relief, my body wouldn't stop shaking.

Roddy helped me to my feet, and for a few seconds we just stood there, looking around and not knowing what to do. The air smelled like something burning and spilled coffee. My ears were still ringing, my legs felt like jelly. I noticed my dress had a tear at the hem and for some reason, that there made me want to cry. It was such a stupid thing to care about when I just thought that I was about to die, but all of it just kind of hit me really hard. I kept thinking it was supposed to be a fun night, but somehow it turned into a nightmare.

Police sirens started wailing outside and soon there were cops everywhere asking questions and telling us to stay put. I heard someone say it was a Cuban dizzar. incident, someone angry about politics who shot up the place to make a point. They didn't want to kill anyone. They just wanted to wreck the restaurant. And I didn't understand any of it. Why that place? Why that night? I felt this weird mix of relief that no one was seriously hurt, but also in anger that someone could be so evil as to ruin a normal night and put people's lives at risk, all for nothing more than politics. And before we left, me and Roddy gave our statements to the police.

I don't even remember what I said. My mind was foggy, but once we were done, they told us we could leave. Roddy offered to drive me, and I nodded, still too shaken to argue and not wanting to be alone. We didn't talk much on the way back. The radio was off, and the city felt different, like it had shown me a side that I didn't want to see. When we got to my apartment, I just sat in his car for a minute not ready to be alone. He asked me if I was okay, and I said, yeah, even though I clearly. wasn't. That night I couldn't sleep. I kept hearing the sound of the gunfire and the way the

glass exploded, the way my heart felt like it was going to jump out of my chest. I kept thinking about how I've been so worried about my hair or whether Roddy liked me, and then the world turned upside down in a second. It made everything feel so fragile, like anything could happen at any time. Roddy called the next day to check on me, and we talked a little about what happened. and we went out again a week later, but it wasn't the same. The spark was gone, maybe because we'd shared something so intense too soon, and I didn't blame him, but I couldn't shake the feeling that the date had been doomed from the start. The restaurant stayed closed for a while, and I never went back, even after it reopened.

I couldn't imagine sitting there again, eating like nothing had happened. And for a long time I got nervous and crowded places. Every loud noise made me jump, and I'd see a car backfire, hear a door slam, and feel that same panic in my chest. I started avoiding Little Havana altogether, which was silly because it wasn't the neighborhood's fault. I just couldn't handle the memories. But over time, things got better. I went on other dates and laughed and felt normal again. But obviously that night stuck with me like a scar that you forget about until you catch a glimpse of it.

It was the night that I learned how quickly everything can change and how you can plan for a perfect evening and end up hiding underneath the table, praying, you'll make it out alive. I'm from old blighty, and I've got a proper corker of a yarn to share with you today, old chap. Just kidding, we don't actually talk like that, but that was the first message I received from the girl that I'll call handcuffs. She said that she'd seen my MySpace and liked my photography and thought it was funny that I came. from old blighty. She was fascinated by British slang and British culture and kept making weird British jokes to me calling me old chap and that kind of stuff. And I found it pretty enduring that a hot alternative Californian chick was impressed by my Britishness. And I figured the rumor was true, that American chicks dig British guys despite our awful teeth and love of bland

cuisine. And I was even more impressed when handcuffs told me the sight that she'd worked for. You can't actually say the name on YouTube, but let's just say that it's a modeling site that still exists to this day, which could be known as unalive lasses, if you catch my drift. And you probably get it by now. Handcuffs told me that she was an unalive lass, and send some photos that did indeed suggest that she was such. And I could see her on the public version of the website, but a number of the photos were definitely from the paying members-only area,

if they catch my drift. And of course it didn't really occur to my dumb hormone-fueled self that someone could have just subscribed to the site to save those photos and send them to me. The inclusion of some candid personal photos sealed the deal for me and again, stupid as I am, didn't really consider that whoever handcuffs really was, they could have just found other photos of this unalive lass

who was a public figure. Me and handcuffs talked for a while and then she confessed her love for me. And I believe this, obviously, because I was an arrogant little sod who thought that it was a great catch for a Californian glamour model. And I started getting more suspicious, however, when she became dead set on flying me out to Cali to meet her. And that seemed too good to be true, but, hey, what's the worst that could happen? A free trip to California? Then she said that because of the way the exchange rate works, she could only buy a ticket from the UK to California using GPP.

and her bank account didn't allow her to exchange dollars for pounds. Therefore, I'd have to send her the ticket price in pounds, and she'd send it back in dollars, and she knew my bank account would automatically convert it because Lloyd's Bank did that apparently. Why a Californian unalive last was supposed to have insight into the functions of Lloyd's Bank as something I'll never know. But hey, at least it was a good tell that started to open my eyes. I asked her if she could possibly send the money first, because I was a little strapped for cash after getting my Peugeot modded.

At first she said that was fine and even claimed that she'd done an international transfer, so I should send the money over in the meantime, and her transfer would appear in my account later. Yeah, no thanks. I told her I'd have to wait until her transfer came through, and she started ranting about how I didn't really love her and how I wasn't going to get some, if I didn't make the effort and try to appeal to my, you know, baser instincts.

And as much as I wanted to believe that I'd be sinking into the bed of an unalive lass, I also wanted to believe that I'd have money to live, so I told her that I genuinely could not send the money back until I had it. Of course, no money showed up. And then she surprised me by saying it was fine. She'd managed to buy the ticket anyway, so I didn't need to worry about the money. I asked her if the plane tickets would be arriving at my house, and she said no. She hadn't been able to arrange that, so I'd have to pick them up from the airport on the day of the floor.

I told her that I'd prefer to have the ticket in hand before driving all the way down to Hethro, or at the very least, could she email me the receipt for the ticket, so I knew everything was kosher. And again, she flipped out at this, screaming over instant messenger and hurling some of the worst written abuse I think I'd ever seen in my life. Hell, at this point, I didn't even care if she was genuine, Californian hot girl or not. Never stick your head in crazy, as I say. And so I told her to have a nice life, blocked her, and moved on thinking that I was no worse for where. I did kind of miss her or miss the things that I'd imagine getting up to with her, but it was whatever.

And a few days later, I was strolling through town with a couple of the boys when I heard a female voice yelling my name with some absolute venom. I turned to look, and an ex-girlfriend from year eight came bounding across the high street. Lucy was a large Wiccan girl who had been a smaller quiet girl when we dated. We just kind of drifted apart after just a few weeks, simply not vibing, and I'd never even thought about her since. We were in sixth-form college now, and I saw her around at times, often being quite loud and mouthy and was always glad that I dodged a bullet with that one. And now she was storming over to me, swinging her big woolen black bag, pentagrams jangling around her neck, mascara smeared around her eyes. Then she came up to me and jabbed me in the chest with a porky finger hollering at me that I had no idea what I'd missed out on

and that I'd regret not paying her what I owed her for the heartbreak. She began screeching that she was going to put a spell on me and my friends, and that my genitals would fall off. Then she mentioned a few things that only handcuffs would know, and that's when I realized. Handcuffs was Lucy, my weird one. wicked ex-girlfriend from year eight, and I'd been successfully and decisively catfished by this crazy bitch. My mates would give me the ribbing of a lifetime about this later, but right now Lucy seemed genuinely unhinged and dangerous. She was talking as if she'd genuinely believed that

she was handcuffs, and had at least summoned or manifested her, and that if I'd just sent her the money to pay her rent, then everything would have been forgiven and we could have gone back to being in love. I asked her what needed forgiving, and she said the fact that I broke up with her. In year eight, lady, like five years ago, and we just drifted apart, so I yelled at her, and it absolutely broke her brain. Lucy full-blown leaped on me, slamming me to the floor, and I felt my head hit the side of a granite bench as I fell, and blood began to trickle from my skull. And on top of that, I could feel tiny, sharp pains in my chest as she began to stab me

over and over repeatedly with a safety pin. It was more annoying than agonizing and coupled with the crack in my skull. Things were starting to feel very serious. I felt my friends dragging Lucy off me, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up in the hospital. Lucy had accidentally fractured my damn skull when she'd pushed me, and I had a massive bleed on my brain. My chest was also really sore from being stabbed by a damn safety pin, and my parents told me. that Lucy was absolutely mortified about nearly killing me. Lucy's parents were insisting that she went into a voluntary rehab stint. Apparently she'd been pretty heavy into drugs and alcohol and this was a

wake-up call for her. And it was up to me if I pressed charges and ultimately I decided not to. But that is the story of how I got catfished, stalked, and almost killed by a fake unalive lass who almost unalived me. For a bit of a happy ending, Lucy went through a stint at rehab and got better. We're not closer or anything, but she's a mother of two and a fitness instructor now and living her best life. We keep in touch sporadically, though, for class reunions and stuff, and she has an incredibly dark sense of humor like I do, so we're able to joke about her almost killing me. In fact, it was her idea that I write this up, and she proof read and signed off on it. Some of the more damning descriptions of her were added by her, and she said that I should send

it to a true scary stories channel, and so I set it on sending it to my favorite lad who would never catfish anyone. Let's read. So I've been a listener for a while, and I love your stories, and I think that you might like to read one of mine, which involves my terrible dating life. His name was Jay, and we'd matched on an app. He seemed confident, maybe a bit cocky, but in a charming way. He was a dude from a rough part of town, always posting about his souped up car and flashy sneakers on social media. Hood rich, I guess you could call it. Big attitude, bigger dreams were probably not much in his bank account. Still, he had a vibe and I was curious. He suggested we go for a drive, maybe grab some food somewhere low-key, and it sounded fun, so I said yes.

I've been looking forward to the date for days. I got ready that evening, keeping it simple, jeans, a cute top, some sneakers in case we ended up walking somewhere. and Jay pulled up outside my flat in this really loud and shiny car. The thing was decked out with tinted windows, had some low suspension, and a very base-heavy sound system that actually rattled the windows before I even stepped outside. And he leaned out the driver's side window, kind of smiling, and I hopped in. And the car smelled like air freshener and this leather polish. He was wearing a track suit, all designer and a gold chain.

that looked heavier than it needed to be. I thought he was trying a bit hard, but I guess I didn't mind. He seemed excited to show off. And we drove through the city. Music was blaring, and I was having a decent time. Jay was chatty telling me about his car and how he'd saved up for the mods and how he'd been in a few street races. I wasn't actually sure if he was exaggerating, but I just kind of nodded along.

And the streets were busy, lights were flashing, and I was starting to relax and thinking this might actually be a fun night. and he asked if I wanted to see what the car could do, and I just shrugged, thinking he'd just rev the engine or something. But that was a big mistake. We pulled on to a quieter road, and Jay's whole vibe changed. His smile got wider, and he started driving faster, way faster. The speedometer climbed, and my stomach flipped as the car roared. I gripped the seat, trying to play it cool, but I was clearly nervous.

I didn't say anything, though. I didn't want to seem boring. And he was weaving through traffic, cutting corners, and I could feel the car vibrating underneath me. And I kept thinking that he'd slowed down, but he didn't. And then I heard it, sirens behind us. At first I thought it was just an ambulance, maybe. But Jay's face got excited.

He glanced in the rearview mirror and swore under his breath. I turned around and saw these flashing lights. behind us and my heart sank. Police, two cars, maybe three, right on our tail. I asked what was going on, but Jay didn't answer. He just floored it. And the car pushed forward and I was just pinned in my seat. We were flying now, way over the speed limit, dodging other cars like something out of a movie. My hands were sweaty and my chest was feeling tight. I wanted to scream at him to stop, but my voice was just stuck, like a dream. The sirens were louder, closer, and I could see the police cars in the side mirror,

and their lights were blinding me. Jay was focused, hands gripping the wheel, but I could tell that he was panicking too. The city started to blur past, streetlights, buildings, everything just looked like a streak, and I didn't know where we were anymore. We hit this long stretch of road, and I thought that maybe we might actually lose them. but the police didn't stop. I heard a loud bang, and the car swerved hard. My head slammed against the window, and I remember yelling.

Jay shouted something, but I couldn't make it out over the noise. I looked back and saw one of the police cars had rammed us. The rear of that BMW was crumpled and the back windshield was cracked. I realized later it was one of those pit maneuvers that I'd seen on TV where they hit your car and try to make it spin out, and if you asked me, It worked a little bit too well. The car started to skid, the tires were screeching, and we spun across the road before coming to a stop. I was shaking.

My ears were ringing from the impact. Before I could process what was happening, there was another crash, and glass exploded everywhere. The driver's side window was suddenly gone, shattered by something heavy, maybe a baton, I have no idea. I just remember screaming, covering my face as though. those shards started to rain into the car. My window was the next to smash, and I felt the air rush in. I looked up, and there were police everywhere surrounding us. The cars were angled to block us in, lights flashing so bright that it was hurting my eyes,

and I saw guns. Actual guns, not just like stun guns, pointed right at me through the broken windows. My heart was pounding so hard that I thought it might explode. I froze, hands up, trying to show that I wasn't a threat. Jay was yelling, but I couldn't focus on what it was saying. The police were shouting too, telling us to get out with our hands up. And I was terrified, but I managed to open the door and stumble out. The road was cold under my feet, and I realized that I'd lost a shoe somewhere in the chaos.

My hands were trembling as I held them above my head and kept my eyes down, too scared to even look at the officers. They grabbed me, not roughly but firmly and pulled me away from the car. I saw them drag Jay out, pinning him to the ground. He was still shouting, something about how they had no right, but they weren't listening. I was led to the side of the road where an officer started asking me questions. They wanted to know my name, what I was doing, if I knew why Jay ran. And I told them it was our first date, that I had no idea what was going on. My voice was shaky, and I felt tears feeling.

up in my eyes, but I held it together. The police searched me, checked my bag while I stood there, shivering and humiliated while cars slowed down and their passengers were just staring at us. And the police kept me there for what felt like forever, asking the same questions over and over, and I told them I barely knew Jay, that I'd literally just met him online, but I could tell they didn't fully believe me. They said the car was flagged for something. It was stolen, maybe, or linked to a crime. I didn't know. And I didn't want to know. All I could think about was how I'd ended up here on the side of the road, surrounded by cops with guns all because I thought a drive with a guy might be fun.

And eventually they let me go. They didn't arrest me, thank God, but they took my details and said they might call later. Obviously Jay wasn't so lucky. He got cuffed and shoved into the back of a police van, and I didn't stick around to see what happened next. One of the officers drove me home and I sat in the back of the car staring out the window. When I got to my place, I locked the door, sank onto the couch, and just sat there trying to process everything. My phone was blowing up with texts and calls from friends, and they were most probably wondering how the date went, but I honestly couldn't bring myself to answer. I eventually deleted Jay's number, unmatched them on the app, and swore that I'd never go on a date

ever again. All I wanted was a fun night out and instead, I got to experience what it was like to pretty much play Grand Theft Auto in real life. I honestly couldn't believe my luck when Stephen asked me out. I was 22, just out of college and working at a little coffee shop downtown. He'd come in a few times, always ordering the same black coffee and flashing his smile that always made my stomach jump. He was cute, tall, and had messy brown hair with his quiet confidence that really wasn't cocky. And when he finally asked me out for dinner, I said yes before he could even finish the sentence. And that Friday night, I spent way too long getting ready. Stephen picked me up at my apartment and we went to this nice little Italian place.

It was perfect, it had dim lights, good pasta, and conversation that flowed like we'd known each other forever. And we talked about music. our favorite movies, and how he was saving up to travel. And after dinner, we weren't ready to call it a night. Stephen suggested hitting a club a few blocks away, and I was all in. I loved dancing, and the idea of getting loose with him sounded pretty fun. And the club was packed, the music was loud, and the lights were flashing in a way that kind of makes you feel like you're in a different world.

And we dance for hours, laughing and sipping on some overpriced drinks, and I was having the time in my life, feeling free and maybe even a little reckless in the best kind of way. And that's when we came across Dan. He came right up to us on the dance floor, very charming and very full of cocky confidence. He seemed to be older, maybe in his late 30s, and he had this slick-backed hair and a smile that was probably too perfect. And he introduced himself as Dan, but everyone called him Hot Tub Dan. And I didn't think much of that weird nickname at the time.

It sounded kind of quirky, like something you'd hear in a college town. And he told us he was throwing an after-party at his place and invited us to come along. A few other people around us overheard and got excited, and before I knew it, there were maybe six or seven of us piling into Ubers and heading to this hot tub Dan's house. And I was excited. The night felt like some kind of adventure and I wasn't ready for it to end. Stephen seemed a little hesitant, but we just brushed it off. I figured he was just being overly cautious, and I was having too much fun to really

overthink anything, being young and naive. Now we pull up to Hot Tub Dan's place, and my jaw dropped. It was huge. A modern two-story house with big windows and a perfectly manicured lawn. It looked like something out of a magazine, and inside it was even more impressive. Everything was sleek. an expensive looking, with a massive living room in a bar stocked with every kind of liquor, and sliding glass doors that opened to a backyard with, you guessed it, a hot tub.

And the party kicked off fast. Someone cranked up the music and people started pouring some drinks. And Dan was honestly the perfect host, always making sure everyone had a drink in their hand, always smiling and really quick with his jokes. I got caught up in the energy of everything. The hot tub was obviously a big hit. were jumping in, laughing, splashing around. I didn't get in, but I was honestly just having a blast dancing and chatting with other people. Most of them were around my age, a mix of guys and gals who'd all

ended up at dance place after the club. And everything seemed nice and the vibe felt carefree, like we were all just chasing a good time. Stephen, though, was acting very differently. He stayed close to me, but he wasn't as into it as I was. He wasn't dancing much, and he kept looking around like he was kind of sizing things up. I noticed him watching Dan a few times, but I really didn't think much of it. I was just too busy with myself, I guess. And in around 2 a.m., I was still going strong, sipping drinks and laughing with some of the girls that I met. And that's when Stephen leaned in and said we should head out. I was surprised. It was late, sure, but the party was still in full swing. I told him I wanted to stay a little longer,

but he was firm about it. He said he was tired and didn't feel like sticking around. I was a little annoyed, honestly, and thought that he was being a buzzkill, but he insisted, and I didn't want to make a big deal out of everything, so we called a taxi and left. And the ride home was quiet. I was still riding the high of the night, but Stephen seemed distracted. He didn't say much, just kind of looked out the window.

And I figured he was just tired or maybe not as into partying as I was. and when we got to my place, he walked me to my door, gave me a quick hug, and said he'd text me tomorrow. I went to bed still buzzing from the night, thinking about everything and all the fun that I'd had. It had been such a fun and wild night and I was already looking forward to telling my friends about it. The next morning, I woke up to my phone ringing. It was a number I didn't recognize, and when I answered, it was the police. And my stomach dropped. They asked if I'd been at a house party the night before.

and I said yes, confused. They wanted me to come to the station to answer some questions, and I didn't know what was going on, but I got dressed and went, and my mind was racing the whole way there. Had something happened after we left? Was someone hurt? I had no idea, but I also couldn't shake the feeling that something seriously messed up had occurred. At the station, the officers were kind, but clearly serious. They sat me down and started asking about the party, stuff like when did I get there, who was I with, and what had I seen. Then and only then did they tell me why they'd called. A girl at the party had been, for lack of better words, intimately assaulted.

It happened after Stephen and I left in the early hours of the morning. They didn't give me too many details, but they said it was bad. Dan, the guy who owned the house was the one who did it. My heart sank as they talked. I thought about how I'd been at that house in that hot tub backyard, laughing and dancing just hours before it happened. The thought hit me like a punch to the gut, as it could have been me. They asked if I'd noticed anything off about Dan, anything that stood out. I told them that I hadn't.

He'd seemed charming and friendly, like the kind of guy who just loved throwing parties and socializing. I mentioned how he'd been so welcoming, always making sure everyone was having a good time. The officers exchanged a look, and one of them told me they'd found a lot of evidence at Dan's house. They didn't go into further specifics, but they said he'd recorded things, videos, pictures, stuff he kept on his computer. It made me feel sick. The guy I'd thought was just a fun host was a predator, and I'd been in his house. completely clueless. And I left the station feeling shaky. The whole drive home I kept thinking about how close I'd come to something awful. If I'd stayed longer, if I'd gotten in that hot tub,

if I had one more drink, any of those things could have put me in danger. And I felt stupid for not seeing it, for thinking the party was just a good time. But more than that, I kept thinking about Stephen. He'd been so insistent about leaving, even when I wanted to stay, and at the time I'd been annoyed, but now realized that he'd probably saved me from something horrible. I texted Stephen as soon as I got home, asking if we could talk, and he came over that afternoon, and I told him everything the police had said, and he looked pale, like he was just processing all of it, too. I asked him why he'd been so set on leaving the party, and he said he didn't know Dan, but something about him felt off.

He couldn't explain it exactly. He said it was just a gut feeling based on the way Dan was acting. He was always hovering around the girls, pushing drinks on them and making them feel uneasy. He didn't want to scare me at the time, so he just said he was tired and wanted to go. I felt a wave of gratitude wash over me. I hugged him and thanked him.

I don't know if he realized how much he'd done for me that night, so I was sure to let him know. In the weeks that followed, I kept up with the news about Dan. And it turned out his real name wasn't even Dan. It was like Chris or something, and Hot Tub Dan was just what people called him. The police found a ton of evidence on his computer, videos he'd taken of girls at his parties, some of them unaware they were even being recorded. It was disgusting.

He'd been doing this for years, throwing these big parties, luring people in, and then taking advantage of them. The girl from our night wasn't the first. I felt so angry, but also so helpless. I kept thinking about her wondering if she was okay and hoping that she had people to actually support her. Dan or Chris eventually went to trial a few months later. I wasn't called as a witness, but I followed the case online, and the evidence was just overwhelming, especially the stuff on his hard drive.

He was convicted and sentenced to 10 years in prison. It felt like justice, but it didn't erase. what had happened, and I couldn't stop thinking about how lucky I'd been, and how one decision had actually kept me safe. And after that, I saw Stephen a lot. We started hanging out more, and he became someone I trusted completely. I don't know if it was the intensity of that night or just how easy it was to be around him, but we obviously grew close. And I told him one day how grateful I was for what he'd done. He just sort of shrugged and said he was glad that we left when we did. That's Stephen, though, quiet, steady, and always looking out for me. And looking back,

that night was kind of just a blur of fun and danger, a mix of naive excitement, and a close call I'll never forget. I still love a good night out, obviously, but I'm more careful now. I trust my instincts and the people who have good ones. That night could have changed my life in the worst possible way, but thanks to Stephen, it didn't. 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.