The Lets Read Podcast - 336: MY TRIP ABROAD ENDED HORRIBLY | 11 TERRIFYING True Scary Stories / Rain Ambience | EP 321

Episode Date: March 3, 2026

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

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by walking alone at night. I was a woman of just 23 at the time, and I was acutely aware that I was putting myself at risk by walking alone at night. But after the first few journeys, once I saw how quiet and deserted my route was, I started doing it every night. I got so comfortable that I even started listening to music during my walks, but only in one headphone and only on low volume so I could hear things going on around me. But no matter how vigilant I was, no matter how quiet my route, I guess it was only a matter of time before my luck ran out.

And when it did, it ran out big time. It had been a quiet Wednesday evening at the wine bar when we closed around 1130, and then after a quick clean down, my coworkers and I were clocked out and headed home by around 1145. We said her goodbyes, and then I headed to. And then I headed a little bit of off on my usual route, which at first took me through a bunch of quiet back streets before I turned onto a long, tree-lined avenue. High Park was on the left of me, buildings were to the right, with hardly any traffic at all driving up and down the roads. As I was walking, a rare vehicle passed me before turning onto the street ahead of me. I noticed in passing that it was a white van and paid just enough attention to recognize when it drove around a second time, taking the exact same

turn. I thought, hmm, this van's just driving around in circles, so I wasn't surprised when I saw it coming around the block again. But instead of passing me, it slowed to a crawl at the curb, and I heard the driver calling out to me. I took out my one earphone and I saw this tubby-looking guy with sandy brown hair sitting in the driver's seat, and then when we made eye contact, he asked if I was from around here. I didn't walk over to his window right away, I just told him, Sure. And then he responds, oh, thank God. Last couple were all tourists. Before he asked if I knew where this particular street was, I did know where it was, and I actually understood why he had trouble finding it, too, because it was one of those awkward side streets

with crappy signage that's tough to find unless you know it's there. And I started trying to explain where it was, but I quickly realized that I was explaining things poorly. So when he held up a map and asked if I minded showing him, because he'd only forget what I told him, I didn't think twice. I guess this is the part where I explained something about the driver, something that had me lowering my guard in a way that I wouldn't have otherwise. If this had been some creepy-looking a-hole, staring at me from his driver's seat, sort of saying, hey girl, you got a man, then there's no way in hell that I'd walk over like I did. But this guy with a sandy brown hair and blue polo seemed a little, I don't know how to put this other than slow.

He had this kind of childlike innocence about him, like he was too dumb to be bad, and when he mentioned something about helping his mom move into a new apartment, I guess I got this harmless vibe from him. But that was the point, because if I was the fish, then he was the lure, and I fell for it, hook, line, and sinker, as they say. I walked over to his window and he held the map, out for me to point at it. But then no sooner had I touched the paper, the van-center door slid open on my left, and a man came leaping out the back. The sudden noise of the door sliding open

scared the hell out of me, so I'd jump back on instinct before the guy's feet even touched the concrete. And then once it hit me what was really going on, when I realized how dumb I'd been to fall for what was obviously a trap, I started running as fast as I could. I tried to get away, but the guy chasing me caught up fast, so the best I could do was run for some railings that belonged to one of the buildings. And all I could think was, they can't get me in the van if they can't get me off those railings. So I held on to them for dear life and started screaming for help. As the guy wrapped his arms around my waist and started trying to drag me back towards the van,

all I could do was scream, while holding on harder than I'd ever held on to anything before. The guy pulled so hard I thought my arms might break, but I knew that was better than whatever was waiting for me in that van. He tried pulling my hands free by the wrist, but I managed to bite him on the hand, like the real bony part on the back, so he screamed and let go. But he was so mad that he started trying to punch me, directly in the face, too. I guess to try and knock me out so I'd let go. He pulled his fist back and swang at me, but I saw it coming and started shrinking back. down, so he couldn't do anything but punch my neck in the back of my head. He then started trying to kick my wrist so I'd let go of the railings, but every time he got close, I'd regain my grip

as he lunged down to grab me. I was screaming the whole time, but after he failed to kick my hands free of their grip, he joined in with the yelling too and told his buddy in the driver's seat to come give him a hand. Now, I'd thought I'd done a pretty good job of holding that one guy off and stopping him from dragging me away, but I knew that the two of them trying together would be the end of it. So when I looked around and saw the bigger, tubbier guy opening up his door, I started wailing as well as screaming. I wasn't just screaming for help anymore. I was begging them not to take me, saying that I'd do anything that they just left me alone. But neither man was interested. They'd made it up in their minds about what they wanted to do with me, and there was no reasoning

with them. But then, just as the bigger guy started walking towards us from the van, I heard someone yelling from all the way across the street, shouting for them to get their hands off of me right now. Someone was running towards us, wearing nothing but a robe, their underwear, and a pair of sneakers. But the thing that really caught my attention was the big old hockey stick they were carrying. The tubby guy ran back to his driver's seat the second he saw the guy with a stick, and then the Scumbag trying to drag me off the railings did the same when he realized that they were suddenly in for a fair fight. He ran, jumped into the back, then as soon as he slid the door closed, the van took off, and the man running towards us had to dart out of the way so it didn't hit him.

He took a swing at it with his hockey stick as it sped off and then turned back to me, running over asking if I was hurt and needed any help. He turned out to be the owner of a store across the street, one who lived in the apartment above. He'd been up late and it heard me screaming from the moment I started. He actually apologized for taking so long because he had to put on some clothes and grab his hockey stick. But I didn't mind because he was literally my hero in that moment. He invited me into his store so I could wait for the cops there and get something warm to drink. I accepted the invite and within maybe 30 minutes I was talking to a pair of Toronto PD officers with a mugger

of hot cocoa in my hands. I told them everything, not that they were of any help, and so did the store owner. And then once I was done, they were nice enough to give me a ride home, so I wouldn't have to head back out into the dark after going through something so terrifying.

I guess it was the least they could do, but it still meant a lot to me, as did the help that I got from Mr. Hockey Stick in his little furniture store, a piece of which now sits in my apartment as a kind of thanks-turned momento. Not a momento of how I almost got abducted, but a momento of that perfect moment of that perfect moment of that led him to come running to my rescue in his underwear while carrying nothing but a hockey stick. This happened to me last year. I was taking a flight from Atlanta to Tokyo to visit my partner who was working over there.

I get kind of nervous about flying, and the prospect of a 15-hour flight was not one I was looking forward to. I did everything I could in advance to ease the panic. I watched stress management YouTube videos. I listened to a relaxing audio book at the departure gate, and I treated myself with an upgrade to business class. Maybe if I could avoid screaming babies and had a bit more leg room, things could be less stressful. Eventually, just before boarding, I decided that it was all too much and dropped a diazepam.

I made my way onto the plane as one of the first aboard, stowed my bag in the overhead compartment and settled into my window seat and promptly fell asleep. The next thing I knew, I'd grogly sleepwalked my way through the pre-flight checks and a takeoff and was only vaguely aware that I even had a next-door neighbor in the seat beside mine. I woke up a few hours later, distinctly in the air and feeling a lot more relaxed than I had been when I boarded. Right now, I was alone. With nobody in the seat beside me, I gestured to the flight attendant and asked for a bottom of of sparkling mineral water, which was delicious and refreshing and calm my nerves. I noticed that someone must have been sitting beside me because there was a comic tucked into the

front seat. I relaxed back in my seat for a few minutes when a shadow started to loom over me. With a heavy plop, my neighbor landed in his seat, almost causing my sparkling mineral water to spill. I turned to look at them and realized that they were already leaning in, looking at me, very closely, in fact. They had a big ginger beard, bleach blonde, spiky hair, eyeliner, a septum ring, various other piercings, and one of those flesh tunnels in their ears and these very wide pupils.

I'm Declan, they slurred. And they thrust their hand into my lap, I guess for me to just shake it, and I managed to do so and then introduce myself. And I don't mean to be rude, but they absolutely reeked. I guess because they just come back from the bathroom, but good God, it was not nice and close cordial. Declan told me that they were non-binary and used he-him and they-them pronouns. They went to one to explain that they worked as some kind of MMA promoter and also a playwright, and then talked at me non-stop for almost an hour. And this sounds like I'm exaggerating, but they would not stop.

According to Declan, they were going to change the worlds of both literature and mixed martial arts and had been told that they had a unique and powerful voice. I wasn't sure about that, but they certainly had a unique and powerful body odor. Eventually it all got too much, and I had to excuse myself to get up and use the bathroom. Declan pretended to shift to let me through, but even with the extra space and business class, I was forced to brush and squeeze up against them to get past. I went to the plain bathroom and spent as long as I could in there without seeming weird. I didn't even need to go. I just needed to break from Declan's weird and tense monologuing.

And when I got back, I decided that I'd pretend to nap or put some headphones in and listen to a podcast. Let's read, of course. And when I opened the door to the bathroom, I was met face to face with Declan. And I wish that I was making this next part up. It's genuinely disgusting to me to think about it now, let alone share it, but I think it's an important moment in sharing how effed up the next part is. As I tried to step out of the bathroom, Declan just looked around me, leaning forward, and then took a deluxe. deliberate and very pointed nasal inhale as if to get a deep whiff of the bathroom after I'd used it. Ugh.

Just typing it out again makes me shudder. And then they made direct, unblinking eye contact with me as if to say, Yeah, you saw what I just did. Sure did, buddy. And next, Declan put their arm out, you know, in that kind of way that blocks someone from leaving a doorway. They did that. And sort of lean forward, crotch. first to block me from leaving. And then Declan raised their eyebrows and suggested that I joined the

mile high club with them. Not asked, suggested. And then before I could even answer, they began gently but firmly stepping forward as if to make me back up into the bathroom. Now I'm like, no way, buddy, absolutely not in any universe. Then, my jaw hit the freaking floor. When Declan asked of the reason that I wouldn't have intercourse with them in the airplane bathroom was because I had a problem with non-binary people. I was absolutely floored. Surely they had to be joking, but no. Declan was serious. They adopted a severe frown and genuinely started lecturing me on gender norms in innate bigotry. And I couldn't even react. It was like something out of a Twitter user's fever dream, but it was real and it was happening to me.

Declan asked if I thought that maybe I was rejecting their offer because I had innate prejudice. I held my finger up with my engagement ring on it and said no. It's because my future wife wouldn't approve of me joining the Mile High Club with some random stranger regardless of their gender. Declan's fists sort of bunched against the doorframe and they quietly but firmly punched the wall. It wasn't enough to cause any damage. damage or commotion, but it was enough to send a message of, I am stronger than you and I know it.

And I ducked under Declan's arm and made my way back to my seat. On the way, I caught eye contact with one of the flight attendants and tried to give him the universal unspoken facial expression of this creepus harassing me. I think he got the message, because a few minutes later, after Declan stopped back into his seat with this thud, the flight attendant came over and asked if everything was okay. I said it was, and requested another sparkling mineral water in around five minutes, as an excuse to have him come back and check on us. Now, Declan was just sort of muttering to himself under their breath. I couldn't make out what they were saying at first, but when I realized, an icy chill went through my chest. Declan was whispering the most vile,

unpleasant violence towards me, and I can't even repeat what they were saying because it would affect the video probably, but it was some of the most repugnant things anyone has ever said to me in my life. I couldn't believe it. First, the bizarre accusations of bigotry. And then next, some of the most vile bigotry and slurs you could even imagine. And when the flight attendant came over, Declan stopped yammering on, and then every time we were alone, they kept it up for the entire flight. I was trapped by the window for another 10 hours listening to this maniac, just saying vague and nebulous threats under their breath. The worst part is, they did not directly aim them at me. They were just saying things about that woman, and I found myself genuinely just stuck.

How do you report someone for threats when they're not directly threatening you? I guess in retrospect that I could have just told the flight attendant that Declan was engaging in this very anti-social behavior, but if anything, this story illustrates how easy it is for someone like Declan to completely make you freeze up. Eventually we landed. I waited for Declan to leave, and at first they didn't. They just stayed stubbornly sitting in their seat, still not shutting up with the yapping. Now eventually the flight attendant before ushered them up though, and they took their overhead luggage and left. Only then did I call the attendant over and tell them what had gone on. Now they quite reasonably, in much nicer terms, told me that I was a freaking idiot for not saying something,

and then even encouraged me to tell the Japanese police. I was done with it all, though, and opted not to, and it still bothers me to this day. I spent my entire vacation with my fiancé worried that I'd encounter Declan. Thankfully, I didn't. I know this might not be the most directly terrifying story you've received, but being pinned into my seat having to listen to that kind of verbal cruelty from someone. someone who thought that they were entitled to me and my body, it was so stupidly brazen that the reality of it still genuinely gives me nightmares to this day.

Back when I was still freshly graduated and working my first real job in the city, some co-workers invited me to go for drinks with them on a Friday night. I had an amazing time, and it was awesome to get to know them in such a casual and different environment, and then at around one in the morning, I decided to call it quits and take a cab home. I walked out of that club and then I was on my way towards one of the larger streets where I was more likely to see a vacant cab when I realized that I'd lost my purse somehow. I knew the chances of getting it back that night were slim to none and the best thing to do was just canceled the card and write off any cash in there as a loss. But then after calling around to some friends and family to see who was free to give me a ride home, I found out everyone with a car was either drunk, asleep, or both. I realized that if I was going to get home that night, I either had to hitch a ride with a total

stranger or walk a heck of a long way on my own and in the dark. And since the idea of the first thing scared the ever-living hell out of me, I chose the second thing and started walking. I cannot overstate how glad I was that I chose to wear sneakers that night. I made steady progress away from the busier, more party-oriented areas of downtown and toward the more chill and less populated ones. It was actually kind of cool walking through all those abandoned places. They were usually just teeming with life in the daytime,

and now they were very peaceful and empty. But it was also kind of eerie, too, and I kept having to push the image out of my head of some creep jumping out at me from the shadows. I was careful where I walked, kept looking around to make sure that no one was following, and tried sticking to well-lit areas too. And then when I finally did see another person, I kind of panicked a little, thinking,

and oh God, please let them be cool. But my mini panic stopped right as I looked closer and saw it wasn't some creeper in a hoodie intent on stalking me all the way home. It was another girl, similarly aged and similarly dressed, too. She was walking on the other side of the street as I turned a corner and we were both walking in the same direction too. So when I looked over and we made eye contact, she asked if I wanted to walk together with her.

And she acted super extroverted and friendly, and I knew two girls walking together was way safer than just one walking alone, so I figured what the heck, why not? And she crossed the street to introduce herself. She told me her name was Kim, and that she may or may not have accidentally given her cab fare to a bartender who must assume it was just a tip. We joked about how she'd accidentally earned herself some good karma and that she'd probably get that $20 back somehow in the same. near future. And then the conversation continued as we carried on our way. And I think, like, maybe a third of the way through the journey, we saw a guy staggering out from a side street and start walking in the same direction. He was the opposite side of the street, so we had a nice safe distance between us. It also took him a minute to realize that we were there, and when he did,

he started yelling stuff like, What's up, ladies? "' Need a little company over there?' "'I did my best to ignore him, and so did Kim. "'But then under her breath she said, "'No, thank you.' "'In a way that had us both stifling these giggles. "'Now the guy asked what the heck we were laughing about,

"'and at first he sounded pretty chill, "'but then he changes to... "'Wait, you're laughing at me, aren't you? And he started to sound very offended. And over the next few minutes, we listened to him yelling stuff like, Oh, get it. You think you're better than me, is that it? And while at first he sounded kind of hurt in a jerk-off kind of way,

he got angrier and angrier as we just kept on walking. Now, in the end, Kim suddenly explained how her place wasn't far, and I was welcome to come inside for a drink and a bathroom stop before I walked the rest of the way home. I actually really needed to pee at the time, so I would have accepted anyway, but having that drunk A-hole now basically following us absolutely sealed the deal. I accepted her invite, and then we darted down the next side street so we could lose our not-so-charming traveling companion. And when we heard him yelling, we picked up her pace a little, laughing at how outraged he sounded.

I asked him if she thought he'd follow us, and she responds, probably, but watch the way. this. Before she turned us down another smaller street. We were completely out of sight, leaving the drunk guy yelling aimlessly in the street, and we only had to walk a few more minutes before Kim then says, we've arrived. It took me by surprise, because we were walking past these super nice houses with gates and courtyards out front. I lived in a crummy apartment, but here was Kim, not too much older than me, and she had this really nice house. I was so taken back that I kind of froze in the spot and told her that her place was amazing. Kim smiled like that was something she heard a lot. I couldn't help the barrage of questions that came next,

but Kim was gracious enough to answer them for me. She said she lived alone and with a pretty hefty discount on the rent because she rented from a family friend. And I'm's like, damn, I'm jealous, but in a sort of I'm happy for you kind of way and Kim just sort of smiled before inviting me inside. The gate wasn't locked, so she just pushed the latch and opened it, and then we stepped into this cute terracotta courtyard with shrubberies on either side of a path. And there was a security light that turned itself on as we got closer to the door. But just before it did, effectively blinding me if I tried looking up, I swore that I saw a curtain twitch on the second floor of the house. Now as we reached the door, I asked Kim if anyone was staying with her. And she said no, I reached for

her arm and stopped her unlocking it. She asked what I was doing. I told her about the twitching curtain and how it made me think that we'd been watched from the second floor. She told me it was probably just the alcohol messing with my eyes and then no one was inside. So I backed up a little ways from the porch and looked up at the windows again. The security light had turned off because nothing was moving on the path, which meant that I wasn't blinded by it when I tried looking up. And when I did, I saw the curtains twitch in a second floor window again, clear as day like I'd caught them looking. Now I'm like, for real though, is there someone in your house, Kim? We need to call the cops. But she snapped back saying I needed to chill. Just come inside,

relax, have a drink. And she said a bunch of other stuff, but I didn't hear it. All I could hear were the alarm bells blaring in my head on account of the way Kim was acting. I might have been a little drunk, but I'm not stupid, and I slowly began to suspect the unthinkable. Kim wasn't just drunk and overconfident. She knew someone was in that house, and since all that seemed to matter to her was getting me inside, I realized things weren't as they seemed. At first, all I wanted was to call the cops, because better safe than sorry, right? But then once I realized Kim maybe wasn't who she said she was, I just wanted to get the hell out of there.

I didn't even say bye or anything. I just turned around and walked back towards the gate. Then the last thing Kim said in character was kind of offended, saying, You're not leaving, are you? And then no more than a few steps later, I heard the sound of feet rushing up the path behind me before Kim suddenly grabbed me by the hair. I asked what the hell she was doing,

but she was done talking to me, and she was done listening to me too. She didn't try to hit me or anything, She just tried to hold me steady, and then my eardrums felt like they were about to burst when she screamed right up close to me. Get down here and help me! I think hearing that sent me into overdrive, and I managed to push her to the ground before pulling my hair out of her grip. I felt that horrible burn as some was torn out from my scalp, and I didn't care, though, because I was free to run towards that front gate again. But right as I did, I saw someone standing in the old.

open doorway out of the house. Someone huge, and they were there to chase me down. I ran harder and faster than I ever did during high school track, which without blowing my own trumpet too hard, was pretty damn fast. And I only look back once I ran through the streets, and the man chasing me was so close that I was going to burst into tears while running at full speed. So all I did was run and run as fast as I could till I saw a highway that had a few cars going back and forth. I ran out into that road and right into the path of an oncoming car, which obviously had to break once it saw me. The driver was obviously pissed,

but when I tried to show him what I was running from, there was no sign of the man who had been chasing me. I remember him stepping out of his car door a little to tell me to get the hell out of the way, and so I did. I staggered back to the sidewalk on shaky legs and then called the cops. Most of the walk back to my apartment was spent on the phone with the cops, as I explained how I just escaped a potential kidnapping, or maybe worse. The dispatcher said that she'd have an officer visiting the house that I described,

and then she gave me a case number so I could call back and ask about what they'd found. But I didn't need to because the very next day I had a detective from the state police call me who asked if he could pay me a visit. He seemed super interested in Kim and seemed disappointed that I hadn't gotten a good look at whoever had been inside the house, which, by the way, turned out to be unfurnished and owned by a realtor who had no idea two individuals had broken in. They were gone by the time the cops showed up, and the only trace of them was a strip of masking tape attached to a wall that the forensics people said was clean. The detective said that, while I've gotten very, very lucky, it was my smarts that had saved my ass in terms of figuring out it was a trap.

But to me, it wasn't any of that. I got away that night because those sick freaks were too impatient, and Kim was too crappy of an actress to silence those alarm bells in my head. They might have been smart enough to get away with trying whatever they had in mind. But I swear, make them just a little bit smarter, and I'm not sure that I'd be around to be writing this right now. This episode is sponsored by BetterHelp. Let's take a moment to honor women and the incredible burdens they carry in their career,

relationships, families, and numerous roles each day. March brings us International Women's Day, a wonderful opportunity to celebrate the strength and achievements of women while also acknowledging the heavy load they often carry. It's so easy to overlook their emotional well-being amidst all they're juggling. So let's take a moment to remind all the amazing women out there just how valuable they are, and that therapy can be a fantastic space for them to focus on their own needs and give themselves the care they truly deserve.

My mom has had such a big impact on my life. She laughs like wind chimes and makes the best pancakes shaped like crooked hearts. She used to say every scraped knee deserves a brave sticker and every bad day can be fixed with a story. This month, as we celebrate women everywhere, I just want to say my favorite hero still wears flour on her cheeks and calls it magic. All of the therapists at BetterHelp are fully licensed in the U.S. and follow a strict code of conduct to ensure you get the best.

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slash read. We were on a work slash business in a South African country that I won't name because I don't want to start a debate. It was mostly a great time with great and diverse people. Now, towards the end of our vacation, though, something very very very. very horrific happen that honestly put me off returning to this country ever again. I was there with my fiancé, who was not my wife, and we had a great time, but I won't go into details describing all that because nobody really cares. Now anyways, just picture a generic couple having a generic good time and maybe doing some really cool things. However awesome you want to imagine we were, that's good. Now, I'm being flippant, obviously, but it was lovely.

The hotel was great, the food was divine, and once my meetings were out of the way, we had time to explore the cities and countryside. Now, the country that we were in has this weird mix of quaint and modern architecture, which shouldn't work but really does. Now, tourists are advised to avoid walking alone in certain areas, and we followed that mostly, but towards the end of our vacation, I guess we got complacent, because everything had been so safe and stress-free up until then.

Now, after an incredible meal with my wife, We went for a walk and just kind of got lost in each other, walking for hours hand in hand. I kept thinking about how I was the luckiest guy in the world, having this beautiful woman on my arm, especially knowing that she'd agreed to marry me a few months before. And there was nothing gayer than a man who's deeply in love with his wife, fellas. Let me tell you that. Now, after a while, we sat on a bench overlooking a lake as the sunset, and we looked up at the stars together and things were perfect.

No, okay, I'll stop going on about my awesome wife now. She told me I was allowed to share this story if I promised to portray her well, so here you go, babe. I love you. She's awesome. Now, it was kind of her fault that we'd wandered so far outside the city, though. She was the one who wanted to look at nature and all that crap, but it was me who called the cab, dialing the number that I'd taken from the hotel lobby. We'd been promised that this was a safe, reliable cab service and had no reason to doubt it. When the driver pulled up, he was all smiles. We checked his ID, his registration,

we confirmed that he was actually the driver listed on the cab company's website, all the steps that you're supposed to take. Now we gave him the address to the hotel, and he entered it into his GPS. The driver engaged us in this very cheerful conversation, albeit in very broken English as we began driving. I was sitting in the back with my wife. Looking out the window, it surprised me to realize. realized just how far we'd walked. We were completely in the middle of nowhere, full countryside

with no buildings and obvious sight. The cab's headlights and the moon lit the fields as we drove past them. And that's why I didn't really notice when the other vehicle fell into line behind us. After a few minutes, I caught sight of shadows in the driver's rearview mirror and leaned behind to look over my shoulder. I whispered to my wife that a van was following us and it didn't have its headlights on. She called out to the driver and seemed to do a better job of communicating with him than I had. And the driver glanced into his rearview mirror and then gave us this big, beaming smile and told us it was nothing to worry about. I said it was pretty unusual for anyone to be driving at night with no headlights. The driver said it was fine. Some people in these roads

didn't want to be noticed, and it was better not to keep looking at them. If they didn't want to be noticed, I said, then why were they tailgating us and getting lit up by our rear lights? And the driver just laughed and kept on driving. Now a few minutes later, the van behind us flashed its headlights and hit its indicator and a very clear gesture for us to pull over. The driver glanced at me with these very wide eyes and said that we had to stop. My wife, bless her, told him that if he valued his life and there was no way on God's green earth that he should stop, and in fact he needed to slam down on the pedal and floor it the heck

out of here. The driver wasn't cooperating, though. He pulled over to the side of the road and the van followed. Now he sat there, pinned in the van's headlights as the driver got out and walked behind. We heard a bit of shouting and then footsteps crunching up to the door on my wife's side. My heart sank. With dismay as I saw the driver, hands behind him. his head, being held now at gunpoint by another man in a mask. A second masked man tapped on the window with the barrel of his gun. My wife shrieks, flinching away, but the man gestured for us to get out. So we did. A third masked man slammed me against the side of the car and began patting me down. He proceeds to take my wallet, cell phone, and pretty much everything. My wife thankfully

didn't have to deal with a pat-down treatment, but the guy took her purse and tossed it to the second gunman. Meanwhile, the first guy had secured our cab driver's wrist with what seemed to be this plastic tie and was guiding him to the back of their van. I looked and saw the gunman ushering the driver into the back and then slamming the door. The guy returned, and the three men commanded us to strip. Reluctantly, we did, down to our underwear. The men seemed to find a this hilarious and began to insist that we remove our underwear too. Now not wanting to seem weak in front of them, I dropped my boxers and just stood there, bare-ass and defiant looking at them. My wife was crying, begging really, and as calmly as I could I told them to leave her alone.

I really thought I was going to have to try wrestling one of the men to get his gun or something if I wanted to protect my wife's dignity. But they just sort of sneered and said whatever, and then one of them said something that I'm sure was derogatory in Afrikaans. The three men snatched up our clothes and shoes. Two of them returned to the van while the other got into the cab that we'd just been forced out of. Then, without a word, the men drove off leaving us stranded, naked, and alone in the middle of nowhere. It sounds kind of funny looking back, but it really wasn't at the time. as we walked for almost two hours and the African night was a lot, lot colder than the day.

My wife jokes now that this was me making an excuse, but I'm genuinely grateful that we didn't get hypothermia. Thankfully, at some point along the route, we found a large discarded blanket that I turned into a sort of skirt for myself and a shawl for my wife. And eventually we reached a property whose owners actually kindly helped us call the cops. We were taken to the station, interviewed, and had to make some calls to the U.S. embassy. It was incredibly stressful and almost scarier than being forced to strip at gunpoint. Almost. The cops really didn't seem to care all that much, not even when we told them that our cab driver had been kidnapped at gunpoint and probably murdered. Two of the officers even said something to each other in Afrikaans and then just laughed.

Of course, I wasn't able to remember the name of the cab company either, and, When I later tried to find the flyer on the hotel notice board, it was gone. My wife and I wanted to leave the country ASAP, but we had to wait for all the fun crap you'd deal with when your wallet and phone get robbed in a foreign country. The logistics were a nightmare, and this story would be an hour long simply from explaining them. The final development came the night before we were due to head back to the airport.

Everything had been squared away, and we were extremely grateful for the fact that we'd been savvy enough to live, the things that we'd taken with us overnight, with our passports, most of our bank cards, and even my wife's cell phone, all being locked up tightly in our hotel room safe. We had been out at a restaurant very close to the hotel for one final meal, and we were just walking home as the sunset. I heard a laugh that sounded distinctly familiar. Now, looking through the crowd, I locked eyes with a very grinning, cheerful man. Our cab driver. I was certain of it.

He was sitting at a table with the three other guys, and they were clearly celebrating something. Our eyes met, and I saw this look of panic crossing that cab driver's face. And by the time I forced myself through the crowd to confront him, he was gone. His three other buddies were still at the table, though, and they pleaded ignorance when I tried to speak to them in English, which was odd because most people in this country understand and speak some degree of English. They apparently couldn't understand a word that I was saying to them, though, when I asked them about the guy they'd been with. But they did seem to find me very, very funny. And then one of them pointed to my shirt and said, nice. I can't be sure, but I am certain that these were the masked gunmen.

In some ways, it was a relief to know that our cab driver hadn't been murdered, and the chances are that we wouldn't have been either. I'm sure the guns were probably fake, too, but knowing we'd been scammed by the first. four crooks looking to make a quick buck off of the dumb torus. Well, that didn't feel much better if I'm being honest with you. On the other hand, at least nobody got shot. In November of 2010, me and a few pals of mine went out on a lad's night to celebrate our mate Jacko's 25th. We went to a steakhouse before a massive pub crawl and then ended up in a club till about midnight when I decided to catch the last bus home. I wish the birthday boy a safe. trip home, said my goodbyes to everyone else with hugs all around, and then I walked out of the

club and started towards the bus station. When I checked the time on the way, I noticed that I was cutting it a bit fine, but I still thought I was going to make it. But then I remember turning a corner and seeing my bus at its stand in the distance, taking on the last passengers in the queue to board. I ran like the clappers trying to catch it, shouting for them to wait. But either the driver thought that I was just some mad piss head on a tear, or or he ignored me so he could stay on schedule. Because before I could even get close, the bus pulled away from the stand and drove off without me.

I was absolutely gutted, not just that I'd missed out, but I'd spend so much money on scoff and ale that I couldn't afford a taxi. If the same thing happened today, I'd be able to move some money between accounts using my banking app or get my girlfriend to send me some and then pay using the contact list on my phone,

but back then that wasn't an option. I also didn't want to dick a driver around by being all, look, mate, I might have some cash at home, who would give me a lift on the off chance I've got enough. And so, I bit the bullet and decided to just hoof it. After hitting the road, I called my girlfriend and told her what happened. And then after she laughed and said it sounded like I'd had a good time, I asked if she had any cash on her to pay for a cab. She didn't, but when she offered to get dressed and walk to the nearest cash point,

I told her not to trouble herself. She asked how long the walk would take me, and when I said about an hour and a half, she said that she'd have some food and a nice hot bath ready for me by the time I got in. I thanked her, told her I loved her, and then said I'd see her soon. And the first part of the walk wasn't that bad, actually. I was still quite drunk and in a really good mood after seeing all the lads, so my spirits were high as I got further away from the city center. About 40 minutes in, and still was quite a way to go,

I was walking on a straight stretch of road near the women's hospital. I was whistling, don't stop believing myself, because it had been played at almost every place we went to, when I suddenly felt my phone vibrating in my pocket. I thought it'd be my girlfriend asking, you okay or how far to go, and while it was indeed her sending me a text, all it said was help.

I hit the call button, hoping she'd hit send too early, only helped me take the bins out. type of text, but I only heard one ring before she forwarded the call to voicemail. When I brought my phone down for my ear, I saw that she was typing something, and when the messages came through, I started shaking like a pooing dog, because all they said was, someone's in the house, and under the bed. I told her to call 999. She texts back seconds later saying that she couldn't because the person inside would hear her. I texted her saying,

I'll call then, and then dialed 999 as fast as I could. I couldn't run because I needed to talk to the 999 lady, but I also couldn't just walk because everything in my head was screaming at me to run. And so I'm talking to this lady and I'm going back and forth between speedwalking and jogging while panting down the phone about how my girlfriend needs help. It came out in a big word vomit as well because obviously the most important thing was telling that lady the address so she could get the police there as fast as possible. and I feel terrible saying this now, but the way that she was talking back to me was so calm that it made me really angry.

I remember there was a point where I was shouting, please, I'm begging if someone's in the house with her. But in reply, all she asked me was, can you tell me what this person looks like? And just the most nonchalant voice you can imagine. I lost my temper a bit and shouted, Of course I bloody don't, because I'm not effing there, am I? Just get someone out here, please. I'm literally begging you. But all she said to that, and the same deadpaned voice, was something like, I understand you're upset, but I've got to ask these questions for officers, okay?

They're on the way to your address as we speak. And when I asked how long they'd be, she wouldn't give me an exact time. She just said no more than a couple of minutes because they had a unit in the area. I asked her to promise me that they were going as fast as they could, and then when she did, I thanked her, said I had to go, and then hung up. I stopped to fire off one last text, asking my girlfriend if she was okay and then started legging it down the road. I kept my phone in my hand, hoping it'd quickly vibrate with her reply and then the longer

it stayed quiet, the more scared I got. I played a lot of football back then, so I was pretty fit, but all that beer and samboucels. and my stomach, I tried fighting it because I couldn't afford to stop, so when it came, the first round of vomit streamed down the front of my nice white shirt. I spat the rest out and kept on running, but once I'd started, I couldn't stop, and a sudden stomach spasm had me slowing to stop before I lurched over and puked again. I knew I had to get it all out, so I made sure to heave until my stomach felt empty, and once it did, I picked myself up and got ready to run again. But then I suddenly saw a light shining out to me in the distance.

And at the time, it felt like it was light shining down from heaven. It was the light on top of a hackney cab, saying it was vacant and known for a job, and when I saw it, an idea struck me. I could flag it down, explain the situation, and then swear on my mother's life that I'd get him the fare that I owe him if he just got me home to my girlfriend. At the time, I couldn't imagine anyone kicking me out of their cab after hearing that, so as the light got closer, I started jumping up and down and waving my arms to I saw his turn signal start flashing.

The driver pulls his cab over and I noticed that he had his passenger window open, so I'm thinking, explain to him there, then jump into the back when I get the go-ahead. But I'll never forget the look on his face when he saw me up close. He looked well and truly disgusted, and then I remembered how I was absolutely drenched in my own sick. and he thought that I was just some lone piss head having puked all over myself and while I suppose that was technically the truth that obviously wasn't the whole story. Now I'm screaming, no, no, no, wait, wait. And as he drove off and then he sped off into the distance, all I wanted to do was scream at the

top of my lungs. I didn't. It was a waste of time and energy, and since I've wasted enough puking up my guts and trying to flag down a cab, I got running again, as fast as I could. and I didn't stop until I could see flashing blue police lights outside my house. It was a relief to know that they were actually on their way, like the 999 operator said, but I still don't know if my girlfriend was actually okay or not. And since she hadn't replied to the U-OK text that I sent before I started running,

I had this terrible feeling that she wasn't. I ran up to my door and unlocked it, then as soon as it was open, I started calling out my girlfriend's name at the top of my lungs as I ran for the same. stairs. But I hadn't even touched the bottom step before a policeman appeared from the living room and said, it's all right, mate, she's in here, everything's fine. He said, everything's fine, but he meant nobody's hurt, because my girlfriend was anything but fine when I saw her. The police had only been there a few minutes, so she was still in these floods of tears from all the fear, but also the relief of those two policemen having arrived when they did. She ran up in trouble. She ran up

and tried to give me this big hug when I walked into our living room, but then we had this really quite surreal moment of her stopping dead when she saw the state of me. She had tears in her eyes, snot coming out of her nose, and she pointed at my shirt and us, is that puke? I explained I vomited on myself when I'd been running home to help her and then got her crying again. She later said it was because she realized how helpless I must have felt and she was exactly right. I've never felt so powerless in my entire life. After changing my shirt and giving myself a little baby wipe bath, I went back downstairs and made a cup of tea from me and my girlfriend.

She hadn't fully explained to the police how everything had happened yet because the first thing they did when they got there was searched the house to make sure it was safe, and that meant that I got to be there when she told them the full story. Not long after I called her to tell her that I was going to be late, my girlfriend was in the kitchen making us a bit of food when she suddenly heard a noise coming from the window on her back pantry. It was only quite a soft sound, so she thought that it might have been one of the stray cats she loved to feed, having smelled bacon on the grill. But when she walked him to the back, she saw it that it wasn't a cat climbing through the window. It was a man, and he was squeezing himself through.

She said he was already head and shoulders through when she found him, and while he was wearing his. a ski mask type thing so she could only see his eyes, she said they practically lit up when he saw her. She thought that he might slither back out and run off once she caught him, but seeing her only seemed to make him even more determined to squeeze his way through, and that's when she ran upstairs to hide under the bed. She said that she could hear him from her hiding place, going from room to room, but he wasn't searching for phones or laptops or game consoles. He wasn't interested in any of that. He was interested in her. She told the police about texting me

and how she'd remembered something about how deaf people can use a 999 text service. She tried that, but didn't know that you had to register before he could use it, so none of her texts got a reply. Then by the time I texted her asking if she was okay, the man who broke in was so close she was scared he'd hear her thumbs tapping her phone screen if she tried replying, so she stopped altogether. She said that she was so scared she barely even breathed when he walked into our bedroom.

She just laid there on her front, hand over her mouth, watching his black trainers, stepping around our carpet very softly, like he was trying to creep up on wherever she was hiding. She said that gave her hope at first, how she saw that as a sign he didn't know where she was yet. But after walking around the room a bit, the man stopped dead and stayed still facing the bed. My girlfriend said that she thought that was it, but he was about to reach under the bed, drag her out kicking and screaming, and then do God knows what to her. But instead, the man started laughing, softly at first, but then it grew into this almost childish giggle.

She kept waiting for him to pounce and started planning how she was going to bite him and scratch him, anything to keep him off her. But instead of lunging for her, he walks towards her dresser. and then towards the mirror. He stayed at the mirror for a second and my girlfriend thought that he was sort of looking at himself or something. But when they both heard the police sirens, he bolted out of our bedroom, ran down the stairs, and escaped out the back door, which is how the police got inside to look for my girlfriend.

It was only when she was sure that it was police and not a trick by the man looking for her that she came out of hiding and made herself known. But when she saw something written on our bedroom mirror, she said that she said that she burst into tears. He'd used one of her lipsticks to write three little words, I found you. Like it was some sick game that he was playing for kicks. She said she couldn't give them much of a description because all she'd seen properly were his eyes and his trainers, and even then, she couldn't be sure what color his eyes were, only that his trainers had been black Nike's with a dark red swoosh.

The police said that it could actually be really helpful and she might be surprised how often people get caught because of what shoes they're wearing. That gave us hope that the person might be found and arrested, but after weeks and weeks of hearing nothing about it back, we called the number that we'd been given to be told that there had been no progress whatsoever. I wasn't surprised because, despite being outwardly very hopeful for my girlfriend's sake, I didn't expect much from the police. I'm not saying that they don't work hard at their jobs, but without fingerprints or DNA,

and without any real description to go on, there wasn't much that they could do except advise us to keep our windows all closed and locked at night. But that's just the thing. My girlfriend hadn't just left the back window open. It was November, so it was bloody freezing out. She literally only opened it minutes before she put the bacon on, so the smell of it wouldn't build up in the kitchen. and that's what makes us think that either, A, she was extremely unlucky and opened the window just in time for some creeper to pick his moment to peek over a back wall.

Or B, whoever tried climbing through that window had been watching her as he opened the window and realized she'd gifted him a way in. Both options made me feel sick to think about and meant that we didn't mind shelling for some extra locks on the front and back doors. We're also mega-vigilant about open windows now even in the daytime during the summer, and my girlfriend, now my wife, never, ever keeps them open at night when she's alone, not even during summer heat waves. It can get to be a pain in the butt sometimes, but don't get me wrong.

But it's worth it to know that same horrible scenario won't play itself out again, because I'm not sure my nerves could stand another go. I figured you could use this story if you ever do a terrifying first crushes video or cruise ships or anything like that. It's the story of the scariest girl I ever met. So, young love. It's a beautiful, thrilling, daring, and usually a load of bull crap. I was 16 when I had my first crush that felt like something more. 16 and bored out of my skull on a family cruise.

I first caught sight of the girl when we were at the mustard dress. at the very beginning of the cruise. It was hot as balls out, and a lot of the passengers were clearly uncomfortable, probably traveling from landlocked or cooler states. We were setting sail from Port Miami, my home city, so none of this was very exciting or original to me. Others were a mixture of hyped up and heat-stroked, and as a teenage boy in the year 2000, I was completely over it.

I looked around for someone who was sick of all of it as well as I was, and that's when I saw her. Sasha. She was an absolute dream girl for an alternative teenage boy like me, dressed all in black despite the baking summer sun, but barely covered up, if you know what I mean. I don't really want to get into it now in adulthood and everything, but you got to know that to the 16-year-old me,

Sasha was the most alluring, beautiful, mysterious gothmetall chick I'd ever seen in my life. This was from the area when people like us were into nine, Nine-inch nails, Toole, Pantera, maybe Slipknot in Maryland Manson if we were forced to admit it. So imagine a dream girl who fits that mold, and that was Sasha. Of course, she was really a nightmare, but hey, is that surprising for a girl who I later caught literally growling at a five-year-old girl? Now, anyways, that's when I next saw Sasha. The cruise had departed for the Mediterranean.

We'd had an early dinner, and then my parents had sent me and my older sister. off to explore, which meant they either wanted to screw, gamble, or drink, which I figured it would be their plan for most of the vacation, both on and off the ship. I wandered around until I found a little arcade, with a few token games, some video games, and even a few machines set to free play. A group of younger kids were crowded around a House of the Dead 2 arcade machine playing like crap. The beautiful girl I'd seen earlier was lurking near an ashtray smoking, which gave my dumb self a little thrill and they were glaring at the kids. Every now and then she'd make a derogatory comment when one of the kids got hit by a zombie

or whatever those things are and house of the dead too that look like tiny Michael Jackson's. Now my sister, Robin, snuck up behind me and hit me for staring at that girl. She told me to play it cool and then said that she'd kick the crap out of me if she caught me smoking. Then Robin very kindly disappeared off into the bowels of the ship, leaving me to make my own mistakes. Now, back home off the ship, I was a shy and awkward kid who kind of skulked around listening to corn, but I decided that on the ship I was going to be a confident, cool kid, who went around listening to corn. Pretending like I hadn't been standing there spying on her for the last 15 minutes, I walked up to the girl and introduced myself as Robbie.

Yeah, my sister and I are called Robert and Robin. That's when I found out that her name was Sasha, and she was a misanthrope and misandrist. That's actually what she said. Hi, I'm Sasha. I'm a misandrist and a misanthrope. And she explained that this meant that she hated men and then hated all people, and I pretended like I didn't know this and then pretended like I found it really cool in that I agreed. Yeah, men suck, I said, which seemed to make her laugh genuinely, which I took to be a good sign.

And Jesus, I was such a cringe lord back then. I wondered through the arcade talking about crap, mostly how everything sucked and the crews sucked and how modern life sucked and our parents sucked and the kids around us sucked. Sasha told me about all the bands that she liked, which all sucked and she told me that my taste sucked too, but also that it was cool. Sasha may have been dressed in black, but I can see now that she was one walking, talking red flag, and I would have recognized it at the time if I didn't have such a damn crush on her out of nowhere. I thought I was being really slick and smooth and kept asking to see this pentagram necklace that she was wearing, which, of course, each time it gave me a good look at her cleavage. Now, after a few requests to study it, I'd kind of realize that Sasha was enjoying the attention,

and I relaxed a little. and then trying to be the cool guy who openly checked her out and hit on her. Now, for Sasha's part, the more attention I gave her, the more it seemed to spur her on to want to do crazy things. She led me to the back of the arcades and pointed out that the security cameras didn't reach this area. She knew, she said, because she'd been on this dumb gay cruise a thousand times. It was a digital cornhole machine that could be used to get a bunch of tickets. And Sasha showed me how to use the chain attached to my wallet to cross.

crack the plastic around the ticket dispenser and cause a roll of tickets to come out. I hesitated until Sasha got angry at me saying that I was just like the others. Now, nervously, I looked around and then suddenly, as I could, I broke the machine. A limp strip of about ten tickets came flopping out, and Sasha took them, got a little sneery, and then immediately threw them into the trash. Now next, Sasha took me on a walk through the main atrium. She told me to stand on one side of the big central staircase and watch her as she walked through the crowd. I had no idea why, but I didn't mind having an excuse to stare at her, so I did.

I got to admit, she was a master. She stumbled, walked through the crowd, gently knocking into people here and there, and then being all sweetness and smiles when she apologized. At one point, I saw her gesturing to her leg and implying that she had some sort of disability, and an old woman even kissed her on the forehead. which made me laugh as Sasha's face turned to hidden horror. Eventually, Sasha reached me and dragged me out of the atrium. She found a secluded spot under the stairs in a staff-only area of the ship,

which gave me a little thrill again. And there she pulled a bunch of wallets and purses out of her jacket. She must have stolen at least four or five, as well as a wristwatch and a bracelet. I was kind of amazed, but then horrified. I tried arguing with her that we'd get to, in serious trouble if she kept this stuff, and that's when she first started showing her true crazy. She leaned into me and whispered that if I told anyone, she would not only blame me,

but also claimed that I'd done terrible and unspeakable things to her to shut her up. Now, looking into her eyes, I genuinely believed her. And then she smiled at me and said something along the lines of, well, this wouldn't happen because, of course, I'd keep my mouth shut. and then she removed all the paper money from the purses and wallets and then threw everyone's cards and belongings down a garbage shoot. I was horrified, but didn't feel like I could really say anything at that point. Somehow over the next few days, I kept finding myself hanging out with this Sasha, even though the novelty was starting to wear off.

This was the point in my life where I discovered that I didn't care how hot someone was if they were an awful person. The problem now was that soft was. Sasha was kind of bullying me into spending time with her because I'd been present for some of her crimes, and it was too socially awkward and lacking in confidence to consider just saying, Hey, I didn't do this. The girl did. For example, a couple of days after the pickpocketing,

Sasha made me accompany her to one of the play areas for young children. There, she found a girl playing by herself and kept telling her about how someone had fallen overboard and died, and that she'd heard it was the girl's mom. mother. The girl for her part didn't believe Sasha at first, but Sasha wouldn't relent. She described some genuinely very violent and unpleasant scenarios about the girl's mother being eaten by sharks, or dragged under by an octopus, or decimated by the ship's propellers. In the end, it got too much for the girl who ran off crying much to Sasha's amusement, and she bullied a few other little kids, too, which just felt sick and tasteless to me.

Now, another time she tried to force me to break into a vending machine, again in the crew quarters. She laughed and said that some loser on the crew would take the blame, so why should we care? At this point it became obvious that Sasha was just trying to be deliberately cruel and unpleasant. I couldn't decide if she was trying to impress me or make me hate her, and looking back with adult insight, I think it was a little bit of both. Kind of sad, really, but at the same time, all I wanted was to be rid of her. I refused to vandalize the vending machine and stormed off to the sound of her trying to pry the keypad off of the front. Somehow, Sasha found me later in the water park of all places. I was sure that she wouldn't be seen dead there, but she showed up in a black bikini with a slur written on the crotch.

And I could tell that she was trying to win me back over, and I had to fight all my teenage hormones not to let her succeed. When she reached into her bikini top and somehow removed a box of pushpins, my heart sank. You see, the plan, she said, was to toss these down the water slide and see what happened. I said that there was no way I was going along with this, and there were little kids playing here, and also my sister was swimming with some friends. This was the first time that I mentioned my sister, and Sasha's eyes turned murderous. She demanded that I point my sister out to her, and then started asking me, super weird questions, like if I thought my sister was cooler than her or smarter than her and

then eventually prettier than her. And I'm like, gross, dude, I don't think about my sister in that way, but Sasha didn't seem to care. She was clearly furiously jealous of my sister for even existing, and this made her more determined to toss those pins down the water slide. I could only see one solution. I grabbed the box of those things from Sasha and then just toss them over the side of the ship. The water park was on the one deck, so it wasn't difficult to send that box of pins falling hundreds of feet into the ocean below. Nobody even noticed. Now, I expected Sasha to be furious at me, but instead, she just sort of smiled and said that I passed the test, and that I was a good person. So maybe I'd finally get my reward. Now, it was pretty clear what she was suggesting

from her body language, and I hate the fact that I fell for it like some stupid teens. age boy. Sasha told me to meet her back on the same deck after dark. There was a smoking area that some of the passengers came to at night, but it was mostly quiet and we wouldn't be disturbed. And then she leaped into the pool and disappeared into the crowd of people. I eat dinner with my parents and Robin in the fanciest restaurant that night, but I could barely eat anything, feeling a mixture of excitement and mostly nervous sickness about meeting Sasha. I knew she was bad news, and even though she was the hottest girl who'd ever paid attention to me, I knew deep down that it just wasn't worth it.

I thought about bringing it up to my parents or Robin, but they'd all seem to be having such a good time. My sister went off with some friends that she met on the ship, my parents went to an 18-plus cabaret show, and I'd just resign myself to go and meet Sasha. Maybe I'd get something out of it, at least. I was walking along a small, shadowy deck leading, to the main water park promenade deck when I felt someone grabbed me.

I was slammed up against the railing, which came up to my chest. Sasha at this point was hissing at me, her face this just ball of fury. She was mad, so mad that I had thrown her pins into the water. And then she started accusing me of being a purve, a creep, all sorts of things. She said that she'd kept some of the credit cards and belongings that she's stolen from the crew and that she was going to plant them in my sister's cabin. I told her that she had no idea what cabin my sister was in, and Sasha proved me wrong by telling me exactly where Robin was staying

and a whole bunch of other stuff about her. Sasha said that she'd ruin my sister's life if I didn't do what she said. I asked her what she wanted, and she told me that I had to climb over the railing and throw myself into the sea. She said I'd be fine, and it would be funny, but I had to do it to prove myself to her and protect Robin. Now, I might have been a dumb kid, but even I wasn't dumb enough to think that you could just jump off the side of a 2,000 passenger cruise ship and survive it. There are a hundred ways that could kill you.

Sure, it could be possible to survive the initial fall, but even then I'd have to trust Sasha to immediately raise the alarm, trust myself not to get sucked under the ship, which would almost certainly happen, and trust the sharks that no doubt circled in the Mediterranean waters not to eat me. It had been a full sea day that day, so we were nowhere even close to land. What Sasha was asking me to do was obviously very, very stupid. I looked at her and just said, no, of course I won't do that. I figured that people don't really just successfully frame other people for random crimes, especially not weird, angry 16-year-old goth girls.

I could just tell someone what Sasha was threatening and it would be fine. I guess Sasha knew that her threats were impotent too. because instead she lunges at me, taking me completely by surprise. She was a petite girl, but in that moment, she possessed a wild strength as she tried to push me up and over the damn railing. I don't think there was any chance that she could have managed it, but then she grabbed me in between my legs and began to squeeze hard, telling me to get the hell over the edge and into the effing see if I knew it was good for me. I flailed my arms out and grabbed hold of the only thing I could, one of those plastic life-bouts that are positioned all along the decks of the ships. I grabbed one of the plastic handles, swung it forward, and smacked Sasha straight in the head with it.

And I swear, I hit her so damn hard in my fury that the life-bout actually shattered. I'd been lying if I said that I regretted it. I'd never hit a girl before or since, but I can live with myself doing it this. once. Immediately I was calling for help and some other passengers and the ship's crew eventually came running over. Thankfully, the deck had grainy security camera coverage and there had a few distant eyewitnesses too, so the reason for my assault on Sasha was eventually easily corroborated. I told the ship's security crew the whole story, admitting to every part that I played in it, staying silent while Sasha went on her pickpocketing and vandalizing spree.

Now, a few times I saw a couple of the security guys sharing these very knowing looks, like my story was explaining some stuff. Things got a bit weird after that. My parents started monitoring Robin and I a little closer, so we didn't have much freedom for the rest of the cruise. Instead, we spent quality family time together on the boat and various parts. I had no idea what happened to someone if they committed a crime on a cruise ship. My parents and Robin tell the story like I was worried sick about Sasha.

in the aftermath, and I guess I kind of was. She was a minor, and I knew nothing about her. She said that she'd come to the cruise with her people, which I took to mean her family, but I had no real idea. And while we were still on the boat, despite my parents insisting I forget about her and try to enjoy the rest of the vacation, I begged them to see if they could find out what happened to Sasha. It was very odd, and to this day I still have no real answers about what became of her. When Dad spoke to the head of security, and I'm sure a little money changed hands to get this information, he admitted that they hadn't been able to identify who Sasha was actually on board with. She wouldn't provide them with her real name and there was

nobody unaccounted for on the guest list to match her description. They said that this had to mean that she was the kid of one of the crew members, but if so, then she was on board illegally. And because of this, they had no choice but to keep her locked in the break for the rest of the voyage. And since she was a minor, she couldn't be handed over to authorities. the Mediterranean either and had to be processed back in Port Miami. Obviously, I never saw her again. Near the end of the voyage, Dad checked in with the head of security again, and all he could tell us was that there had been no further developments with identifying Sasha.

So to this day, the most memorable cruise I ever took was a terrifying one where the girl of my dreams tried to force me overboard and get involved in crimes. I never even got to find out her real name, and it's entirely possible that the girl I spent the first week in my vacation with was a genuine real-life stowaway. Hi, let's read. Have we ever been to Covent Garden? It's a lovely touristy area of London with loads of shops and fun things to do. Whenever I'm in London for work, which isn't often, I try to spend a bit of spare time there to go shopping. However, every time I'm there, especially if I take the tube from Covent Garden, I'm reminded of something that happened to me over 20 years ago that may have been one of the scariest moments of my life. It was pretty late at night and I had been out in London with some friends. It was during my college days and one of my old housemates had transferred uni's to one of the London ones and invited us down for a flatwarming party.

The flat warming was the next day, Friday, but that Thursday I'd popped into Central London. and to meet up with some other friends and hang out. I didn't get drunk, but it was a tiny bit tipsy, and I found myself needing to get the tube back home to Southgate where my friend stayed. Originally, the plan was for the guy that I had been out with to come home with me, but things didn't really work out there. Instead, we went our separate ways, which is how I found myself trying to get home alone. Taking the tube, even late at night, is normally pretty safe and simple,

especially on the Piccadilly line, so I wasn't bothered. By the time I left the bar, the weather was absolutely foul, full-on thundering rainstorm, and it was late October and it had been a pretty mild month, but now the heavens just split open. There's completely foul weather to match the mood that I was in after things didn't work out with the guy. Of course, I didn't have a bloody braw thee either, so I dashed for the Covent Garden tube station, and I didn't normally like getting on the tube of the station back then for reasons you'll soon see, but this time I was like, screw it. Now, I've never seen Covent Garden Station so empty.

There was barely anyone about. The folks that were seemed as miserable and tired as I was. I remember there was a filthy-looking old man sitting near the bins, shivering in the rain. I ignored him and headed to the stairs. I have the crushing fear of elevators. It's not claustrophobia, but it's just elevators. That's why I normally avoid Covent Garden Station, especially as an exit because there's a 193-step staircase leading down to or up from the platforms.

And even though I was tired, heading down wouldn't be so bad, though, I thought. If you've ever been to Coven Garden Station, the staircase is creepy, to say the least. It's a winding spiral staircase, fairly narrow for a public one. In the inner wall is a metal grate, like something out of a horror movie where the real world transforms into a sort of rusted-looking, hell. It unsettled me at the best of times, but on this particular night, after I had gone about 20 steps down, I heard lone, creeping footsteps behind me. For some reason, I decided to stop and listen, and the footsteps stopped too. I walked on a bit more, and the footsteps returned, and I was sure that it wasn't just some echo of my own steps. I wished hard for another late-night

pedestrian to come jogging down the stairs or for me to meet a crowd going up. and not much chance of that on these stairs. People normally avoided them, but especially tonight when everyone with any sense had already gotten indoors. I walked down a bit more and the person followed me. Their footsteps were light and I became convinced that this was because they were trying to hide their presence. I stopped and they stopped. I walked and they walked. I wanted to start running but I didn't trust myself since I was still a little bit tipsy from the bar and I was wearing heels.

I thought about slipping them off, but the idea of running down the Covent Garden stairs and bare feet stepping on God knows what sent a shutter through me. The person following me led out a strange, eerie whistling sound. I don't know what they were trying to achieve with that other than to terrify me, but terrify me it did. I started hurrying down the stairs and their footsteps sped up too. I paused, and again so did they. This time I reached into my purse and gripped my keys. my fist. Not the best weapon, but it'd do. For a second, I even considered turning around and marching back up to meet them, but I very quickly realized that'd be extremely stupid. Instead, I carried on

jog walking down the stairs. The person was following me at an even pace, and every now and then, when I stopped, I'd catch a glimpse of their shadow just lurking around the corner. I knew if I could get down on the station and onto the tube, everything would be fine. With a whistice, In the stop-start footsteps, it felt like my stalker was just trying to psych me out. They were touring with me, trying to scare me, but probably didn't intend to do anything physical or serious, right? I had to hope anyway. I figured that if they were going to attack me, then halfway down the secluded stairs of Covent

Garden Station would have been the perfect place to do so, but instead they were keeping pace with me. I kept walking. My stalker led out another strange whistle, but now I was. was getting paranoid that they were actually summoning some other attacker, like calling on a gang or something. I remember that old movie that I'd seen at uni, The Warriors, and the line, Warriors, come out to play, started echoing in my head. I started whispering it to myself like a mantra or sort of a war cry. I wouldn't be the victim. I was the warrior, and I'd fight anyone who

cornered me in this dirty staircase that stank of piss and damp, and there was no way that I was dying here today on the damn underground, and thank God. My feet hit the last step, and I could speed up a little, darting through the corridors to the platform. And that's when I heard the footsteps behind me speed up, too. No way was I stopping to confront my pursuer now. There was three minutes until the next train, if it was on time. Surely there'd be someone else on the platform, too, was never completely deserted. Other passengers would have come down here via the elevator. I burst onto the platform to see, nobody. God damn it. I let out an actual moan of frustration, and the footsteps were echoing down the corridor behind me. You okay? The guy's voice made me jump.

He'd been standing on the other side of a vending machine completely out of sight, and I guess when he'd heard me, he'd stepped out. It was a guy's a voice. He was a little bit of a little bit of sight. He was a a middle-aged guy in a very smart business suit, totally normal, non-descript-looking guy. He held a briefcase, I remember that, and I found him instantly reassuring. He reminded me of my mom's brother, my uncle. Not wanting to seem weird or creepy, I walked over to him as quickly as I could, and explained that I thought that there was someone stalking me down the staircase. The businessman seemed skeptical, obviously. Couldn't have just been another passenger taking the same route? I explained the stop.

start footsteps and the odd whistling, and he agreed that that was definitely eerie, but that it was fine now, I could just stick with him. And then he joked that whoever had been following me must have just given up because nobody was coming down the corridor now. Almost exactly as he said it, a figure emerged from around the corner. And you know where you can just tell that someone's behaving suspiciously? This girl was like that. She pretty much crept around the corner, looking for all the world exactly like a stalker who'd just been following someone down the stairs. She was peering about with these wide, frantic eyes of an addict. Her skin was dirty with sweat and acne, her hair plastered to her head with what could have been rain or grease.

And she also looked to be no older than me, maybe even younger. If she wasn't homeless, then she was dressed like she could have been. Her clothes were filthy. One detail that always stuck with me all these years later, even when I'm not sure if I've embellished other things in my memory, was the fact that she wore mismatched shoes. One was a dirty trainer that had previously been white at some time. The other was a torn black converse with neon pink patterns on it, and her footwear stuck with me this whole time. I don't know why. The businessman whispered that it seems like my stalker had finally shown up, and she must have heard him because it caught her attention, and that's when she noticed me and him. I've never seen someone go from acting so suspicious and threatening to being

so terrified before. It was like the predator suddenly and immediately became prey. The girl looked at me and then looked at the businessman and genuinely froze on the spot. Then, honest to God, she let out an actual small scream as she looked him in the face. And then my stalker spun on her heel, I finally understood that phrase after this, and fully ran back around the corner and down the corridor. I heard the footsteps of her mismatched shoes slapping against the station floor and that panicked whistling that she let out as she ran. Next thing I knew, the train had pulled up. The businessman invited me to ride with him as far as to stop.

I told him I was getting off at Southgate, and he was all, hey, me too, and we can ride the whole way together then. And so, grateful to the man for managing to scare away my dangerous stalker, I rode the short journey with him while telling him all about my unicourse, my ambitions for the future, and talking about the 2002 World Cup that had just concluded. included the previous summer of all things. And then he got off at Southgate with me and even escorted me near to my friend's flat, which I thought was very kind of him.

Relieved to be safe from my weird stalker, I went into my friend's flat, made a cup of tea, and thought nothing more of it. That is, until I told my friend the whole story shortly after, I was so wrapped up in explaining how my savior had scared the stalker off with a single glance that I hadn't considered the real question. Why the hell had my stalker, the young girl, been so utterly terrified to see the businessman. He'd just been standing there with me. He didn't threaten her, even acknowledge her. Sure, if she'd been planning to rob me, maybe it could have been frustrating to realize that I was now with someone,

but this didn't feel like that. She'd come around that corner all furtive and sneaky, and then she'd seen the businessman and literally let out a scream and ran away. Maybe I've let my imagination add in the next bit, but the... But when I think back on it, I'm now convinced that I saw a look of recognition on her face when she saw him. The girl was definitely following me with some kind of ill intent. She stalked me all the way down those stairs and then came creeping onto the platform looking for me. So she was a scary person herself. But what was it about the businessman that would send even someone like that running in fear?

I rode home with a guy. He walked me almost to my friend's door, and I didn't get any bad vibes from him, but that doesn't mean anything at all. My stalker clearly did. I'm convinced that she recognized him and maybe even knew him and he'd previously done something to her that was even more terrifying than whatever she planned to do to me. I have no idea what this is, and maybe I'm totally wrong,

but I can't shake the feeling that my savior that night could have been way more dangerous than the person he saved me from. And unless one day I see his much older face on the news, I guess I'll never know. So I have a scar, a really obvious one too, running almost horizontal in line with my cheekbone under my eye. It gets a lot of attention from certain people who sometimes ask how I got it. But instead of telling them the truth, I always make something up like I got it after a bad fall when I used to skate. Now, I'm not that super of a private person, and I kind of like telling the story when the mood takes me.

It's just kind of a long story and one that sort of bums me out to tell because, as, well, you can listen for yourself. Now, many moons ago, a former friend of mine named Chris and myself decided to go to the state fair. It was kind of a long way away, and Chris was my ride. But then after we hooked up with this group of three girls and hung out with them for a while, Chris slipped away from the group with one of the girls, and they disappeared. I figured they had gone to find a little privacy somewhere, which was whatever, I guess,

because I got to carry on hanging out with the other two. But then come closing time, when all the stalls and rides started shutting down, I walked all the way back to where Chris had parked his car and found it gone. I was so mad, dude, just out of my mind furious that he'd do something like that. Chris always had these a-hole tendencies when it came to the ladies, but this was on a whole other level. I remember walking around asking people near the cars if they were headed back to Cartersville, but no one was headed my way. And as the parking lot got emptier and emptier, I realized that I was going to have to walk if I wanted to get home. It sucks so hard walking all that way, and the whole time I'm just stewing and how angry I am

that Chris drove off without me. I started hitting populated areas maybe two and a half hours into the walk, and by then I'd calmed down a little, so I was just looking at all the houses I passed and thinking about how peaceful everything was in the middle of the night. The houses had long driveways, but not long enough that I couldn't see the front of the homes. So as I'm passing one of them, there's just enough light coming from the nearby highway that I can see this big, dark handprint on one of the downstairs windows. It was so stark against the lighter-colored curtains that it stopped me dead in my tracks,

and I don't know whether or not it was the texture or the way it was smeared, but a voice in my head started asking, Dude, is that blood? So instead of just walking off, I hopped the fence, walked up the driveway, and shine my phone light onto the window. The hand-shaped smear was blood red. Something had happened in that house, and if I later found out about it from the news or whatever, I was going to feel like one hell of an asshole knowing that I did nothing about it. I rang the doorbell a few times.

then when I didn't get any answer, and I didn't hear or see any movements or lights coming from inside, I decided to try and head around back to check there. I guess that probably sounds crazy to some people, who wouldn't dream of injecting themselves into a potentially dangerous situation like that. But I've never been the kind of person to just leave things be, and I guess that is what it is. Anyway, I hopped the second fence and then made my way into the backyard to see if I could look through a way, window or something. Most of the curtains were drawn, all the lights were off, and the back door was

locked tight. There were no more bloody handprints, no cries for help from inside, just this dead silence out there. So with all my options pretty much exhausted, I decided to call 911 and see if I could call in a welfare check or whatever. Now, I took my phone out, and just as the screen lit up, I heard the sound of the key moving in the back door of the house. I kept my phone ready to call 911, just in case the person unlocking the door was hurt pretty severely. But when the door opened, out stepped a man wearing a mask and holding a gun, who told me to drop my phone and get on the ground. I thought about trying to run, but trying to escape the way that I came in involved closing the distance between us, and if he was serious about using that gun of his,

I'd make for a pretty easy shot if I tried to run. I had little choice but to do as he told me. So I threw my phone out in front of me and laid down on my stomach as another masked man appeared in the doorway behind him. Whatever they'd planned, a robbery or whatever it was, it obviously wasn't going as planned, and I could tell from the way they were whispering to each other that they were freaking out. The handprint was probably from when they'd killed the homeowner, and my heart sank when I realized that I was going to be next. When one of the men started walking toward me, I won't lie. I begged him not to kill me.

I didn't say it straight up. I beg you, but I tried reasoning with him all the way up until he kicked me in the head and told me to shut up. I stayed quiet when he told me to look at him and I figured my time was up right there. But instead of shooting me in the face, he wanted a straight shot at smashing the grip of his pistol into my face and jaw. I'm guessing in the hopes it had knocked me out. And I knew well enough to play Possum after the first hit, which is the one that gave me my scar. but he decided to give me another lick before he was satisfied that I was out. I heard him pick up my phone and toss it,

and I waited until I felt like it was safe for me to move again, which was only a few minutes later after I heard a car speed off in the street out front. I had to keep on my walk, like I should have done to begin with, and wait for a passing car so I could flag it down and get help. Luckily, the first one that came my way ended up stopping. The two folks in the front seat were kind enough to drive me to the emergency room, and they let me use their cell phone to call the cops on the way. An officer met me at the hospital while I was still getting stitches,

and I gave him a pretty basic account of what happened before getting a cab home from the hospital. I thought that it was the last that I'd hear of it, as surely the cops would be much more interested in whatever had happened at that house. They were, I guess, but I still got a call from them in a pretty serious one. too. They said that I needed to come down to the sheriff's office to talk to a detective there. They weren't pushy about it, but it was clear that I didn't have a choice in the matter, so I went over to talk to this lady from the state police. Now, I've been hoping whatever had happened had been non-fatal, but I know that that was just

wishful thinking, and when the detective said the homeowner had been murdered, I honestly wasn't surprised. But the detective then said that I needed to be cleared as a suspect because they still didn't have a full picture of what had happened that night, and that was something that I hadn't considered. I was only too happy to cooperate as I obviously had nothing to hide, but while getting fingerprinted and having my cheek swab for DNA, I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't nervous as I thought about wrongful convictions and all that kind of stuff. The good news came days later. My story checked out and I wouldn't be hearing from them again unless it was to act as a witness in court. But as much as I hope that that call might come one day, it never did.

And to this day, I still don't fully know what happened to that poor guy and why those masked men broke in and killed him. When I was young, I went to college in San Francisco. I often took the bus through the city to visit friends or go to the library. Mostly I hated riding the bus. It stank. The people were weird and rude, and I often got hit on or cat called. Usually I didn't fear for my life, though, but that day was different. I was sitting around the middle of the bus next to a rough-looking guy and worn out casual clothes.

He kept checking his watch and muttering, looking out the window to his left, as if it could hurry the bus up. I was barely paying attention to this guy, though. I was looking at a guy a few seats down who was scratching his neck and fidgeting in a seat. He was this white, pale, and sweaty-looking dude, and, and he looked like he was burning up, but he was wearing a thick coat in the summer, so go figure. He looked like a pretty clear H addict. You'd see them around San Francisco sometimes,

and he usually just made me feel sad. Now, this guy was giving off some seriously bad vibes, though, jerking and looking around like he was scoping out the other passengers. I watched as his eyes fixed on an old man across the aisle and one or two rows ahead of him. The bus traveled on for a few seconds with nothing happening, but I could see the sketchy guy focusing on the old man and staring at him. Eventually, this shifty guy dragged himself from his seat and stumbled across the aisle to where

the old man was sitting. He leaned in and grabbed the old guy's shoulder. The old guy looked at him with clear alarm and fear, and the twitchy guy whispered something that I couldn't hear and then reached into his back pocket. I watched, as he pulled out. out his switchblade. Now, I wasn't having any of this. Immediately, I started to get to my feet. The knife guy hadn't seen me, so I could maybe sneak up on him and hit him or grab him. And then something happened that took me completely by surprise. The rough-looking guy sitting

next to me grabbed my arm and pulled me back down into my seat. He said something to me, like don't be an idiot hero. Then I thought he said that he would cut me if I intervened. I just slumped back into my seat in terror thinking that there were two knife men on the bus, maybe in on it together and I was going to get robbed by this other guy. And then he surprised me by climbing over me and into the aisle. The guy then launches himself down the aisle, screaming, freeze. This is the police or something like that. Now the knife guy whirls around, very jumpy, sweaty,

and instinctively raise the knife to protect himself from the charging off-duty cop. And at that exact second, the bus driver slams on the brakes, sending the cop tripping forward. He fell directly onto the blade, and I swear everyone in the bus gasped in unison as they heard the sound of the knife stabbing into him. The off-duty cop stumbled backwards, clutching at, thank God, his arm. Now the knife was sticking out of his bicep, where he'd apparently managed to swivel during his fall. The strung-out dude was staring at his hands, head jerking back and forth between them, genuinely looking like a cartoon. Now, it would have been funny if he hadn't then advanced towards the fallen cop and reach for the knife. Then the biggest twist yet happened.

The old guy stood up out of his seat and slammed the knife guy into an arm lock. He clearly didn't have much strength. He was an old dude, but he knew the technique and he was able to restrain him long enough to knock the guy to the ground. A few of the other passengers then piled onto him in the aisle and held him in place. For my part, I ran to the stab cop to check if he was okay. He was bleeding a lot, and at first my stupid self went to remove the knife, but he snapped at me not to. Eventually, we arrived at the bus station where on-duty cops were called, and that's when I found

up for sure that the stab guy definitely was an off-duty cop. He even apologized for being rough with me and thanked me for fear. as he was treated on the back of the ambulance. The old guy was a retired, disabled Vietnam vet. And I don't mean to make him out as some kind of action hero in my story. It was very much normal old guy grabs a young junkie, but he definitely knew what he was doing and definitely would have been able to take the guy down solo in his youth.

The twitchy strung out guy was carted off by the cops and presumably went to jail. I wasn't really the one at risk, but it was still a scary, his health situation. It made me very jumpy riding on the bus for years after that. My name's Susie, and I'm from London, and I used to work in a restaurant that finished quite late on weekends. Whenever I finished a shift, I'd take the exact same route home, which involved walking through a massive construction site that had a sort of pedestrian walkway running through the middle of it. It was lined with these tall, gray barriers interspersed with adverts for the building firm. ironic, given that they couldn't build it in a straight line.

And their efforts resulted in an awkward zigzagging pattern where you sometimes got jump-scared by random dog walkers as you reached a zig or turned onto a zag. And this was clean and shiny when it first went up, but over time, it started to smell a bit like piss and no surface stays clean in London for long. It's like the graffiti artist can smell them. But as grim as it was, I sort of got used to walking down that horrible little, passageway, and the jump scares weren't as bad once you knew that they were coming.

But this isn't about anyone jumping out at me or chasing me down the narrow walkway. It's about something that appeared on the wall one day. As I mentioned, the passageway's gray metal walls ended up extensively graffitied, and throughout the many, many times I walked down it, I became quite familiar with a lot of the art on display. There were some quite nice pieces of art and then some not-so-nice ones too, and I could recognize which ones were old and which ones were brand new. So that night, when I was walking down the passageway,

I noticed a newer piece of graffiti that must have been dobed there after I'd walked down at the previous night. It wasn't like the others. There wasn't a picture, name, or slogan. It looked more like a note, a letter even, than someone had written, read me at the top of it.

I wasn't intending on reading it. I just wanted to get home and get in the bath, but when I saw who the note was addressed to, I couldn't help myself because it was addressed to Wine Bar Girl, who walks here most nights. I can't remember what the rest of it said exactly as I only skimmed it before walking off at double speed, but as much as it pains me to do so, I can sum it up quite succinctly with the following. It said that I was pretty, and that someone was watching me and that this person would like

to bash my pretty face in with a brick when they were finished violating me. I recalled just being like, oh my God. As I walked off twice as fast as before and somehow I got home safely without any sort of confrontation with whoever wrote that note. But I also ended up crying my eyes out in the bathtub, wondering how people can be such freaking creeps. I started getting taxis home from then on, at least until I changed jobs and didn't have to commute home at night anymore. But even so, I've never forgotten that stomach-churning terror I felt

when I realized that note was addressed to me. So long story short, this date was a bust. I'd been out with this person called Dalston with this chick and thought that it was going great. And right at the end of the night, she said something so stupidly ignorant that the idea of inviting her home with me was just right out the window. I can't even remember what it was now. It was the 90s. Everyone was ignorant. Probably wasn't even that bad. Either way, led me to taking the dreaded night bus home. So, picture it. I was a foppish, drunk little so-and-so riding high on my self-righteousness, having just kicked a hot girl to the curb and turned down a night of intercourse to make whatever moral stand I was making. And so naturally, about five minutes into my bus ride,

I was down regretting absolutely all of my life choices and feeling a little furious with myself. And maybe that's why, when the mouthy punk started calling me all manner of F-bombs and G-bombs and other bombs, I didn't stay quiet. Now, I know that I should have. I should have weathered the storm of insults to my masculinity and sexuality and kept quiet like a good little nightbus traveler, like we're supposed to. Instead, I turned around in my seat and told them exactly where they could. could shove their Doc Martins.

And they were the only other two passengers on the bus. One of them was a lanky-looking guy with some spiky red mohawk, and the other was a big chap, with green and black hair shaved as sort of a side parting. I couldn't tell if he was all muscle or just fat. Both of them were absolutely foul-mouthed, though. And I told them to stick their boots in each other, and they were floored in silence for a moment.

And then, like hooting hyenas, these two idiots began rattling my seat, shaking and punching it without actually hitting me directly. One of them started slapping the bus's window and I just had enough. They'd been sitting on the back row when I'd gotten on, so I'd sat somewhere in the middle and they'd clearly moved to be behind me. There weren't many rows that I could move forward, but I tried anyway. And about halfway between where I'd started and the driver, I don't know why I thought that this would somehow cause them to leave me alone. Obviously it didn't, and this sign of weakness and fear caused them to just clatter their way down the aisle and jump into the seats behind me. Now cue some more slurs and insults and one of them ranting about hell I'll cut you. I'll cut you real good, you little fancy lad.

And I was riding the blue balls high and gave them a few more choice words of my own. I caught sight of my driver up front, and she was shaking her head at me, giving me a look sort of like, you know better. And I knew her vaguely. She was this larger black woman who I'd met on the night bus a few times in the past, and was always a good laugh. I somehow hadn't noticed it was her driving when I'd got on the bus. I guess because I was still sad about my lack of a successful date. I stood up to move again, but once the punks grabbed me and pushed me down in the seat,

oh no. You did not just lay hands on me, I thought, you little rat. And I thought about turning around and just absolutely lamping on one, but I knew that I'd land myself in trouble with the law if I tried. Instead, I tried to get up and move again, and again, this punk pushed me back down in the seat. I tried again. He pushed me back down, tried again, and this time, a punk pulled me down so hard that the back of my head it knocked against the back of the seat with this very loud crack.

The driver shouted at us all to settle down. I said something insulting to them and then quickly left my seat and moved right back behind the driver. her. I asked her when the next stop was, and she said not for a couple of minutes, but she'd make those punks get off there, and not to leave because she thought they'd follow me. And then once again, I got back to my seat, and once again, they resumed with their slurs and insults. I guess they like the sound of cracking my head against the back of the seat, too, because now one of them did it deliberately, grabbing me around the forehead and pulling my neck back until I was choking. I shook him off and scrambled across the aisle and back a few seats, sort of scrambling my way to safety.

These punks got up, absolutely mad at me for daring to shake off their assault, and the bus driver started screaming at them to sit down and leave me alone, but instead they both crowded into the aisle and turned on her. This bigger punk, who I could now see was pure muscle, told the driver he was going to make her wish that she'd never been born. and that's when he pulled an honest-to-god hunting knife out of his belt. I had no idea what happened next until a few moments after. That's when he pulled an honest-to-god hunting knife out of his belt. I had no idea what had happened next until a few moments afterwards. There was the sudden burst of speed and then an even more sudden stop.

The Big Punk flew forward through the air, his knife clattering into the aisle and hit the dashboard so hard that I heard the crunching of a bone over the splintering of metal and glass, and the beeping of the bus horn. The punk then crumbles to the floor, flat out unconscious, and the driver was up and out of her seat yelling at the now open door for someone to call the cops. Then she threw herself onto the other punk slamming him to the ground and pinning him there, where she then proceeded to legitimately sit on this fella. I took her cue, a little shell-shocked, and kind of ambled.

over to the unconscious punk and made sure that he was still unconscious, and then shortly afterwards the police did arrive. So what happened, right, was the bus driver had taken an unconventional emergency approach and crashed the bus directly into a wall in an attempt to disrupt the punks from stabbing her or me, and was kind of a genius idea of extremely reckless. The cops took these two yo-boes away, interviewed me and then let me go. And I am pleased to report that the bus driver kept her job because I saw her driving the night bus a few more times after that. To this day, she remains my hero, the bus driver who saved me from potentially getting fatally stabbed by risking her life and livelihood to drive into a freaking wall. A very terrifying yet

epic night bus journey. 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. E.st. 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.