The Lets Read Podcast - 34: Episode 033 | Creepy Teachers & Humanoid Encounter Stories | 27 True Scary Horror Stories

Episode Date: May 13, 2019

Welcome to the thirty third episode of The Lets Read Podcast! This podcast includes narrations of true creepy encounters submitted by normal folks just like yourself. Today you'll experience horrifying stories about Obsessive Classmate, Creepy School Teachers & Humanoid Encounters. HAVE A STORY TO SUBMIT?► www.Reddit.com/r/LetsReadOfficial FOLLOW ME ON- ► Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/letsread.official/ ► Twitter - https://twitter.com/LetsReadCreepy ►YouTube - https://www.youtube.com/c/letsreadofficial ♫ Background Music: Iron Cthulhu Apocalypse https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DFvrqVSJE8E PATREON for EARLY ACCESS!►http://patreon.com/LetsRead

Discover the exciting action of BetMGM Casino. Check out a wide variety of table games with a live dealer or enjoy over 3,000 games to choose from like Cash Eruption, UFC Gold Blitz. Make instant deposits or same-day withdrawals. Download the BetMGM Ontario app today. Visit BetMGM.com for terms and conditions. 19 plus to wager Ontario only. Please gamble responsibly.

If you have questions or concerns about gambling or someone close to you, please contact Connex Ontario at 1-866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with iGaming Ontario. When you want to bet on sports played on a field or ice or course BetRivers is the place Over, under, money, line

Same game, parlay, it's all fine You'll put a smile on your face Bet on the sports you love with BetRivers Sportsbook. Take a chance! We'll be right back. During university, I had a slew of creepy encounters. This has stuck with me the most. It started during my first class. One day, a group of us were walking together along campus, and slowly members began branching off. It ended up as just myself and a guy who I was not inclined to befriend, only knew his name but I didn't want

to be rude and not keep walking along with him. He asked me where I was going and I tell him I normally take a nap between classes and was going into my dorms. He asked if he can see my suite. Normally this would be a no-brainer red flag but my particular building was renowned for being fancy and others frequently asked to see inside. I say sure not wanting to be mean and thinking this guy will take a quick look around and give the typical jealous comments and then leave. We go inside and I show him the basics doing so in a way that we ended back up at the entrance of the suite. This whole time he's not saying much and I'm only announcing things dryly.

So, I was confident when I said it quick. It's pretty nice. See you around. Then he was going to take his leave. I turned around and went to my room. I did not show him any rooms or say where anyone stayed a few minutes later as I'm sitting my stuff down I turn around and he's there in the doorway he's silent I don't say anything because I do not want to invite him in I want him to go I just look at him then start picking up stuff

and moving it around trying to look busy. He slowly walks a couple of steps into the room and asks, have you done the coursework yet? I tell him no. By this time I assume he is trying to hang out and tell him again that I'm planning on napping. He doesn't even skip a beat and says, that's okay, I can watch you sleep and help you with it after. I smile, no tone, then silence again. I immediately tell him he needs to leave and follow him until he actually went out the locking doors and I know he can't follow me back in. I told a lot of our friends about this and they were heavily creeped out and made a point not to leave us alone again, ever. We finished the year out and I haven't thought about this

guy in a long time. I did not know anything about him at all, still only knew his name. Flash forward a year and some change to the next summer when I'm taking a bus ride home from a different part of campus, so it is not my normal route. We get to one of the points where the bus stops and waits until a certain time before it can leave again and everyone else that had been on the bus gets off at this stop. At this point, the driver starts talking to me, asking me a lot of questions. I did not think anything weird at first and answer what I thought were idle chat questions. So which apartment are you in and what classes are you taking?

Then, as more and more questions just kept coming, I started to feel uneasy with his mannerisms and became extremely vague in my answers. I still don't know if he always intended to tell me this, but he then stopped peppering me with questions and began spilling a story of how his son was in my math class the previous year and he knew all about me and started giving me a lot of family details. It's at this point that I realize his son is the guy who wanted to watch me sleep. All the details fit but I had to know for sure so I asked him if his son was named what his name was. He smiles and says yes. He then mentioned that he would like to start riding bikes with me and would I ride bikes with him and his son? I was gathering my stuff by this point and had decided to get off the bus.

There are two doors, one at the front and one halfway which was closest to me. The doors stay open while the bus is at these stops so people can hop off and on and the driver normally gets off and takes a break. As I'm getting my stuff and getting up the halfway door shuts. I look again at the driver, an older man but much larger than my petite frame and build. He is now standing face to me, but the front door is still open. Yes, again. Will you ride bikes with us? I want off the bus and think the only way is to pacify him. I say yes and make my way to the front door, not knowing how to get around him.

He looks pleased, but asks where I'm going. I try and tell him I've decided to walk home but he still blocks my way and tries to talk me out of it. I'm firm in that I want to walk from here but he will not move. I'm standing in front of him wishing to move but my body is frozen in place. Slowly he decides, give me your number and I'll let you go I really really don't want to do this but I also went off this bus immediately my first thought is to give a fake but I'm also glad I didn't as he immediately dials the number it was a test seeing my phone ring and watching me save his contact he moves enough that I slide by and make it off the bus. After making it home I go to block his number and already have multiple missed calls and a voicemail of just him breathing. The situation was reported and I did not see him

on route for a long time but around a year later I was getting on another bus and noticed he was back. I never covered my face and backed off a public transit. Faster. This is from my sophomore year of high school. Take in mind that some of the reasons why the whole scenario lasted so long was because I was extremely shy and was having problems with extreme anxiety. This whole experience has helped me learn to speak up for myself. It was the beginning of the school year and I had a gym class as my first period. I went to class normally for a few days but I had noticed that some girl had been staring at me off and on. I didn't think it was anything to worry about. Big mistake on my part. One day before class started we were all hanging out in one corner of the gym listening

to our teacher's story of how he tripped and fell in a huge puddle of mud. I was sitting on a pile of yoga mats staring off into space but still paying attention. I then heard a girl's voice say, teacher I have a story to tell too. I finally have found my best friend that I haven't seen in years and she doesn't even recognize me. I was snapped out of my staring spell and looked towards the voice to find that she was pointing directly at me I foolishly said, oh, no, I remember you And read off the name that was written across her gym shirt, Ellie Because I didn't want to seem like a jerk for not remembering her Ellie instantly brightened up that I remembered her and then

proceeded to lift herself up off the yoga mats and sit uncomfortably close to me enough that our entire bodies were squished together. I didn't say anything because I didn't feel it was necessary to cause a huge problem out of this because there was obviously something up with her mentally and I didn't want to be rude about it. The class went on and Ellie and I were not in the same group so I didn't have any problem with her that day. The next few days we didn't have any assigned class groups so Ellie was trailing behind me like a dog. She was starting to get extremely protective and forceful with me. I don't get cold very easily but she insisted that I wear her

jacket and would not leave me alone until I finally wore it. She also started to say things about hurting my actual friends which was the final straw for me. Do whatever you want to me but as soon as you bring my friends into it I'm going to do something about it. I was finally going to bring it up to our principal. Putting that whole thing behind, our class today had the option of either volleyball or walking around the perimeter of the room. I decided to just walk around the room and had been doing that for around 15 minutes until I sat on the ground by the bleachers to tie my shoes. Ellie dropped down to the ground too and watched me with extreme interest.

All of a sudden, she grabbed my wrist and held our forearms together We have the same veins You want to know why? Because we were in the womb together I used to hug you when you were scared in the womb She said This line freaked me out a lot at the time Because one, our veins looked nothing alike She said, run off to the bathroom before I really freaked out and stayed in there for almost the rest of the class. I returned later for the end of class roll call and left to go to the locker room. Ellie got dressed quickly and was just staring at me half naked getting dressed. It made me

really uncomfortable. I lied and told her that I had to leave quickly because I had to meet with my boss at Olive Garden and high-tailed it out of there into my next class. My next class teacher who I trust dearly had called me up to talk to her privately in her class and she said that Ellie has been talking about me non-stop in the class that she has her in. She recommended me to go to the police as soon as possible and she'll talk to the principal. This scared the life out of me. What in the absolute god did my teacher know about Ellie that she would tell me to go to the police of all people? I called my mom and skipped the rest of the day. I stayed home the next day and went to the police station with my mom. They brought us into a room and I started off with

just telling them the basic story of what was going on. I didn't even say her name. The guy that was talking to us said, Ellie Smith? I was dumbfounded. How did he know exactly who I was talking about? He went on talking about how she's in the police station a lot but couldn't go into specifics because she was a minor. This didn't help with my anxiety. What did she do to be in the police station a lot but couldn't go into specifics because she was a minor. This didn't help with my anxiety. What did she do to be in the police station multiple times? The police couldn't really do anything so the only thing I could do was switch my class. I was angry because I had made a few good friends in that gym class and I had to restart with a whole new class but at least I was away from Ellie.

The new class went fine but over the course of the year I would always run into Ellie in the halls. My friend even saw her turn around and look at me with one of the most terrifying faces she had ever seen in real life. She would always yell things along the lines of, I'm going to get you, which was extremely unnerving for me. I didn't want her near me or my friends so I began stepping up and telling the vice principal himself whenever one of these instances occurred. This kept happening over the course of my sophomore year. I was hoping that she would forget about me because I had figured out that we had never actually met before that gym class. I never hung out with anyone other than my friend Paige in the time Ellie said we were best friends and I even checked all my yearbooks. Not one thing even mentioned Ellie Smith.

The morning of the first day of junior year I ran into her before I even started my first class. I tried not to make eye contact. Later that day the principal called me in and told me that Ellie said I flipped her off, which I didn't. I didn't even look at her. This whole game with threats and random incoherent screeches continued on through my junior year as well and I feel like part of the whole high school experience was taken from me because I spent a lot of the time trying to figure out how to avoid her. She graduated and thankfully was gone during my senior year. This whole experience has honestly both traumatized me and helped me grow as a person.

I learned how to assert myself more than I ever had done before, but I still swear I see her out of the corner of my eye. It's caused some paranoia that still hasn't gone completely away. There was a girl that's been stalking and harassing me since October of 2018. We were in the same class at high school six years ago. She was super shy, never spoke in class and barely had any friends. I can't remember speaking to her more than once or twice through all of high school. To me, she didn't even exist. Then all of a sudden, many months ago, I woke up to a message in my Facebook inbox that read F white people.

She is Asian from what country I do not know. I thought this was really strange so I replied back what's going on. She had blocked my messages. I decided to just ignore it and go on with my life. About a month had passed and I woke up to yet another message in my inbox. She had sent me a screenshot of an Instagram account in my name. No posts or followers, just an empty account with my name. I kind of freaked out a little and tried to reply but yet again she had blocked my messages.

I tried to find the account on Instagram but couldn't. My name is very uncommon so the possibilities that this was another guy's account was very slim. It certainly wasn't my account. I was very confused and kind of scared that she had created an account with my name and would post things pretending to be me. I contacted one of her high school friends and asked if she could deliver a message for me since I had no way of high school friends and asked if she could deliver a message for me since I had no way of reaching her. To my surprise they weren't friends anymore and hadn't spoken in months. I told my closest friends about what had been happening and they told me that they had received some strange messages too. I was seriously confused by this point. This one girl

who nobody talked to or had any kind of relationship with was sending pictures of Instagram accounts, weird memes and three-word sentences that made zero sense to me and many of my friends. I tried to think of why she did this. Had we treated her badly at some point? But I couldn't think of anything that we had done. I remember giving her a piece of gum one day but that's about as close as any communication happened between us. I decided I would just try to ignore her and hope she wouldn't send me any more messages but then around Christmas time I woke up to my Facebook exploding with notifications and messages. I think I had around a good 100 plus notifications.

She had been sharing all of my profile pictures and posts. I'm seriously freaking out at this point and open my messages. I've received 50 to 60 messages that all read, end your life. I tried to message her again but surprise surprise she had blocked my messages. I was becoming really angry at this point. I clicked on her Facebook profile to block her and get rid of her for good. Before I went to block her I scrolled down her wall. She had been sharing literally hundreds of posts and pictures of me, my friends and some other people I had no idea who they were.

I did some detective work and found her sister's Facebook profile and decided to send her a message. I took screenshots of everything she had done and sent it to her asking why she was doing this. She freaked out when she saw what her crazy stalker sister had done. The stalker had deleted her sister on Facebook because of an argument they had had around October when this all started. So she hadn't seen anything she had done. She promised me she would talk to her crazy stalker sister and make her stop. I received a message from her sister a few hours later that she had talked to the stalker and promised she would stop and she apologized. I was so happy this finally

would be over and I thanked her. Another few months passes and we are now in February of 2019. I hadn't received any messages since I talked to her sister and I had honestly forgot about everything that had happened. Two days ago I was playing some games with my friends on my PC and talking on Discord. My phone was on the table and I saw it light up once. I had received a notification. I wouldn't bother to check it before the game was done. A few seconds after I get another one and another one. I could see my phone in the corner of my eye. Notifications came swarming in. Then I remembered the crazy stalker girl and got a really awful feeling in my stomach, praying this wasn't her again.

I stopped playing and picked up my phone, notifications still coming in. The stalker was sharing my pictures and posts yet again, and all had a caption like, End your life and I hope you die. I instantly blocked her. A few minutes later it happened again, someone with another username was sharing my pictures. I blocked that account instantly.

She had created almost 10 accounts and I was desperately blocking all of them as fast as I could as soon as I saw a notification. I sent her sister a message again and told her I was going to report this to the police if she wouldn't stop. She told me she would talk to her. Angry, confused, and kind of scared, I went back to the gaming session talking to my friends about it. I went to sleep a few hours later. I woke up late the next day. It was hard to sleep after thinking about all that was happening. My cousin had received some messages from my crazy stalker. She had told him that I owed her money. I kept my calm and told him about everything and said that he should just go with it. I wanted to see where this was going. She thought my cousin was my father. He is a lot older than

me and I could see why she would think that. She had a long conversation where she claimed that I had both stolen and hacked her phone and lent money from her, and that I was the reason she lost her scholarship and had to move. She said I owed her $10,000, which later became $50,000, and then again she raised the amount to $100,000 later in the conversation. All of this, of course, is some crazy lie. I'm so confused as to why she is doing this to me. I have no idea what I've done to her and I'm going to report this to the police tomorrow. I'm really scared of what she might accuse me of next, or she is going to show up on my door someday. All this is happening six years after the last time I saw her. So, update. I just came back home after talking with the police. They told me I had a strong case and could press charges if I wanted to. I decided not to do it for now. I don't want to make it harder than it has to be.

I will give her one last chance to stop. They will call her today and tell her to stop or face charges. Any further contact with me or my family will cause her to see consequences. Either way, I'm pretty much guaranteed to get her restraining order if she doesn't comply. I would also like to add that I do not think she's a violent person. She's never threatened my life directly, nor have I ever feared for my life. This plays a huge part of why I didn't press charges. I firmly believe that something terrible has happened to her within the last year, and that she is really sick and in need of help. Her family knows about the situation, and it's up to them or the authorities to make sure she gets the help if she needs it.

What bothered me the most about this whole situation was the false accusations, not the sharing of pictures and messages itself. I'm happy with my decision and dad's story. It was their honeymoon. They married in August 1980 in Australia. And they were driving along the Bruce Highway into a city called Rockhampton, Queensland. It was late at night, around 8pm-ish, and they had been driving most of the day. There is a very long stretch of road before you come into this city that is just bush, kilometers of it. At night the bush can be very scary.

They had not passed cars for some time, probably an hour or two. Out of nowhere, headlights appeared a long way behind them in their rearview mirror. That's fine, whatever, they keep driving as normal. Then the headlights start getting closer and closer. Dad is driving and says something like, what a bloody turkey, look how fast he's driving. The car comes right up to them with their high beams on and follows them for about 5 minutes like that. Mom and dad have a conversation about why can't the person just overtake them. Then the car completely backs off, like slows right down almost to a complete stop,

hangs back about 1-2 kilometers away for a good 10-15 minutes. Mom and dad both think that was super weird and creepy but whatever, they just keep driving. Then the car speeds up again, tailgating, high beams and sort of swerving into the other lane as if to overtake them. This goes on for another 5ish minutes. Mom and dad are both really scared now. Remember, this is the days before mobiles and cell phones and besides, there would have been no reception in that area to call for help, even if they had them. It's not over yet. The car backs off again, but not as far as before. The car hangs back there for about a minute before hitting the gas

and absolutely flying past mom and dad and finally overtaking them. There appeared to be one person in the car but they couldn't really see what they looked like. There was also no number plate on the car to identify it and I know dad had told me heaps of times before. I actually can't remember what sort of car it was now. I feel like it was a sort of sedan thing, definitely white and the car disappears up the road as if it were never there. Mom and dad are shaken to their core but pleased it was seemingly over. Not done yet. The road now becomes a bit more windy. Previously it was almost straight.

Mom and dad come round a corner and the car is parked in the middle of the road. Facing them, high beams on, both driver and passenger doors wide open and the man, they could now see it was a man, standing in front of the car with his arms spread wide, spread as if to make them stop the car. Mom was screaming at dad, just hit him, don't stop, just hit him. And my dad, being the bloody hero that he is, did not stop and drove around the man's car on the right hand side of it, which be the passenger's side as it was parked facing them. The man tried to get in front of dad, I assumed to stop him from driving off as he made this maneuver but couldn't quite get there in time. He was very close to the car and dad nearly hit him. Dad absolutely floored it.

He said he was doing around 130 to 140 kilometers per hour to get away from the man. They aren't sure how long they drove like that for, but they didn't slow back to the speed limit until they started to come into the city limits. They made it to their hotel and parked the car at the back of the hotel so that you couldn't see it from the road because it was on the side of the highway and passing traffic could see the cars parked there. Mom was quite hysterical and told the reception lady what had happened. They called the police and reported it but they never found the car or the driver fast forward many years later mom was

watching the news and Ivan Milat had just been arrested mum screamed and called dad into the lounge room they both agreed it was the man they saw they were absolutely adamant I can't find evidence to suggest Ivan Milat was active in Queensland during that time, but I certainly won't call mom and dad liars because of what they saw. I imagine it was another creepy hillbilly who looked very similar to the backpack murderer. A few years ago I was watching a movie at my mom's place, at the time she was staying on site at an animal rescue. The rescue was a house on a couple of acres that had been converted into a rescue. The house itself more or less functioned as a normal home, with the exception of a few rooms that had been converted into kitten nurseries or to keep hutches in. But the backyard crisscrossed with pens for the rescue animals. There were

surrounding properties, but it was kilometers away from the nearest station and very difficult to reach without a car. It was about 9pm, post dinner, and all manner of creatures were sleeping soundly in their beds. Most notably two dingo healer crossbreeds. These two dogs belonged to the owner and had the run of the property, sleeping on kennels on the veranda. They were little darlings once you got to know them but quite intimidating when you first met, grouse and all. Opening onto the same veranda was a laundry that functioned as a second kitchen. As this laundry opened from the backyard, the rescue staff kept the food, dishes, and utensils for the animals' meals in the laundry rather than tracking muck through the house on their way to the kitchen. We were watching the movie on my laptop about 15-20 minutes into your next when someone knocked at the front door

my mom immediately told me not to answer it but when i asked why she had no explanation my mom has pretty great intuition but since the dogs weren't going off i answered anyways i swung open the wood panel door but left the fly screen locked as a concession to her. A soft male voice came out of the dark. The porch light apparently needed replacing. I could make out his height, 5'9", body shape, thin as heck, a beard and not much else. He asked for someone whose name I'd never heard. When I told him there was no one here by that name, he said he was waiting for a taxi. But then he said he needed a taxi and asked to come inside to call one. His speech was meandering. By this time, my mom had joined me by the door, pointing at the window. The door was

one of those single panels with glass windows from door to ceiling beside it. As we had the lights on inside and it was pitch black night outside, we couldn't see the caller, but he had had all the time in the world to see us. Worried, she gave the caller directions to a payphone down the street. The caller insisted he needed to come inside to call a taxi. I insisted he use the payphone instead. He became quite angry and demanded we let him in. Afraid about being the only ones home that evening my mom finally snapped and told him she'd call the police if he didn't go away, already dialing triple zero on her mobile. Eventually he stopped arguing and the prolonged silence suggested he was gone. Not wanting to return to the couch,

which was in full view of the door's glass windows, as well as from the veranda, the back wall was floor-to-ceiling glass panels, we occupied our time in the kitchen, waiting. We heard another knock on the door. Nervous, we peered through the glass until we could make out blue and red flashing lights. We opened the door to

two officers and started relaying the story. Suddenly the officer closest to the door asked, is this yours? We peered around the door frame. A knife lay on the windowsill. A knife my mother immediately recognized as being used for the rescue animal's meal prep. The officers said the description reminded them of a local homeless man who was known for drinking far too much and sleeping it off in people's sheds. As such, they were quick to dismiss it as a serious threat but afterwards my mother and I kept making creepy realizations. That knife came from the laundry in the backyard. How did the stranger get it without setting off the dogs? Without setting off any of the rescue animals? How long had he been hanging around the backyard getting to know the animals? Had he been watching us too? What exactly did he

plan to do with that knife if we had opened the door. I've encountered a person that I'll call window man that has really messed me up. This happened in the summer of 2018 so about eight months ago. Some background story to help better understand the situation I was in and the layout of the apartment. My mom and I moved into this one room apartment with one of my mom's colleagues, all females, for a short period of time, about 3 months to be able to save up some money for another apartment that we currently live in. So the apartment had a small bathroom and shower,

a kitchen merged with the living room, a small room separated by a sliding door and a windowed balcony. We lived on the first floor and even I, being the short 5'4 girl, managed to climb up into the window when I forgot my keys at home. Since the colleague needed some privacy, she chose to live in the small room. My mom would sleep on the couch in the living room and I'd sleep on the balcony on a mattress. Now when I would lay on my mattress from my point of view I'd see the living room and the couch on my right and the windows on my left though there were some behind me that I wasn't really able to see. Now, the actual story, we moved in,

and everything was going great the first month or so. I felt quite safe even though I was very suspicious from the very start of the windows since we lived on the first floor, and I should mention that I've never experienced anything paranormal, nor have I had sleep paralysis before. So one night I wake up or at least I think so. I can't move. I can only blink my eyes and move my head. I look over to the windows and see what looks like a third of a man's head and a hand peeking through the window. I tried to scream and get up but I couldn't move or do anything. I was so terrified. I saw the man slowly closing the window as if he was trying to not make any sound and lower his head as if he were leaving. I was freaking out but still couldn't move. I saw my mom on my right sleeping on the

couch and on my left my hand was hanging off the mattress and my cat was headbutting it as if he was trying to wake me up. I tried to scream again a few times but it doesn't work. I'm hysterical at this point and I feel tears welling up in my eyes. Suddenly I wake up. I shoot up from my bed, my cat still next to the mattress and my mom still on the couch, sleeping in the same position I've seen her in. I look out the window, panicking, and it's locked from the inside, just like I left it before going to sleep. I unlocked it and opened it, making sure that there's nobody outside. I close and lock the window and lay back down, sobbing. I just cried myself to sleep that night. A few days later, I've decided to tell my mom about the dream. I didn't want to at first because I thought that

she wouldn't pay much attention to it, but since it had me so on edge, I told her and, just as I expected, she told me that I'd been listening to too many horror stories and didn't take me too seriously. After maybe a week I forgot about the dream and moved on. And then one evening everything was going fine. I was preparing myself for the next day since I had to do a big presentation in front of the whole class and I wanted to look my best. It was about half past midnight. I took a shower, brushed my teeth and went to sleep as usual. My mom was still up on her phone but about to go to sleep. I doze off peacefully.

But suddenly, I wake up for no reason and have the massive urge to look behind me at the windows. To my horror, I saw a tall man in my window, about halfway in, with one leg almost on the floor. I panicked and thought that I was dreaming again but quickly realized that I can move, so no, I wasn't dreaming. Still being in a state of fear and confusion, I whispered, oh my god. Into my complete horror, the the man looked up all dark but eyes shining in the moonlight put on the creepiest ear-to-ear grin put a finger to his lips and said in the most menacing way ever i had no idea what to do so i said louder, oh my god and then I jumped and screamed and started screaming like a banshee. The guy got startled and almost fell back so I took the opportunity and closed and locked the window just as he was about to try to get back in. My screaming woke

my mom up and she ran up asking what had happened. I started nervously explaining all that had happened and then we saw the dude climb up to our window again but the one right next to me trying to open it. As I saw that I screamed even louder and as he was opening it I pushed him and he fell down calling me every name under the sun. He then tried to make up some terrible excuse but in my panicked state I started yelling at him at the top of my lungs to get out. I kept on yelling for about five minutes like a total crazy person until the guy finally said something along the lines of, fine then. Almost as if I was obliged to let him in and started walking away. I slammed all the windows shut and locked them, sat down on my mattress and

proceeded to sob loudly as my mom was next to me, trying to calm me down. We thought that was it, but a few minutes later I saw him again, climbing up our balcony and I started screaming again, opened one of the windows and yelled so loud that I almost lost my voice. I closed and locked the windows and my mom and I went to the guard to tell him what had happened. I described the man to him as best as I could, but since it was dark I couldn't say much about his appearance. He told us to just go home and stay calm that he'll handle the situation. When we were going back we saw about 8 neighbors of ours standing outside wondering what had

happened. They all gave us sympathetic looks as we went back home. My mom gave me some medicine to help me calm down and I was crying and shaking vigorously for about an hour until I was finally so exhausted that I just went to sleep with her since I didn't want to sleep on the balcony anymore. The next day I showed up to school looking like trash and when I told someone what happened they either didn't believe me or would brush it off saying, it's fine you're all right now. After a few days my mom confronted me

about it and said she was sorry that she didn't take my dream seriously though I wasn't mad at all just shocked. She said that she was just about to fall asleep but woke up to me screaming. She told me that my screams were the most blood-curdling ones she had ever heard in her life, but the scariest part is that I woke up for no reason. I just had the massive urge to look back. There was absolutely no noise when the man opened the window and was climbing in. I even asked my mother if she had heard anything and she said that no, it was absolutely silent. Who knows what the man would have done if I hadn't have woken up, though I'm glad I didn't have to find out. The fact that also really shook me is that I had a dream of something

similar happening about three weeks before it actually happened in real life. Though sadly I don't know what happened to that man, if he was arrested or not. We never saw him again. But either way, I'm just glad that we moved out of that apartment. Soon, later. So one day about six years ago on a YouTube comment section, which I am convinced comprises the bowels of the internet, there was some guy posting full of bravado and self-praise about everything under the sun while putting other people down in a fashion that I found unacceptable even though he did have excellent grammatical and linguistic skills.

In particular he was singing his praises about his chess playing abilities which he clearly took much pride in. Being the snarky booger that I am I called him out on it since he was definitely over the top and it sounded like a load of garbage. I mean the guy stated that he was one of the top chess players in the world and went on and on about it which I highly doubt was true. Really it was nothing more than the typical playful banner of noise and nastiness that is YouTube comment sections. This guy however had narcissistic personality disorder. During the few comments we exchanged he admitted as much but thought it was one of his biggest strengths rather than weaknesses and

saw no reason to get help for it. From my understanding of NPDs this is not uncommon. Anyways having angered this guy he made it his mission for about four weeks to research me extensively. By extensively, I mean that he probably made me his full-time job. I try to keep my social media accounts quite separate by using different usernames and posting few details about myself, but within the first week, this guy managed to locate most of my accounts and spent hours and hours posting insulting, nasty comments in response to my YouTube videos, my tweets, my comments, my Facebook comments, etc. He doxed me, finding my PhD math thesis, posting it online repeatedly, and criticizing my methodology, which was ridiculous. My PhD thesis was nominated for awards and laid out the foundation of a new area of

combinatorics. I mean, this means that the dude read my PhD thesis, several hundred pages, just to criticize me. Given that it's in math, that alone is incredibly creepy. He responded to every YouTube video I had posted, taunting me with nasty comments and replied to hundreds of my posts, even five plus years old, attacking me on every detail of anything I said. We were talking small typos to some unintentional grammatical errors and a few bursts of outrage. I'm a gay man on many LGBT rights websites. It's hard to sometimes not be frustrated. I mean, this guy must have spent hundreds of hours researching me and posting in response to me from fairly old posts. While nobody else seemed

to care, it was terrifying to me to get daily notifications from him, posting my full name everywhere with detailed information about my location and life. Fortunately, I live in a different continent than he did, even though he made some threats to come visit me. I figured it was best to ignore him, but it went on for, as I said, about four weeks, until some woman online, and a very talented chess player, made the mistake of insulting him about his grandiose delusions of being a master chess player, at which point, he thankfully shifted sights to her. I messaged her privately and warned her about this unstable guy, but he still stalked her for

several months, doxing her and demanding that she play him games of chess online at the threat of more doxing, telling her that she would play him on such a server at such and such a time, or else she would forfeit and be scorned. Much of the time she said she had never heard of the obscure servers he mentioned but he demanded that she comply. I finally lost track of him but his posts remained online containing all my personal information which is disturbing seeing as I try to keep my social media accounts and my real life as separate as I can manage. I'm not ashamed of anything I say online, but I want the division and some reasonable level of anonymity all the same. So, to the crazy dude, proud of his narcissistic personality disorder,

I hope we never meet again, and I hope that others remain safe from you. I've since learned to be much more careful about my online interactions and to not push buttons just for the sake of doing so because sometimes it just isn't safe. This happened in 2006 in Provo, Utah. Two childhood friends and I had just moved from a small town to start college. There are two colleges in the area. One in Brigham Young University, predominantly Mormon population. The other was a small state college at the time.

It's now a university. Of course, us non-Mormon boys end up finding an amazing old house for rent right in the epicenter of Zoobyville, a term used by non-BYU kids referring to students at BYU. It's loosely based on the premise that at one time the students weren't allowed to leave the campus, therefore they were trapped there like zoo animals. Knowing that we are technically in the territory for approval housing for BYU standards, we figured we were in a pretty alright area. Bizarre area, but nothing crazy. We literally were the only party house I knew of within a few square miles. One day during our first weekend at the house, we hear someone speak loudly in front of

our house so naturally we investigate. We find a man, I'd say in his early 40s, doing pull-ups from a limb of our tree. He sees us looking out the open door and yells for us to come introduce ourselves since we were his new neighbors. This guy was ripped, not just for a 40-something year old. I'm saying you can see every fiber of his muscles. As we approach, I reach out my hand and introduce myself. He quickly smacks my hand away and firmly says, never touch a black man's hand. I gave a short-lived giggle as I realized he was dead serious. To clarify, he was African American. He then introduces himself as Sherrod, the gatekeeper of heaven, but his real name is Alan. I've been sent there by God himself to keep anyone but the almighty white man out of heaven. He tells us he is in Jesus' original body,

but he has adapted it to be fit for defending heaven, that his arms are his rifle stocks. When I ask him where he lives, sure enough he points to the very next house. Great. I never felt threatened by the guy, but also always kept my wits about me when he was around. I didn't know the volatility of his mental state. Weeks go by with small interactions. Him doing push-ups in our grass, pull-ups from our tree while sharing ridiculous stories about his past. He explained to us that you must put your heart against Mother Earth to live a long, healthy life, and that if he doesn't do it, bad things will happen. This leads to when things start going from comical to creepy.

We had noticed that we hadn't seen him in our yard for a few days, so when we saw him walking out of his house, my buddy yelled at him, I haven't seen you working out. You better get on it or bad things will start to happen. Sherrod visibly starts limping over, explains that he was riding his bike back from shooting pool. Jesus also taught him how to play pool and helped him fight off a motorcycle gang while he was there. And some woman, the Antichrist, had seen him coming and stuck her foot into his spokes and sent him flying and he landed on his heart, so he needs to give it time to heal. The way he told the story was hilarious. He didn't mean it to be, but it took everything

we had not to bust up laughing. Well, as bad random fortune would have it, Steve Irwin, the crocodile hunter, died of a freak accident the following day. My buddy and I were getting home from work right at the same time the following day when Sherrod comes running over. You knew! Pointing right at my friend. You knew that I wasn't putting my heart to the ground and something bad was going to happen. We didn't know about Erwin's death so we're both thinking, what happened? What has he done? Mother Earth couldn't feel my heartbeat, so she had to take a person of nature to remind me that I can never stop.

She took that crocodile hunter. The crocodile hunter. This is when he decided we were more than just neighbors. We were prophets. He named my friend Peepsite because he can see the future. He named me Honcho. He said I was very special and am the equivalent of God on Earth and that everyone, including him and Peep Sight, must worship me. Okay, weird. But this guy clearly is mentally unstable. I have an aunt with paranoid schizophrenia so I'm thinking with super qualified medical knowledge that he suffers from the same thing. This is exactly something she would say.

But instead of me being God, it would be Axel Rose. As weird as things are getting with the guy, we have no reason to fear him. He is always very energetic and happy to see us. I mean, he would never do anything bad to a god or prophet, right? But he did get weirder by the day. The day after Sherrod gave us our new titles, I hear Peepsite yell for me in a nervous tone to come to the back door. There they stood. Sherrod is opening a bottle of olive oil and telling my buddy to take his shirt off. He's telling us he needs to anoint us. I gotta bless those wings, he said. At this point, I'm thinking this whole thing has run its course and is now just plain annoying. We both tell him no and absolutely not, not taking our shirts off

so he can rub oil on us. We settle on letting him rub a drop on our foreheads hoping that will make him leave us alone. He gave me the bottle of olive oil and said I can now start blessing those who deserve it and told my friend that he needs to protect the house and to make everyone who comes over say praise Jesus. If they can't or won't say it it's because they're demons. He knocked on our door the very next day and asked if he could come in. Friend yelled, let me hear you say praise Jesus. He swore and walked away. Guess that wasn't weird at all. Weeks go by with the average interactions. We've all been pretty disengaging with him as, like I said, the hilarity of the situation has worn off.

One afternoon while loading my suitcase into my car when he pops up out of nowhere. Where are you going? And this is where the weirdest stuff happened with Sherrod and the only time I felt nervous that something might go down. He pulls out a bag of razor blades and asks if I can do him a favor. He tells me that Jesus ordered him to save all his razors he uses to shave his head and that one day someone important will come along that can take them and dump them into the ocean for him. Yeah, not gonna happen. I tell him there's no way I will be getting a bag of razors past security and I would never dump anything into the ocean, let alone razor blades. He tells me that

Jesus will make sure security won't find the bag and nothing bad will happen if they are in the ocean. I'm adamant that this is not going to happen and with every no, I can see him get a little angrier, a little more intense. This was the anger from desperation and you know the saying, desperate times call for desperate measures. So, this put me on high alert. I mean, he literally has hundreds of razor blades in his hand. God knows what kind of disease you could get if one of those cut you. He truly believed this is how the story was supposed to go. After what seemed like an hour-long discussion slash argument,

it was probably ten minutes in reality, he was defeated. He stormed off, muttering beneath his breath that I couldn't make out. Turned and screamed obscenities at me multiple times, but that was the end of the conversation. After spending a week in Hawaii, a week without dealing with the crazy neighbor anxiety of having to deal with him hit while on my way home however luck was on my side while I was gone Sherrod was arrested I can't remember the exact charges but it was bad I want to say some form of assault and various drug charges as well. We also found out this wasn't the first time, and that the house next door was a halfway house.

So this happened about six months ago. I'm originally from a town in the north of the UK, but I was living in a different part of the country at the time for university. I was just going into my second year, so I had moved from student accommodations, like halls, to a house share with four other girls. We were in a pretty nice house in a small dead-end street, and all the shops and bars were at the end of our street. I was in a bedroom that was on the bottom floor and at the front of the house. It had originally been a living room but had been changed into a bedroom for student housing. Because it used to be a living room the window was a huge bay window that took up the entire length of the front wall.

The house had a big driveway and a front garden, both with fences around. This meant that you couldn't walk past the front of the house without intending to be there. You would have to walk up the driveway. I had been living in the house for about two weeks when this happened. On this particular night, there was only two of us in as our other three roommates had gone home for the weekend. The other girl that was in had a second floor bedroom also on the front of the house. It was around 2am and I was sat in bed watching Netflix. I didn't usually stay up this late but I was talking to a new boy at the time and I would often stay up late just to talk to him. Sad I know but new relationships are exciting.

I remember wanting to go to sleep at about 12 30 and deciding to stay up for a bit longer to talk to him and now I'm so glad that I did. At this time I was quite naive and didn't really think much about the dangers of not locking doors and leaving windows open. I grew up in a very nice area where we didn't even really have to lock our doors and so I still wasn't out of this mindset. This experience has definitely changed that. Because of this, I had one of my windows slightly open and my curtains were open. The curtains didn't matter too much because the way the house was built. The garden and trees were right in front of my window meaning no one could see in unless they stood directly in front of it. Being naive I didn't

think there was a possibility that anyone would try to. I was half lying down half sitting up in bed with my laptop in front of me. I didn't have my laptop on too high a volume as although she was upstairs there was another girl in the house and I wanted to be respectful. All of a sudden I saw a shadow go past my window, like a person walking past. I immediately froze. Like I mentioned earlier, there was no way someone could just walk past unless they walked down my driveway and were specifically coming to my house. I thought maybe someone had walked down the wrong driveway or was possibly cutting through and was going to jump the fence to another house. I thought maybe someone had walked down the wrong driveway or was possibly cutting through and was going to jump the fence to another house. Something didn't sit right about this at all

however so I left my laptop running and just looked at the window for a second. I couldn't see out the window at all since it was so dark outside but I could make out shadows on the wall just next to it. For a second there was nothing, then a shadow of a man went past, then the shadow of another man about two seconds afterwards. At this point I knew something was wrong and I shut my laptop immediately in the hope that if they looked in the window they wouldn't see me. A bit of time went past, maybe like a minute or two and I just sat in the pitch black waiting to see if I saw anything else. After this bit of time went past, maybe like a minute or two and I just sat in the pitch black waiting to see if I saw anything else. After this bit of time went by another shadow of a man went past my

window in the opposite direction. As if they had both walked in front of my window into the back of the house but only one came back. I was certain at this point that they were doing something wrong but for some reason I could not move. My brain was trying to process a million things at once and I was so scared that I froze. I felt like if I moved then they would know I was there and I had no idea whether this was a good thing or a bad thing. For all I knew they could have been hoping for a young 19 year old girl to be inside and I didn't want to run the risk of letting them know that there was. I was also completely naked under my covers and it definitely crossed my mind that if I got up and they could see in the windows they

would see me. After what felt like an eternity of just sitting, waiting, I heard a loud bang on my window. It sounded like someone had hit something such as a rock off the window with force. I assumed they were trying to break the window and panicked hugely but still couldn't move. I can't explain what was going through my mind but it was almost like I was waiting for a completely definitive thing to happen before I got up, as if I was being overdramatic or something. After the loud noise, I would say maybe 30 seconds went past, and then all of a sudden my curtains started moving, and I see a hand come round the side of them to get them out of the way. They were big curtains, and my openable windows were on either side of the big window,

meaning they were slightly blocked even by the open curtains. I then looked over to the curtains and see a figure of a man climbing through my window. He was halfway through my window with the top half of his body inside my room. This is when my mind finally decided that this was a fight or flight situation, and I shot up and ran towards my door on the other side of the room. It was locked so I had to fumble for the key, turn it and then open the door and run all the while making a huge amount of noise. I ran up the stairs and knocked on my roommate's room, still completely naked I should add so the image she must have gotten when she opened the door is quite amusing to think

about. She opened the door almost immediately which I found odd for it being 2am but I was thankful nonetheless. I told her what had happened and we locked her door and started panicking. Neither of us knew what to do as we had never been in a situation like this before. Being stupid and young I decided to ring my mom. Completely not helpful to the situation but I wasn't thinking straight and she told me to ring the police immediately. So we rang the police and because we didn't know if the men were in the house or not they arrived within two minutes as if it may have been an act of burglary. I had left my laptop and all my possessions in my room other than my phone because it happened to be in my hand when I ran.

So if they were in my room they would have plenty to take. The police arrived and we threw down some keys from the top window to them so they could let themselves in. They searched the whole house top to bottom and found no one. I went down when they assured us it was safe and checked my room and nothing had been taken. I knew for sure they mustn't have even come into my room at all as my laptop was clear as day on my bed and would have been the first thing that they had seen if they had. The police agreed that I must have scared them off by getting up as they mustn't have been expecting anyone to be in. They must have thought the room was a living room as it made sense for it to mustn't have been expecting anyone to be in. They must have thought the room was a living

room as it made sense for it to be and have been expecting to rob the house while everyone was asleep upstairs. I had this crazy thought process through all of this where I started wondering if I had seen what I thought I had and started doubting myself and wondering if I was just insane but when I went down to check my room my window had been completely open to its fullest extent. I had opened it only a crack at most and this just confirmed that what I had seen was completely real. I learned a valuable lesson about leaving windows open that day for sure. While the police were there they actually got radioed about an attempted robbery just a couple of streets along from mine and they suspected it was the same two men. Nothing ever came back about that though so

they mustn't have caught them unfortunately. They told us that if they did catch anybody engaging in any similar crime they would get back in touch but to this day they haven't so either they had been caught and not connected to my case or they haven't been caught at all. CSI came the next day and actually managed to get a fingerprint from the window but they said the person must have been sweating or something as the fingerprint was too smudged to get anything from. I'm so glad I decided to stay up later as if I hadn't been awake for this they would have physically been in my room by the time I noticed that they were there or they noticed me. The thought of waking up to two men in my room is terrifying and I'm not sure what they would have done if they had got into the room before realizing as there was then no easy escape for them.

They would have had to have climbed out the tiny window again or unlock my bedroom door and then the front door to get out. This might have led to a violent and nasty situation and if they had realized they were stuck in a room with an eyewitness and it doesn't bear thinking about. Also my roommate told me after the police left that she had actually woken up for some reason about 5 minutes before I came flying up the stairs and she said she heard the loud bang on my window when she was already awake. She started to get a bad feeling after that and had waited up for a bit sitting on the end of her bed next to the door just in case I came running up. It's very interesting that she woke up during this as

the men were not loud at any point other than when they hit the window. Maybe that says a lot about the body's ability to detect danger. I unfortunately ended up not being able to sleep in that room after that without having all the lights on and soon after decided to move back home for university because I felt so uneasy living down there. I have so many experiences that belong here. Now this happened when I had just turned 18 about 5 years ago so some details are hazy but most are still extremely clear. It was my first job, just as a convenience store cashier in a pretty low traffic plaza within walking distance from my house and I was pretty good at working there. My managers liked me because I followed the rules due to a fear I've always had about getting in trouble.

Unfortunately, my managers also did not do anything when I was harassed, which happened pretty much three or more times a week. Now, I was 18, but I looked about 14. I constantly got asked, and still five years later, if I was even old enough to be working. So when I got hit on by much, much older men, it wasn't just creepy, it was bordering on predatory behavior. A 30-year-old man charmed me into giving him my number once and when I told him how old I was, he said, wow, I thought you were a lot younger. That's good. So he thought I was younger than 18 and still wanted to date me and the conversation ended there. At this point though besides the weekly guys hitting on me

and at that time I was threatened by an old guy on what had to have been hardcore meth to kill me with his chicken wing bone while eating it, nothing really crazy had happened. I hoped it wouldn't because, again, no one ever did anything even when I complained. 9.57 one night before closing at 10, a younger looking kid comes in, probably mid-twenties, patchy beard that looks like when a 15 year old tries to grow one. Looks like he still lives in mommy's basement playing video games. You know, that kind of guy. He comes in alone, gets a drink, and messes around the store until we make the announcement that we are closing in one minute. Then he comes up to the counter, gives me a really

creepy grin, and starts chatting. From the get-go, I had this weirdly bad vibe about this dude, and my manager is in the office doing closing stuff, so I'm checking him out, but by myself. He's just being really creepy. When the register opens to give him his change, he starts chuckling and saying, Well, that's a lot. Well, can I have some? And leaning over the counter, I actually thought he was going to rob me. But I'm a nervous person with anxiety, so I was stammering and laughing nervously and pretending it was normal. And he leans even closer and says,

Oh, you just want to go home, don't you? You just want to go home, right? You really just want to go home right you really just want to go home and the creepiest voice that i imagine a kidnapper would use to taunt his victim that's literally what it sounded like it was terrifying then he leaves and we close i was scared to drive home and felt like i was being followed or watched i don't see him for a few days and then he comes in again pretty close to closing time with his girlfriend, who later I realize always had this weird look on her face, like maybe deep inside she didn't want to be there or around him, but was still affectionate

to him and all that, so I said oh thank god, maybe he won't be creepy to me. And sure, that time it was a little bit better. He was still incredibly weird, but she was nice and it was easier to talk. Then there was a third time about a week or so later. He came in with the girlfriend again, but she walked out as he came to pay. Again, it was close to closing and there was really no one there. Again, a manager wasn't around and this is the part that isn't hazy at all because it was just so creepy and the conversation went like this. So I talked to my girlfriend. She likes you. If you wanted to you know get together with us

she'd be down. After staring at him for about 15 seconds straight, what? Him, smiling creepily, yeah, would you be down? Hmm? I literally can't believe this is happening at this point. I'm like nervously laughing and shaking my head and saying, uh, no, no thank you. Thanks, no. And then he gets all close and looks me dead in the eye with the smile and lowers his voice and says, you could be my girl, just like her. How does that sound? You could be so happy with us, with me. You could quit this job. You won't have to work at all. I pay the rent, for her clothes, everything. Anything she wants, I get. Anything you want, I get you too. What about that, hmm? It'll be so good good and as he's saying this he keeps leaning further over the counter and I just said no like uh no no then he grabbed his stuff because during all of this I had been

awkwardly checking out his stuff and winks at me and says, if you ever change your mind, and walks out. Then next time I see him come in as I'm checking out another guy, and I mutter something along the lines of, oh god, this guy again. Turns out I was checking out his brother, and apparently they were also with their mother, who proceeds to tell this creep I said that about him, and creep comes up and all of course creepily says, Do you not like me? I heard you didn't want to talk to me. Hurt my feelings. Why are you saying that stuff about me? And I was just nervously brushing it off and didn't know what to do.

And then he left and I never saw him or his girlfriend again. My manager didn't do anything. Just laughed about it and said, What? What the heck? And went about her business. Only one, newer supervisor, said that was unacceptable and she would tell him to leave if he ever came in again. But, thankfully, he didn't.

Growing up in a Boston suburb during the 80s was rough. I came up in a neighborhood that was rife with shady activity. It was the kind of place that changed when the sun went down. Sketchy streets and arterial alleyways that looked sinister when shrouded in darkness. My dad was an introverted workaholic and the subsequent loneliness driving my mom to the bottle. I was rebellious, angry, and without income. It was the perfect storm. Naturally, I fell into petty crime. School was a joke, a glorified daycare for hopeless kids with no future in anything but prison or the morgue. We were extremely disrespectful to the faculty. On more than

one occasion, a member of the teaching staff was assaulted by a student, but there was one teacher who seemed to be an exception. He was someone who the kids never talked back to, someone who had that natural air of authority about him. His name was Mr. Metzger. A few teachers at our school were a mess. Fresh college graduates who were only maybe a year older than the kids in our class. A couple of functioning alcoholics who smelled like vodka at 8.30 each morning. Shirt buttons undone with loose, tacky Walmart ties

complete with five-day stubble. But not Mr. Metzger. He was always clean-shaven, his thinning gray hair combed over a bald patch on the crown of his head. He commanded respect. One Friday evening, my buddies and I were smoking cigarettes, cruising in a battered old Ford when the subject of Mr. Metzger came up. You know he's a war veteran, right? Dude was a marine or some crap, got a silver star for killing like ten enemy soldiers in an ambush or something, one said. I call BS, the other retorted. Not everyone who served was some stone-cold killer. My uncle was in the army motor pool, said he never fired a shot. Nah, man. Metzger's hardcore. I heard he broke a kid's jaw breaking up a fight a few years back. That kid's jaw was already broken, and if Mr. Metzger was in the Marines, he certainly never talked about it.

Later that night, we pulled up to a small stucco house on the outskirts of Jamaica Plain. It was pretty unassuming, not the usual middle-class housing we targeted for burglaries, but my buddy in the backseat insisted. You sure this is the right place? Dude, for the last time, yes. The guy buys and sells auto parts, there's always a buttload of cash stashed inside, I'm telling you. This would be a huge score for us. We parked around the block, scanning the area before we approached the house. Pulling out bandanas and balaclavas, we used them to obscure our faces from any potential witnesses.

It was quiet out, almost pitch black if it wasn't for the dim fluorescent glow of orange street lamps. Breaking into the garage was easy. The rotting wood of a side door gave way from around the old rusty lock and, just like that, we were inside. But the interior of the damp, but we were young, foolish, and arrogant. We didn't want to walk away empty-handed. At the door to the main house, we listened for any sign of activity inside, and it was silent. I gulped, took hold of the door handle, and pulled. A short corridor led to a side room which was evidently serving as a kind of office space, with books and paperwork piled on an old desk. I crept inside while my buddy searched the rest of the ground floor for valuables. It was searching the office that I began to notice a few things about the person who lived here.

Despite being time-worn and dilapidated, the room was incredibly orderly and neat. The contents of shelves were immaculately arranged with one wall displaying a ragged looking flag, red and blue with a yellow star in the center. I had no idea what country it was from but I did get a feeling I'd seen it before somewhere. A section of wall was decorated with framed newspaper clippings. They were almost impossible to read in the darkness but a shaft of pale moonlight creeping in through a grimy window drew my eye to one word in particular. Vietnam. Our late night burglaries were always heart-pounding affairs, but an unfamiliar

terror began to claw at my guts as I quietly slid open one of the desk drawers. There, sat next to the doll metal of Occult 45, was some kind of necklace. Bumpy, wrinkled shapes, haphazardly strung together with a piece of cord. I squinted in the darkness, reaching inside to run a fingertip along one of the furrowed clumps. They felt textured, desiccated. I had a solid lump of fear in my throat, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end by the time I realized what they were. They were human ears. I started to back out of the room, feeling the raw, palm-sweating terror coursing through me as my mind began to race. We need to get out of here.

We need to get out of here. We need to get out of here right now. I could hear the creak of old floorboards growing closer to me by the time I saw something rush past the window. I stopped, peering into the street outside in time to see another shape, hurtling past the grubby pane of glass at full sprint. It was my buddies. I was alone. Alone with whoever was creeping up on me in the corridor behind. I turned in time to see him, standing in the threshold blocking my escape. I'll never forget the sound of the rhythmic inhale and exhale of air through his nostrils. The breath sounded ragged, almost shaky, relaying the absolute fury and contempt that the figure felt for me. He stepped forward, his face momentarily bathed in the dim moonlight. relaying the absolute fury and contempt that the figure felt for me. He stepped forward, his face momentarily bathed in the dim moonlight,

features that were twisted by wrath, pale blue eyes that seethed with a predatory glare. It was Mr. Metzger. He lunged. I was fast, but he was faster, stronger, and possibly so. We struggled, grunting and growling as his rough, callous hands tried to wrap themselves around my neck. It was a practiced maneuver. It seemed instinctual to him. To my absolute horror, the black bandana that disguised me began to loosen,

slipping down a little as we fought. If he sees my face, I'm dead. Blind panic set in. I threw myself forward, my forehead smashing into one of his eye sockets. His grip loosened. I thrashed and kicked as he cried out in pain, freeing myself just enough to be able to pull myself away from him and make a dash for the garage. I burst out of the house, tearing down the street as fast as my legs could carry me. Any second now, any second now he's going to aim that Colt 45 and blow my head off. I couldn't bring myself to look back. I didn't want to see him fire the shot that would end me. Dude was a marine, killed 10 people. I'm going to be the eleventh. Oh god, help me, I'm going to be the eleventh. The shot never came. Somehow I managed to reach the end of the street, ducking into one of the garbage strewn alleys that meandered through the neighborhood like rat runs.

I almost punched my cowardly friends when I finally caught up with them. They left me alone with that maniac. Left me alone to die. Are you kidding me? You saw what was inside that house. We got out at the moment we saw what was in there. One said, attempting to defend himself. You could have warned me, man. You just up and left me there alone. That thing in the TV room. It was made of hair. Human hair. My other buddy finally spoke up. His cigarette burned until the hanging ash seemed to defy gravity. Shut up. That was not human hair. We don't know what it was. Then tell him about the other thing, dude. Go ahead. Tell him. My other buddy sounded almost distraught at this point. I don't want to talk about that. It almost sounded childlike, his cynicism and bravado stripped away. They never did talk about what they saw. The botched burglary was never mentioned again. I dropped out of high school shortly after,

following my buddies deeper into a life of criminality until an arrest for grand theft got me six months in prison. After my release, I turned my life around. I got a job, earned my GED, and attended a local community college to study home improvement. I led a quiet life now. I'm a father and a husband. I eat my wife's cooking, I watch the Red Sox, I go to bed at 11. I'm a different person now. But just last week in the Home Depot over near Southie, I thought I recognized an elderly man shuffling among the aisles. I followed curiously for a minute or two, keeping my distance until the man turned and locked eyes with me. Uh-uh. I know you.

He said, unsmiling. You're one of my old high school students. Uh, yeah, JB High, class 86. Utah history, right? I felt that old familiar dread permeating my guts. That's right, he said, his cold blue eyes studying me intently. You look like you landed on your feet. Not bad for a dropout. Yeah, I got myself together in the end. Teenagers, right? I forced a weak smile.

Right. A solemn look on his face as his tone dropped a little. Everyone deserves a second chance, even if they did bad things in their youth. There was a weight behind his words. My palms grew damp against the plastic push bar of the cart. Well, nice seeing you again, Mr. Metzger. I'm kind of amazed you even recognize me. I said, beginning to wheel my cart away, trying to hide my anxiety. Oh. He replied, an almost wolfish grin on his withered old face as I saw the same predatory glare in his eyes that I did 30 years ago.

I never forget. A face. The education system here in the UK is a little different than the US. You see we don't have a middle school. We don't have that kind of social buffer that separates children from young adults, so when you're 11 years old, you're suddenly dropped into a campus that includes larger, intimidating teenagers. As bad as it sounds, leaving the nurturing environment of primary school and entering the unforgiving, hormone-saturated world of secondary school is daunting to say the least. Granted, I was quite

a shy child, but seeing all these spotty-faced, deep-voiced, hairy miscreants dragging their knuckles through the corridors, it was terrifying. They were like monsters. I didn't understand the things they did, nor the things they said. I remember just trying to keep my head down, trying not to get noticed by any potential bullies. And so that's where this story begins. With myself as a frightened, quiet boy in a place that made me dread having to wake up in the morning, homework, being popular, avoiding trouble, I thought that was as bad as it was going to get for me. I was wrong. The headmaster of the school was named Dr. Sylvester. He wasn't a medical doctor, he had earned the title in some lesser field, but

he went by doctor nonetheless. He struck me as a cold man. His welcoming speech to the year sevens made secondary school seem like an ordeal we had to endure than an experience that would enrich us. The speech was emotionless, with subordinate teachers lining the old school hall like prison camp guards. The man was somewhat of a mystery to me, but then everything at the tender age of eleven is mystery. Every little aspect of life threatens and frightens. I remember feeling an immense pressure at the time. Pressure to succeed. Pressure to conform. I was told not to question things that adults always had our best interests at heart, if only that were true. I recall it being a brisk autumn morning. Leafless skeletal trees and piles

of rotting leaf litter lined the pavements. We had French class at first period, by far the most loathe of the subjects I took. Not because I disliked the language, I was actually pretty good at it. The problem was the woman who taught the class. At the time I had the notion that she simply disliked me, that I had offended her in some way that it was in my interest to correct. But in retrospect, it was clear she hated her job. The dreadful scenario of having broken free from an institution like school only to find herself right back in one, trapped. I understand why she was so contemptuous. Maybe she had a dream once, something she longed for only to find that it was late, that she was too busy. Just another one of life's little

tragedies. During the middle of the period, as I watched the hands of the classroom clock moving painfully slowly, the dull silence of the room was interrupted by a shrill, piercing sound. It was the fire bell. Some of the children jumped, nervously whispering to each other as they awaited the instruction of the teacher. Fire drill. The French teacher's voice was a flat drone. Everybody line up outside the building. There was a touch of excitement in the air by then. The fire drill broke up the monotony of the long, boring school day.

We gathered our belongings, filing out of the classroom as the teacher to the monotone murmur of single file. As you can imagine, other classes were also doing the same so before long there was quite a number of children all walking down one long locker line corridor. I had been in fire drills before obviously so I was no stranger to the actual drill. But there was something different about this one, something which wafted through the corridors towards and washed over the already nervous children. We could smell smoke. Something was actually burning. The most terrifying memory of the event wasn't the fire itself. It wasn't the ominous smell of burning plastic or the cries of frightened

students who were beginning to panic. It was the look on the presiding teacher's faces when they realized the very real danger we were in. At that age, adults seemed invincible, like they can solve every problem and then some. I had never in my short life seen a look of terror so pure on a grown-up's face. It chilled me to the bone. With anxious voices, the teachers herded us to the nearest exit. The intensity of the smoke increases as we moved. Pouring out of the building, we could see the far wing of the school building as it burned, wildfires dancing among thick black smoke.

Then the screams began. Children turned in the direction of the building's burning section pointing and screeching as a figure emerged from the conflagration. It was engulfed in flame a walking inferno whose cries of pains were burned up before they could leave charred lips. Then there were sirens flashing blue lights and men that wore fluorescent uniforms.

Paramedics tried to stifle the blaze on the burning man. The sight of his charred, smoking corpse had children in tears as teachers barked at them to look away. But looking away didn't help. Even when I closed my eyes and put my fingers in my ears, I could still smell it. I could still smell the burning flesh. The school actually closed down for a week while the damage could be assessed. Local authorities offered to pay for trauma counseling for the entire teaching staff and student body. Our class, along with our respective parents, attended a group session at a nearby community center. I didn't understand any of it. I didn't understand why we would want to

all sit around and talk about something so terrible. Why we all weren't just at home trying to be happy, trying to forget. It's terrible to say so, but I considered the time off as a sort of special holiday. I was allowed to play video games for as long as I wanted. My parents even bought me a new game. I could tell they thought I was upset that they were trying to be good parents. I just didn't question any of it. Like I said, I just thought it was better to try to forget. Why would I want to remember the sight of that burning man climbing from the debris? Why would anyone want to remember that? After a few days, the school sent a letter out to all the families involved.

The cause of the fire was said to be an electrical fault, a freak surge that shorted a kitchen power outlet and set fire to a broken refrigerator. However I did notice something about my parents around that time. When I was out of the room I would hear them talking in hushed tones. They were discussing something they didn't want me to hear, something secret. I was a curious kid, sure, but I had no desire to eavesdrop. I was acutely aware that there were things in the world I really didn't want to know about. Some things are better left to secrets. It took ten years for the truth to come out. One evening, whilst sitting down for a home-cooked family meal, we started to discuss my school days.

It was nothing in particular at first, but somehow the subject of the fire came up. Just a passing comment, nothing shocking or abrasive, yet my parents reacted rather strangely. My dad put down his cutlery and cleared his throat, giving my mom a long, serious look. She did the same, sighing before she turned to me and spoke. Alex, you remember that fire at your school, right? I nodded. Of course I did. The school held a service for the burned janitor when he passed

over from his injuries. Well, we didn't tell you the truth back then about the fire. We're sorry. We hope you understand that we did what we thought was best at the time. I stayed silent, my eyes darting between my parents, simply waiting for whatever it was they had to say. The thing is son, my dad took over, taking my mom's hand in his and giving it a loving squeeze. That fire was no accident. Someone set fire to the school, tried to burn it down. With all the children inside, mom interjected. She brought her hand to her mouth and her voice began to crack, fresh tears twinkling in the corner of her eyes. My dad just hushed her, comforting her softly before he continued.

You see, Mr. Sylvester, the head teacher, that wasn't his name at all. Before then, he had never held a teaching position in his life. His name was Bernard Lee. Bernard Lee began an affair with a woman and wanted to escape his family. He wanted a new life. He wanted a clean slate. So one night, while his wife and children were sleeping, he doused their home in petrol and set it ablaze. My mom was sobbing at this point, tears rolling down her cheeks, but she still managed a few final words. But unlike you, son, who were so lucky to have, those children never escaped. They never escaped. They never escaped. We all broke down at this point, embracing as a family, counting our blessings that my class was able to escape from a similar fate as those poor,

unwanted children of Bernard Lee. Later on in life, shortly before I actually decided to commit this piece of memory to paper, I thought back to that time in my life when I was young and frightened, when everything was so big and scary, when the vast possibility of life terrified instead of inspired, when I thought I was walking among monsters. How could I have possibly known back then that I was right. It's been a long time since I graduated high school. So long that it feels as if it's all an event that occurred in another person's life. It feels like something that I read about or imagined, something illusory that I've inserted myself into.

They say the human body replaces all its living cells every seven years, so I suppose that physically I am a different person than the one that existed a decade ago. But the final conversation I had with an old history teacher, Mr. Cole, is one that feels like it occurred just yesterday. For almost 15 years I had replayed the interaction in my mind over and over again. It's something I don't think I'll ever forget. He was standing out of sight from the main crowd around a corner of the main school building. He wore a sandy brown hair and a rough ponytail, facial hair raggedly fashioned into a handlebar mustache. A cigarette burned between his fingers, adding to the brown nicotine stains that colored the tips. Something struck me about the way he looked at me as I took out my own pack of smokes and asked him for a light. He didn't see me as a student anymore. There was a coldness in his gaze.

Something else too, a kind of pity or disgust in his eyes. Half of me expected him to scold me for feeding such a filthy habit, but he didn't. He didn't say a word as he reached into the pocket of his worn faded jeans and pulled out an old Zippo. We talked about growing up, about how I was ready to go out into the world and find myself as a person. I asked him how long it took for him to do the same. I used to think about it a lot, he said, looking off into the near distance. But you reach a certain age and you know who you are. I live in a little condo near a bar just on the edge of town, work nine to five, then in between I drink. And there ain't nobody there to stop me. I know who I am. And after all these years, there's a kind of victory in that. I'd never heard him talk this way before, never in this tone. He wasn't the Mr. Cole that kept his history class gripped with tales of yore, passionate speeches about life and liberty that had him greatly respected around campus. He seemed defeated, he seemed broken.

Mr. Cole wore a wedding band, but it occurred to me that he never mentioned anything about a family. I chose not to ask. We talked about what I had learned at my time attending the school. He listened, he nodded, but I got the impression he was uninterested, somehow unimpressed. This irritated me a little. Sure, my answer was full of cliches and platitudes, but to dismiss my experience in just a glance grated against me. I asked him what he had learned in his time teaching there. Some days, I wish I didn't ask. act like they're not even aware that the outside world exists and might as well be living in a cave. This place is a gutter, one giant trailer park just floating through the universe,

somehow apart from it. But that doesn't mean they can't be happy. It doesn't mean they don't have value. I mean, there's no shame in being consciously happy while being unconsciously ignorant. That's just it, kid. They're consciously ignorant. He replied, crushing the burned up remnants of his cigarette under his boot before lighting up another.

I think human consciousness is a tragic mistake in the history of our evolution. He let the thoughts sink in and he took in a lungful of smoke, exhaling lazily as his gaze remained pinned to the distant horizon. We became too sentient, too self-aware. Whatever drives the universe forced the creation of an element's separation from itself. We humans are creatures that have no right to exist by natural law. We are things that operate under the false pretenses of having a self. This chaotic mess of senses and feelings, all somehow totally assured that we are each somebody, when in fact, we're all just nobody. So, I'm guessing you're not a religious man?

I said, feeling rather accomplished as he chuckled at my response. Religion? Man, now there's a thing. There was a faint smile on his face, as if the very thought of it amused him. A transfer of fear and self-loathing to a figure of divine authority. I can understand the catharsis. God soaks up their doubt and pain with his perfect Star Wars narrative. I don't know, sir. Sounds like you could do with a little old-time religion. I replied, finishing my own cigarette, but

not hearty enough to immediately begin another, unlike Mr. Cole. If it's good enough for Grandma, right? He smiled again. At least I'm not rushing towards a cosmic stop sign. It was about this time that I confessed to Mr. Cole that I was shocked to hear him talk this way, that nothing about his classes indicated he had such a pessimistic worldview. I was building up to the question, but he gave me a look which said that he knew well what I was about to ask. You want to know what made me this way, right? He asked with that same faint smile on his withered lips. A lot of people want to know that. I'm mostly telling the buzz off, but you? He cut himself for a moment, shaking his head

with that look of pity and disgust in his eyes. My wife, God rest her soul. She and I, well, we lost our daughter when she was real young. All the emotions seemed to drain out of him while he spoke. He was clinical in his confession. I think about her every so often, my daughter and what she was spared. During the better moments, I feel sort of grateful for it. Doctor said she didn't feel a thing that the drunk driver sent her straight into a coma. And after a few weeks of sleepless, tear-stained nights, deeper kind of sleep. I'm sorry. It was all I could think to say. He heard my voice quiver with sadness. Nah, don't be. It's a beautiful way

to go out. Painless, happy, innocent. Trouble with dying later is that it's too late, the damage is done. He had an odd way of reassuring me. You want kids? He asked. I shrugged, I had never really given it any thought. Don't, he responded, almost contemptuously. I think of how arrogant and cruel it is to force a soul out from the ether into this sack of rotting flesh, to condemn a life to walk blindly in this meat grinder. Sometimes I think I should go thank that drunk for getting behind the wheel after one too many. They spared me the sin of being a father. I confided in him that I believed there was more to life than just soul-crushing pain and grinding worthlessness. That now, more than ever, people can act in ways that can change the world for the better.

He disagreed. You see, this is what i'm talking about he said evidently growing a little frustrated as he threw down his second cigarette and repeated the action of stamping it out sure there are broader ideas in play mainly what is shared between us as a species for our mutual illusions. Ever seen a dead body? He asked me. I nodded slowly. Then you'll know. You look in their eyes.

Even in the picture, you can still read them. You know what I see? I see that they welcomed it when it finally came. Not at first, but right there in the final moment. Its relief.

They were afraid and now they see for the very first time how easy it was to just let it all go. In those last few seconds of life they saw what they were. What they had always been. You, me, them, this whole comic tragedy was never more than thrown together presumptions and stupid blind will. What you need to do is just let go, to finally know that you didn't have to hold on so tight, to realize that all your life, all your love, all your hate,

all your memories, all your heartache, it was all just the same thing. It was all the same dream. A dream that you had inside a locked room. A dream about being a person. Mr. Cole started to walk away, the keys to his truck jangling as he pulled them from his pocket.

Good luck, kid. You're gonna need it. I moved out of town, out to a coastal city where the people aren't like those stuck in small Arizona towns. Sometimes I think Mr. Cole was wrong, that there's a brighter side to existence that he neglected to touch upon But sometimes in darker moments As I'm lying in bed after long days spent working in a cramped sterile office space Mr. Cole's words run through my mind They bounce off the walls of my skull Refusing to relinquish my fears

Feeding on my doubts It's in those moments that I know Mr. Cole was right. Mr. Schvenko was the toughest teacher in our high school. He was a six-foot-something bear of a man who marched around campus with a look on his face that even the most unruly of students found daunting. Having emigrated from Eastern Europe after the collapse of the old Soviet Union, he spoke with a heavy accent, but his English was perfect. He taught physics in an emotionless, sterile manner. On his bad days, his tone of his voice could be described as a bark. One day, during an unusually interesting class, Mr. Schvenko was going over the different types of radiation that existed. A studious pupil in the

front row raised a hand to ask him how he knew so much about the subject. I did some work for a power plant on my home country. He replied dryly, turning to the chalkboard and beginning a crudely drawn diagram. One of the jocks, who was known for being somewhat of a bully, made a comment about how it was probably the one that blew up. Mr. Shevanko's chalk stick snapped. The hand that gripped the broken piece trembled as he lowered it to his side. With an audible sigh, the teacher turned back around, his eyes fixed on the disrespectful bully.

Have you ever seen your friends die? Mr. Schvanko asked softly. "'It was the first time any of us had ever heard him talk in a way that didn't make us flinch. "'But somehow, his tone was even more frightening than before. "'The jock didn't respond. "'I asked you a question, boy.' "'The jock remained silent. "'His cheeks turned a shade of crimson as Mr. Schvanko's beady brown eyes bore into him. With the same flat facial expression, the furious teacher walked towards the classroom's door. The room shifted as he locked it.

New lesson today. Close your books. Um, Mr. Schvanko, sir? A nervous-looking girl in glasses raised her hand. She was unable to hide the raw fear in her voice. I don't feel comf- Shut up, girl. You thank the boy with the big mouth later. This is a collective punishment.

Mr. Schvanko hissed, taking a seat at his desk. We waited. The tension thick in the air as we dreaded to think what Mr. Schvenko had in store for us. We'd never seen him as angry as he was now. Some people even said they'd smelled alcohol in his breath some days. I felt a knot of fear in my guts as I pictured the morbid newspaper headlines that might follow the next day. The most important time of life happened before any of you were even born. Mr. Schwenko began.

It was the 25th of April, 1986, the day the entire world ended for my town. I had recently returned from Moscow after studying nuclear physics at the university there. I was glad to be home. It was the start of a new life for me. I had a girlfriend I hoped to marry once I found work. Pripyat was a beautiful place. Forests nearby, streams for fishing. We were happy there.

That evening was warm with a clear, cloudless sky. Above Pripyat was a ceiling of stars, a blanket of celestial bodies that you could lose yourself in for hours. But that same night, an accident that occurred near our town changed my life forever. An accident that occurred at... I knew what he was going to say before he said it. The words were on my lips before he even uttered them. The Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant. There was a saying in my homeland. We pretend to work and the government pretends to pay us.

The class could see the sadness in our teacher's eyes as he spoke. It was like that back then. Communism had destroyed people's desire to better themselves. Years of incompetence and corruption meant that there was a design flaw in one of the new reactors. When the safety test began, the reactor was like a loaded gun, just waiting to go off. So when the control rods were removed to raise power again... He calmly looked over to the disrespectful jock, narrowing his eyes as he leaned into his desk. Boom.

Mr. Schwenko's roar sent the jock reeling in his seat. The rest of our class didn't fare too well either. We were gripped, hanging on to our teacher's every word. But what no one knew, thanks to years of error and cover-up, was that there was a fatal flaw in the reactor design that made it unstable at low power levels. As power levels were lowered in preparation for the test, they dropped too low and the reactor ground to a halt. Meanwhile, unseen, a dangerous hotspot was building deep in the reactor. Two huge explosions that shook the earth beneath our feet. Every man, woman, and child in Pripyat

heard the bangs. But we had no idea what it was. Some of the off-duty workers feared the worst, but none of us could have fathomed that what was about to unfold was the worst nuclear disaster in history. I felt the shockwave as I looked towards at the power station. A pillar of smoke rose up in the clear night sky, and though the inky blackness of the night I made out twinkles of flame in the distance. Some of the people in my apartment block thought war had broken out. Then myself and the people of Pripyat watched in awe and terror as the huge stream of ionizing radiation shot into the heavens, lighting up the night with a hideous blue glow.

We thought the world was ending. For us, it certainly was. People were terrified beyond belief, but I must admit, I found myself smiling as I looked out into the night. It was titanic, like looking at the face of God, a gargantuan mass of pure energy. It was... it was beautiful. The melancholic look never left Mr. Schwenko's eyes,

even if a small nostalgic grin did curl his lips. But that was only the start of it. What came after, both as a result of the accident and of the government's mishandling of it, was much more horrific. The teacher never took his eyes off the jock, as if every single word was directed at him. It must have been torturous. It certainly was for the rest of us. We were forced to listen and we had no escape. Did you know that they bussed a troop of entertainers

to keep some of the nearer villagers calm as they died of radiation poisoning? Let me describe to you one such performance. Mr. Schvanko began relishing the disturbed looks on our faces. A beautiful ballerina dancing her final dance. Strands of her blonde hair floated to the floor as she twirled. I saw blood leaking from her nostrils, down her cheeks as it seeped from her ears. When she finished, the children ran to her with flowers, their hair and teeth already starting to fall out.

The generator stalled and for several months we were plunged into darkness. To my complete and utter horror, I saw the flowers and the children glowing in the dark. There were a few gasps around the room. One of the girls in the back row was sobbing quietly into a sleeve of her sweater. The cleanup involved the work of 30,000 people Continued the teacher There are less people in this town Think of that 30,000 people

They called them liquidators A disgusting euphemism coined by a man too cowardly to call them what they were The condemned Do you know what it's like, boy? Have you had to look a friend in the eye and tell him to walk towards his own painful death? Hm? Schvenko growled towards the jock.

You look to me like you would have no problem as long as it would have saved your own skin. Four million people suffer today from something that happened 30 years ago. 4 million. He stood up, walking slowly towards the desk that sat the now terrified jock. And you think, this is funny, yes. The jock shook his head violently, still too terrified to speak.

His eyes begged for mercy. Yes, you left. You think that seeing children being burned from the inside out, dying the most painful death imaginable, never knowing why or how they were being murdered by something they couldn't even see. You think this is a joke, don't you? No, sir. Mr. Schvanko towered over the boy's desk, eyes wide and full of fury. We waited for him to snap,

for him to beat the life out of this kid, but he just turned, walked towards the door, and unlocked it. Class dismissed, he murmured, sinking back into his seat. I've never seen a classroom of kids move so quickly in my life. Not even on the last day of school did we tear out of the building like that. But on the way out, I slowed, stopping near Mr. Schvanko's desk and feeling the anxiety build. Um, Mr. Schvank's desk and feeling the anxiety build. Uh, Mr. Schwenko? He looked up at me, that same sadness filling his eyes as I spoke. I'm sorry.

He just nodded, and without another word, I departed. I went to a good high school, one nestled in a leafy green suburb. It was selective, exclusive, and we rarely had any trouble among the students. The PTA's idea of drama was if two moms brought the same cake to a bake sale. Scandal just wasn't a word in our lexicon. But I do remember one event that caused shockwaves among the parents and teachers. One that had terrified parents up in the arms about how such a strange and worrying occurrence was even allowed to unfold. Good morning, class.

A strange silence fell over the classroom. The man who just walked in the room wasn't our regular teacher. In fact, none of us had ever laid eyes on him in our lives. You can call me Mr. Witzbold. I am to be your substitute teacher for the next two hours. Mr. Witzbold said, writing his name in big block capitals on the chalkboard. He was well-groomed, but there was something off about him, like he possessed only an appearance of dapperness, like there was something deeply wrong below the surface. Today we'll be studying a little biology, perhaps the most fascinating of all the sciences. Uh, Mr. Witsbold, sir?

A studious-looking boy in the front row raised his hand. This is English class, shouldn't we... The boy cut himself off, lowering his hand nervously as the teacher stared unblinkingly at him. He didn't say a word, but we all felt the weight of that stare crush the talkative young student. As I was saying, the teacher continued, Today we'll be studying biology and I promise not a single one of you will find today's lesson boring. The respiratory system is perhaps one of the most complex the body possesses. Mr. Witzbold began, drawing a rough diagram of some lungs on the

chalkboard. Its function is to transfer extraneous oxygen to the body's cells via hemoglobin in the blood. Can any student tell me how long the body can survive without oxygen? The substitute teacher turned and faced the class now, the smile on his face somehow too wide. We shifted silently in our seats. Three minutes, continued Mr. Witzbold. It takes just three minutes for the body to experience what is known as hypoxia. Should oxygen delivery to cells become insufficient over a prolonged period of time, the subject's brain shuts down

into a comatose state in order to preserve oxygen. If a ready supply is not returned, well, complete cell shutdown occurs. However, time until expirations is even less in the vacuum of space. Back in 1971, the Soviet cosmonauts died when a system's fault caused their spacecraft to depressurize shortly before re-entry into the Earth's atmosphere. The crew died within 30 to 40 seconds, as air pressure is required to deliver oxygen to the brain. Isn't that fascinating? It wasn't the morbidly academic descriptions that disturbed us. It was Mr. Witzbold's delivery. He seemed fascinated by such morose information,

like it gave him great joy to educate us on it. I find the human body to be enthralling, you see. The thin, sickly-looking teacher wandered back and forth before the class as he spoke. So durable, yet so fragile. Our spirits can leave an indelible mark upon the world, yet our bodies are mere shadows and dust. For example, mankind has mastered every terrain planet Earth has to offer. Take the hardy Bedouin of the Arabian deserts, or the resilient Eskimo of the Arctic Circle. Yet can anyone here tell me how much body temperature is required to drop before ill effects are felt?

Again, the class was silent. Some fidgeted nervously in their seats, feeling the tension hanging in the air as Mr. Witzbold stalked the rows of desks. Just two degrees. If core temperature falls by a trivial two degrees, hypothermia begins to set in. Low temperatures change the speed of different chemical reactions that the body needs to continue functioning. Slowing them throws delicate systems out of balance. The person will start to lose consciousness, the heart will then lose its rhythm. Secession of vital signs follows at about 24 degrees when the heart stops. The mousy girl who sat in front of me visibly shuddered. A similar minuscule rise in body temperature can

also be catastrophic to a person's health. At temperatures higher than 41.5 degrees, a person may begin to suffer from convulsions. Irreversible brain damage can occur at temperatures above 42.5 degrees. The blood thickens and slows. The kidneys stop working. The heart muscle can be damaged and skeletal muscles start breaking down. Essentially, this is what we call and describe as a multi-organ failure, but more specifically, it's when the brain begins to cook. You, stand. Mr. Witzbold pointed towards the shy, mousy girl sitting in front of me. She sat up in her chair, horrified that she was being selected for anything by such an eerie individual.

Mr. Witzbold slid the chair from behind the teacher's desk and placed it at the head of the class. Sit. He commanded, his tone still warm and friendly, his smile still far too wide. Slowly the shy girl rose from her seat, treading carefully up the aisle of desks with the terrified look in her eyes. She was practically catatonic by the time she sat down in the teacher's chair, beyond mortified. Now, despite being so incredibly fragile, the human body is, in many ways, immensely durable. Mr. Witsbold was standing behind the shy girl now, standing perhaps just a little too close. For example, if I were to take a large, sharpened implement and remove this promising young woman's head,

the nervous system would actually continue to function, if only for a short while. Electrical energy trapped between synapses might well cause her decapitated body to stand and take a few panicked steps before crumpling, while the eyes continue to send images to the visual cortex. In all likelihood, she would be able to watch the entire fascinating performance unfold. Isn't that something? The shy mousy girl hoping that Mr. Witzbold's macabre demonstration was over began to rise from the teacher's desk. To her absolute horror, she found his hands on her shoulders, forcing her back down into the chair. Where do you think you're going, my dear? He asked with a wolfish grin.

I'm not done with you yet. Now, those of you that think decapitation to be a particularly grim form of demise, I must inform you that you're sadly mistaken. There are many, many worse ways to expire. Mr. Witsbold kept his hands on the shy girl's shoulders. Scaphism, sometimes known as the boats, was a method of execution designed by the ancient Persians to cause as much suffering as possible before death. He began. The class was on tenderhooks now, hanging on to his every word. The only accurate descriptions that we have are from the Persian's oldest rivals and mortal enemies, the Greeks. The victim would be trapped inside a bath or hollowed out tree trunk with just their head, hands, and feet protruding. The subject would be force-fed milk and honey to the point at which they developed horrendous

diarrhea. At this point, more milk and honey would be poured all over them, particularly the hands and face. The class was utterly dumbstruck, unable to quite believe what they were hearing. The idea was that as the boats filled with the aforementioned milk and honey, biting and burrowing insects would overwhelm the subject, inflicting a horrendous kind of torture. The swarm would simply drive the victim mad as this combined with whatever injuries were inflicted. The torture was dragged out for as long as possible, but death would eventually come as a result of dehydration, starvation, exhaustion, and septic shock. Just as Mr. Witzbold was launching into another horrific description of expiration,

the period bell sounded. At first, some of the class was too scared to move. We normally rushed out of the room as soon as the period bell sounded. At first, some of the class was too scared to move. We normally rushed out of the room as soon as the period was over, but this was different. We were rendered almost immobile by the torturous words of the substitute teacher. Complaints were made, and an inquiry was held. Parents wanted to know just how such a man could slip through the system. Some took their children out of the school, citing trauma and stress disorders brought on from the experience.

I know I never, ever saw the shy, mousy girl at school again. As a matter of fact, I never saw or heard of Mr. Witzbold again. But that's something I find myself thanking God for. Every single day. Scotland is an old and wild place. It's there that the unstoppable expansion of the mighty Roman Empire was halted firmly in its tracks. Legionnaire veterans, hardened by years of armed conflict on the savage fringes of the Imperium, were turned back once they reached the land that they called Caldonia.

It had always been somewhat of a mystery to my high school history teacher as to why such a powerful, organized force stopped in its tracks. Some scholars note the lack of natural resources, explaining that the Empire had nothing to gain from conquering Scotland. But thick, ancient forests would have yielded millions of tons of lumber to fuel the Empire's war machine, not to mention the abundant red iron ore buried in Scotland's vast rolling hills. Regardless, Mr. Lennon believed that the answer to the age-old question actually did reside in the land's seemingly infinite, impenetrable forests. For there is something that exists in the dark, damp woodlands of old Caldonia, something that was once worshipped before it slipped into rumor

and legend, something that was here long before humanity and will be here long after we're gone. We were excited when Mr. Lennon informed us that our class would be eligible for the week-long field trip to Edinburgh. In hindsight, maybe we shouldn't have been. As Americans abroad, we were often objects of curiosity, viewed as practically exotic by many of the local populace. Two of my buddies and I formed a kind of homesick Americans club who saw themselves as a trio of marauders from the old colonies, pillaging the lands of their ancestors. It'll do us a world of good to take a break from city living, Mr. Lennon said with a wide smile, stepping off onto the railway platform of a small Scottish town. Some of you kids are unaware that there's a world outside of your cell phones.

We were headed for a place known as Maybe Forest, a few hundred square miles of lakes, hills and woodland with only a handful of trails to divide it up. It was a chill October morning as our group of 20 or so students made the short hike out of town, paying no mind to the locals who eyed us suspiciously from grubby window panes. Not even a half hour had passed, but already I was regretting having packed so much in my backpack. The straps dug into my shoulders so hard it felt like they were cutting off circulation. I had to rest my thumbs under them just to keep the ache at bay. Naturally, it was a great relief when Mr. Lennon called a five minute break. I had never been so relieved to be off my feet. The autumn sun was in afternoon decline as we

continued to trudge along the narrow country lanes. The strain of lugging my heavy pack had beads of sweat forming on my brow, a dull ache now present in my shoulders and feet. It had been hours since we'd seen any cars or people and it was beginning to show in our environment. Foliage at the sides of the road grew progressively untamed, drystone walls crumbling as twisting vines began to reclaim what was once mankind's. We were getting pretty tired at this point. We'd been walking along all morning and it didn't seem like we were getting any closer to the actual

forest. The narrow country lanes, flanked on each side by wildly overgrown hedgerows, were beginning to look all identical. As frustration grew, some of the students began to argue over which route we should have taken. After an entire day's worth of walking, we had finally reached the end of the road. The tarmac was cracked and weathered, grass sprouted through the tiny fissures in the surface. It was here that the road literally and physically ended, swallowed up by nature as the vast sprawling forest opened up ahead of us. It struck me as deeply unnerving seeing a road so inexplicably abandoned. It was primeval,

millions of huge, dense pines that spread out before us like an ocean of dark green. I'd never seen anything quite like it in my life. By this point, the sun was beginning to sink towards the horizon, transforming the sky's deep blue into magnificent shades of pink and orange. Despite being hungry, thirsty, and disgustingly sweat-soaked from our exertions, we decided to push on. We had to. After all, darkness was drawing near. Moving through the forest itself was hard work. Pine needles dug into exposed flesh while small biting insects feasted on us, causing huge itchy welts. Walking behind someone meant that thin, spiky branches would whip back into your face.

Sometimes we would find a little clearing. Somewhere the trees opened up a little and we would get a good look face. Sometimes we would find a little clearing, somewhere the trees opened up a little and we would get a good look at just where we were. It was an ancient ethereal forest, beds of moss spreading out before us. Mr. Lennon remarked that we must have been 15 to 20 miles away from the nearest piece of farmland, even further from the nearest village. It was agonizing. Even the country boys were beginning to complain, so upon reaching the first real clearing in the thick pines, we began to set up camp. The gorgeous golden sunset had become a ceiling of twinkling stars.

We organized our camp, opting for a meager dinner of packed sandwiches. We were worn out. Hacking our way through the pines had left us well and truly fatigued, but this place was beautiful, it was untouched. Or so we thought. It started that night. A thunderous noise echoed through the trees around us, something that broke the ominous stillness of the death-saturated clearing. A deep, otherworldly howl, unlike anything I had ever heard before or since, assaulted my ears. I felt nauseous with fear, like I might regurgitate my measly breakfast all over the forest floor. As the roar died down and that horrible silence returned once again, we could hear the rustling

of pines, the crunching of dry twigs and pine needles in the near distance. Something was coming for us. Students screamed and cried, hiding away in their sleeping bags or just plain panicking. A buddy of mine came rushing up to me, a look of pure terror in his eyes. Mr. Lennon is gone. I tried looking for him, but I can't find him anywhere. We need to find Mr. Lennon. We ran blindly through the pines as straight branches and bramble thorns scratched and sliced any exposed flesh. Exhaustion didn't seem to be a factor anymore. Neither was the weight of our backpacks.

We tore through the forest at breakneck speeds, fear and adrenaline providing strength and stanima that seemed almost impossible. Eventually, I saw something through the inky blackness of the night, something illuminated by a shaft, a pale moonlight. There were huge pine trees, twisted and deformed, their roots and limbs winding together in a kind of arcing cradle. Beneath them, a large shallow pit that had been cut away from the earth. Every inch was filled with bones. Entire ribcages jutted out from the soil like animal traps.

Long femurs, yellowed and broken with age, were arranged into intricate patterns in the earth beneath us. Centipedes and lice crawled out from the open eye sockets of cracked skulls, their jaws hanging open in a silent scream of death. There must have been hundreds, if not thousands of human remains half buried in the earth before us. As my eyes returned to the twisted mass of branches and roots above us, I noticed a dull glittering among the network of woven tree limbs. Withered steel helmets, still with a few slivers of red plumage, brass jewelry that had been intricately stitched into the patchwork of dry bones. Roman coins, more than a thousand years old, were pressed so hard into the dying timber that the trees were growing up and around them, half consuming the small pieces of bronze.

Kneeling before it all was a shirtless, hunched figure, its torso tattooed with strange, ethereal designs. They were roughly inked, not the word of a professional artist. No, they were crude, ritualistic images. The figure was whispering something soft but rabid, repeating the same few sentences over and over in a guttural, ancient-sounding language. The howls were louder now, closer to the camp. The thing was circling the students like hunters surrounding their quarry, iron-willed patience the only thing preventing them from commencing the camp. The thing was circling the students like hunters surrounding their quarry, iron-willed patience the only thing preventing them from commencing the slaughter. In absolute terror, I crept closer towards the prostrate figure, instantly recognizing who it was when I saw

their face. It was Mr. Lennon. He was praying. Mr. Lennon! I roared, taking him by the bare shoulder and trying to shake him from his trance. Mr. Lennon, sir, we need your help, please, I'm begging you, please just help us. I was so scared that I could feel tears forming in my eyes, my voice cracking with the insanity of the situation unfolding around us. Sir, wake up! I smacked Mr. Lennon around the side of his head, finally freeing him from his daze. He flinched violently, coming to and looking around as if he'd forgotten where he was. As he did so, the house subsided. He stood there, the silence descending back around us, still panting from our terrified exertions.

No one ever talked about the incident in the woods, or how it was that such a terrifying experience ended as quickly as it began. Some of the students who returned from the Scotland trip were treated for symptoms of post-traumatic stress, but they could never bring themselves to talk about the night that had them suffering so terribly. Nor did anyone discuss how Mr. Lennon's mysterious actions that night had undoubtedly saved us from a fate worse than death. But I hadn't forgotten, and I'll never forget. Mr. Lennon saved our souls that night, and we can never, never repay him for it My secondary school was old When you're a kid, everything that was around before you were born is old

but the Blue Coat School for Boys was practically ancient. Founded in 1708 by the Reverend Robert Scythe, he envisioned thery, the school stands in stark contrast to the modern cityscape that sprung up around it. Passing the entrance exam and attending the school was as exhilarating as it was intimidating. Discipline was harsh, but the benefits were many. The feeling I got whenever I walked into the old gothic-looking library building was magical. It was a place at a time. The smell of old books and wood varnish made me feel like I was privy to all kinds of ancient secrets, forbidden knowledge fit only for the eyes of the intellectually elite. It was perusing the time-worn shelves that I came across the book known as The King in Yellow.

It stood out among the dusty leather bindings thanks to its mustard yellow cover. Sliding the old tome out from its snug space on the shelf, I opened it to be greeted by a strange pale yellow symbol on the inside. I had to squint at first, straining my eyes to make out just what the odd sign was, turning the page as my head began to hurt. The printed text over leaf was tiny, so small that I could barely read it. This made my headache even worse. I closed the book, rubbed my eyes, then placed it inside my bag for later perusal. The next day, as my English literature class was coming to an end and the pupils were filing out of the room, I approached the teacher's desk.

Mr. Brady was younger than most of the teaching staff and had always cut an approachable figure. Sir, have you ever heard of a book called The King in Yellow? I asked, picking my fingernails nervously as his demeanor changed dramatically. Mr. Brady froze, slowly looking up from the paper he was marking. What do you ask, Martin? He tried to sound calm and collected. I sensed he was anything but. Well, I was looking online at a few... Martin. He interrupted sternly. Have you found a copy of this book? No, sir.

I lied, sensing there was some kind of trouble afoot. I had taken the book from the library without permission, after all. Martin, listen to me carefully. If you find a copy of this book, you must inform me immediately. Is that clear? Sir, I was just... Immediately, he replied, giving me a look that chills my spine even to this day. I kept the book a secret for the next week, occasionally opening it and attempting to read the tiny cryptic text.

Each time the same dull headache would return, forcing me to cease reading. I decided to stay late after school one night, devoting time to properly trying to decipher the book's contents. In an almost empty library, I found a quiet, sheltered corner closed closed off by huge oaken bookshelves. With trepidation I took out the mustard yellow tome, opening it to a random page before straining my eyes to read the text. It was laid out like poetry, strange stanzas that made my skull feel like it might rupture at any moment. Strange is the night where black stars rise, and strange moons circle through the skies, but stranger still is lost Carcosa. I was trembling. My eyes felt swollen in their sockets. I wasn't just reading the book. The book felt like it was reading me. I got up, leaving the book on

the table and stumbling out of the library so clumsily that I drew the ire of the bespectacled librarian. I rushed to a nearby bathroom, locking myself in a stall and with my hands gripping the filthy porcelain bowl, I vomited so hard it made my nose bleed. Shuddering and spitting out the foul taste on my mouth, I finally managed to rise myself up clean myself off and return to the library yet as i turned the corner into the little nook i had previously occupied my blood turned to ice the book was gone that was july of 2004 just a few weeks later on july 25th a blue coat pupil named Mark Blackwell arrived home after spending time alone in a nearby park.

His father was sitting in the family TV room relaxing after dinner. Mark went to the family's garage, took a claw hammer from a tool kit that his father owned, then walked into the TV room. Mark's father didn't even look up before he was struck on the back of the head with the blunt end of the hammer. The son he raised for 18 years proceeded to bludgeon and stab his own father so heavily that the police originally thought that the wounds were caused by gunshots. As Mark finished mutilating his father, his mother returned home and walked in on the grisly scene. Mark was waiting for her. She would need to be identified by her dental records. There was only one other pupil in the library the night I lost the King in Yellow.

That pupil was Mark Blackwell. The following year I completed my end of school exams, attending a celebratory event that signaled the end of our formal education. It was a happy time. The tragic incident involving Mark Blackwell had slipped into the back of everyone's mind. As the celebration subsided, parents and pupils began to depart school grounds. I too approached the school gates only to be greeted by the figure of Mr. Brady smoking a cigarette as he stared off into space. Mr. Brady, sir. I approached him ready to unburden myself of the truth. I wanted to talk to you about... about the book. You found it? I know. He replied solemnly. I just... I had no idea that... I know. No one does. He took a deep drag of his cigarette, not once making eye contact with me.

I paused for a moment, lost for words in the grim silence that surrounded us. What will you do now? I asked. Continue to do what I've spent my life doing. Search for that book. And when you find it... He didn't reply. He simply stamped out the smoldering tobacco after dropping the butt into the dirt and walked out of Blue Coat School for Boys, forever. I've never, ever told anyone this story. I've never felt the need to. But earlier this month I received some news that brought the memories of these terrible events rushing back to me. My old English teacher, Mr. Brady, had died.

Upon learning that he ended his own life, I contacted the police investigators charged with inquiring into the circumstances of his departure. Although they were not entirely at liberty to disclose information on the inquiry, a kindly female detective was generous with what she had learned when I informed her that I was a former student of Mr. Brady. Her tone dropped when I asked if Mr. Brady had made an index of the books in his possession at the time of his death. With a nervous voice, she responded in the affirmative. I asked her if any of the books in this index were missing when Mr. Brady's body was recovered. Again, she answered in the affirmative.

What was the name of the missing book? There was a pause as the detective consulted her case notes, a pause that seemed to last an eternity as I waited with grim expectation for the words I knew were going to be spoken. The King in Yellow, she said. With trembling hands, I hung up. These encounters I've had with these shadow-like entities in the past two years. To start, I've never done any hallucinogenic drugs or anything of the sort. I'm in the military and it's way too hard to get away with that stuff to begin with.

From what I can remember, all of this started happening to me when I was stationed at Fort Sill, Oklahoma for my military job training. Late one night, I was sleeping in my bunk when I suddenly woke up to what looked like a black figure walking into my room wiping the sleep out of my eyes and sat up thinking that it was one of the guys on fire guard that night taking head counts for the sergeant on cq fire guard is just one of the guys that watches over the barracks during the night to make sure no funny business happens. Just as soon as I sat up to greet the guy walking in, it dissipated into nothingness. Really confused, I looked at the top bunk and saw that my bunkmate was up from his phone screen lighting up the ceiling. I spoke up and said, Hey Long, did you see someone walk into our room just now? He paused and looked down

from the top of his bunk at me and said, nah man, fire guard came in like an hour ago, you were knocked out for the night. This time I simply just brushed the encounter off and a really strange occurrence and nothing else. Fast forward to January of 2018, I started college at the University of North Dakota, UND. This is when the encounters got really bad to the point where I was too afraid to go to sleep some nights. I lived in a really old dorm building called Squires Hall, built way back in the day by myself. The encounters I had didn't all have these shadow people while I was there so I'll share everything of note. One night I went to bed and woke up to a tall shadow person standing in front of the door of my room with crimson eyes that seemed to stare right through me.

I sat up in my bed and freaked out. Side note, I don't consider myself a very religious person at all, more like agnostic to clear everything up, so you can imagine my fear seeing these things. After what felt like an eternity, having a staring contest with this entity, I shouted at it, What do you want with me? It took one big step towards me, shook its head and in a feminine voice said, help. With that, it vanished into the darkness in the room.

Another time that really stands out was when it was the end of the spring semester the last week of school. I had most of my room and clothes packed up and ready to move out for after my finals are done I had a couple of cans of coke in the back of my mini fridge by the door in my room. One night during that week I went to bed and woke up to a loud bang. I sat up in my bed and looked towards where the noise came from in my room towards the door. There standing in front of my door was a black figure. It took one step towards me next to the fridge and pointed down at it and disappeared. I turned on the lamp on my bed and walked over to my fridge, opened it and looked into it. There in

the back of the fridge a can of coke exploded. An example of the non-shadow people things I see. While I was at UND I had a long distance girlfriend for over a year. We started dating in high school and when I enlisted in the military she started school in the college of St. Scholastica, a private college in Duluth, Minnesota. So at the time of the story we had been dating for over a year and everything was great although she had a grandfather at the time who was very sick. One night I woke up and at the foot of my bed I saw three figures standing at the foot of my bed in my dorm room. On the right there stood my girlfriend from the past, a little girl with a silly bob haircut and a pink dress from a photo that I once saw of her. In the middle was my girlfriend from the present.

Long blonde hair, leggings and a sweatshirt. Then on the left was my girlfriend from the future. She wore a long black dress as dark as the night with long black hair. Where her face should have been was just a black messy blur unlike the other figures beside her. Brushing off the incident I didn't think anything of it. I didn't tell her about what I saw that night. Two days later I got a phone call from her crying. She told me that the grandfather that she was so close to had passed away and that she wanted to take a break from our relationship to try and figure everything out. After the call ended I thought back to what I saw that night and

analyzed what that third figure might have been trying to tell me. The black dress symbolizes death like the clothes you wear to a funeral and the blurry black face meaning she would break up our relationship to deal with her grandfather's death. Somehow I had a clairvoyant vision of the near future. Other times I hear people in my room while I'm trying to fall asleep, either people trying to speak to me or talking to someone else in the room. Most of the time I'll hear people whisper my name in my ear while I'm laying in bed trying to fall asleep. That summer I went to a psychiatrist to make sure that I wasn't going crazy.

From the sessions I had and the stories I told him, I wasn't schizophrenic, but I was diagnosed with a kind of sleeping disorder called hypnagogic, falling asleep and hypnopompic, waking up, hallucinations. Basically, as I'm either falling asleep or coming out of sleep, certain parts of my brain either go to sleep or come out of a sleeping state slower and faster than other parts, making me have visual and auditory hallucinations. Hearing all of this, I still have my doubts. I don't doubt his credibility or anything, but I think that there's more to this than I'm just hallucinating. This one is an unexplained encounter and a bit long. About six years ago over the summer of my

junior year going into my senior year of high school I experienced something I can't quite shake off to this day. My friend's parents were going out of town for the weekend so myself and three others including Matt planned a sleepover so we could all hang out, be as loud as we wanted. We slept over at my friend Matt's house. His house was located on the east side of town where that small wooded area was located. I mentioned this area in a previous post about the scream I heard in my house. That night we all mentioned how we should sleep on his trampoline since it was warm that night and none of us had done it before. Matt was a little concerned with the idea because he had mentioned

that homeless people and sometimes deer wander in and out of the little forest next to his house. There was no fence separating us from the woods so anything could go in and out of the yard and to the forest and vice versa. I told him we were going to be fine and that there was nothing to worry about. Boy, did I wish I could take that statement back. We started setting up our spots on the trampoline, getting cozy and just hanging out, looking at our phones. About an hour into this, I started to hear twigs snapping and leaves crunching Matt was the only one who wasn't on the trampoline but sitting on a small river donut on the deck next to the trampoline he was sitting on this due to an injury that happened to him a few weeks prior to these events I was looking at Matt while all of this was happening and he was looking into the woods. He didn't say anything other than a

quiet, I told you this was a bad idea. I kept listening for a few minutes and then it stopped. My friends were all listening too but they didn't seem concerned. It was really quiet after it stopped. None of us said a thing. We all looked back on our phones and that's when I saw it. The second my eyes met my phone, I saw from my peripheral vision this 7 to 8 foot tall thing run out of the woods, into the backyard and darted to the side of the house. All we saw was the silhouette or whatever it was. It was almost as if it was ghostly. It was extremely thin and bipedal. Here's the kicker though.

We saw it run, but we didn't hear it run. It made zero sound when it was moving, but it made the motion of someone running. When we saw this, we all did the exact same thing. Screamed and ran off the trampoline. Matt was the first one inside and I was surprised he was even able to walk let alone run because of his injury. We left some blankets and pillows outside because we were in such a hurry. We shut and locked the sliding door, all of the windows and doors we could find. We kept looking out some

of the windows to see if we could see anything, but there was nothing. Because we were so startled, we stood up until sunrise to finally go to sleep. I think about what happened on an almost daily basis. Everyone I have told has a theory that it escaped from the mountains next to the forest. For a little backstory, I live in Magna, Utah. The mountains on the east side that separate us from Tooele are said to house some sort of secret military base where experimentation and other things are done on who knows who or what. Or what? This story was relayed to me by a colleague and friend. Before joining our organization, this colleague worked as a tour guide.

At this time the story happened, he worked for a tour company that specialized in Japanese and Korean tourists, and he was assigned to work the trips going to the east coast of Peninsular Malaysia. It should be noted that there now is a major highway that links the east coast and west coast, but at the time, the highway was in the process of being built, and while most of the highway was intact, there were still stretches where you would need to take the trunk roads through towns and villages before rejoining the highway some miles ahead. He was supposed to meet a small group of Japanese tourists at the airport and escort them on their small bus to Kwanton, a major tourist town on the east coast, which was more than four hours away at the time. The weather was bad that night and the plane was delayed.

By the time they go on their way, it was already 9pm. A little more than an hour out of Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia's capital, a member of the tour group asked my friend if there was somewhere that they could stop to get something to eat because some of the tourist members were famished. My friend said he would do what he could. He then asked the same to the driver. This was not their regular driver. He was standing in for the regular driver who unfortunately had taken ill. So the driver said he did not know but he would look for an all-night place along the way. By that time, they had reached a section of the highway that was under construction, thus they had to take the parallel road. They drove a little further when the driver and my

friend saw an open-air restaurant which seemed to be quite lively, just after a small town they had just passed, so they stopped there. The tour group exited and went about getting their refreshments. My friend helped them with translations and he also got some food for himself and the driver. Less than an hour later they were back on the bus and heading to Kuantan. The tourists were very happy with their stop because they said the food was excellent. A few days later they were on their way back to the west coast with the same tour group but it was daytime and this time the regular driver was driving. A tour member asked my friend if they could stop at the place where they had stopped on their first day. Again my friend said that he would do what he could.

He told this to the driver. The driver asked him to describe the place which he did. The driver's face went a little pale. A little later, they came to a place that seemed familiar to my friend and the driver asked him, Is that the place you mean? Pointing to a patch of land where a run-down building stood surrounded by what was once a clearing with a few tables and broken chairs. There was also tall grass everywhere. My friend recognized the place. It was indeed the place where they had stopped a few

days earlier. He turned to the tour group and informed them that they would not be able to stop at the place they went to earlier because it was only open at night. They sighed but left it at that. Later when they could talk in private my friend asked the driver about the place. The driver informed him that the place had indeed been a restaurant with an outdoor eating area around it but it had been abandoned for a year since something terrible happened there and the business went under. The driver didn't know what that terrible incident was but it led to more than one death. That stretch of highway has since been completed and the parallel road is only rarely used. I've used that road once to see if I could find the place. I followed my friend's description and I think I've found the place but

there were only the remains of an old building there with tall grass all around it. Perhaps I should try going there at night, if only to see if the food was really that good. This is a personal story of mine. It happened around my freshman year of high school in 2011. I was around 13 or 14 years old and my sister was four school grades younger than me. Every day I would come home on the bus arriving at my house around 2.20pm. About a 10, maybe 15 minute ride from the high school to my house i lived in the countryside so my stop was ways away from the other neighborhoods that kids lived in my house

was directly next to a farm and we only had a few neighbors all older folk who stuck to themselves due to living in a rural area and having an extremely long dirt driveway when i got home from school i had to walk for a few minutes down the driveway before I got to the backslider door. I would enter my house, lock the door behind me and put my things down. Every day the same routine when I got home. I would check on my dog's food and water and watch TV in the living room for a little while. My living room window had a perfect view of the front yard of my house as well as the driveway and where the bus would stop at the end of our driveway. Here is where things

start to get interesting. While I watched TV in the living room I would keep an eye out the window to watch for my sister to arrive home from middle school and make sure she got off the bus and up the driveway safely. She would get out of school around 2.30 and arrive at my house closer to 3pm. I would keep the door locked until I knew she would be home in a few minutes, and then I would unlock it so she can get in the house when she gets to the back door. I did that same thing this day, just like every other day. While in the living room, I saw my sister's bus pull up to the end of the driveway, stop, and I watched her get off the bus. I remember she was wearing a north face

jacket, a scarf, and she had her fairly large teal backpack on, jeans and boots. She was walking up to the driveway and went out of my view and I heard the backslider door open, close and lock as she came into the house. From where I was sitting in the living room I could see her walk past a doorway down the hallway to her room. I yelled out her name and asked her how school was but got no answer. I got up to follow her and repeat my question. As I walked into the hallway, the very same hallway I had just seen her walk down, I noticed there were no lights on. The hallway was dark and her room at the end of the hallway was also dark. I said her name again and heard nothing. I turned the light on and went into her room and she wasn't there either. I figured maybe she went into another room in

the house but I could not find her anywhere. I went back out to check the back door and to my surprise it was still unlocked and slightly open which didn't make any sense because I had just heard my sister close and lock the door when she got home. Confused, I closed the door and locked it, and went back to the living room to grab my phone. As I entered the room, the strangest thing happened. Out of the window, I saw my sister's bus pull up, stop, and I watched her get off the bus and walk up my driveway again. When she came in the house, I told her the weirdest thing just happened. I saw you get off your bus and come inside and lock the door but you weren't anywhere in the house. Then I looked outside and saw you get off the bus again and when I checked the door it was

unlocked and open. She responded by saying, that's really weird because the door was locked when I came inside and usually leave it open for me. I explain how I locked it because I thought she was in the house and thought it was really strange that the door was opened and unlocked without either of us manipulating it. Might I add my sister was wearing a t-shirt, a scarf, leggings and boots. Totally different outfit than I saw the first time. I didn't know what I was seeing or what had just happened. I had paranormal experiences in the past, stories that I would be happy to share, but this one really took the cake. I didn't know if this was some kind of entity mimicking my sister

and trying to get my attention or if this was some kind of glitch in reality, but I would love to hear some theories grandmother's condominium in Claremont, California. We had come into some hard times and my mother could no longer afford the house my two brothers and sisters and I grew up in. My grandmother shared this condo with my aunt Rosie. My grandmother had just turned 90 while my aunt was somewhere in her late 80s. This was not enough room for all of us so my brothers and I would take turns sleeping either on one of two couches or on the floor. My aunt had two rooms that were considered her own. One was her bedroom and the other was a room with a couch and a TV. On one particular night I was the lucky one who got to sleep in

this room. I was always more than happy to sleep on a couch rather than the floor. We all were. As I was readying myself to sleep there was an overwhelming eerie sense of darkness that I could not deny. This was a different kind of darkness, one that I didn't understand then but do now. This darkness was not physical but spiritual, a blackness that could be felt. I tried not to trip out about this because I knew that when I awake this feeling would be gone and I would feel silly. As it began to drift I heard a deep guttural growl of what could only be one inch from my left ear. I jumped off the couch and flipped on the light. I was alone. Instantly I knew it was an evil spirit. If this thing were to have manifested flesh and blood, its lips would have practically

been touching my ear when it growled. Naturally, this scared me, but as a Christian, I was taught that through Jesus Christ I have authority over such evil spirits. I decided that it was time to exercise this authority. I prayed and rebuked. To rebuke in a Christian sense is to command, in Jesus' name, the demonic spirit to leave. The Bible says that if you resist the devil, he will flee from you. I rebuked this thing a countless amount of times before. I felt that maybe it was safe to try to sleep once again. As I lay on the verge of crossing over into sleep for a second time, again an inch from my ear I heard something otherworldly. This time it wasn't a deep guttural growl, but a wicked hissing, screeching-like angry whisper. What stood out to me from both of these voices is its

scornful hatred for me. This hatred was not based on anything I did. This thing hated me for merely existing. This time my knee-jerk reaction was to throw my fists. When you can feel and hear a presence right next to you, 99% of the time when you're flailing your fists about, you're going to hit something. But once again, there was nothing there. Now I'm confused. I commanded this thing to leave and not only did it not leave, but I think I angered it. I did not sleep until the sun came up. I recognize this as a test of my faith. About a week later, it was once again my turn to sleep in my Aunt Rosie's room. Was I concerned? You better believe it, but I hate being afraid and I was determined to conquer this fear.

I mustered up all my faith, prayed and began to drift. This time there was no guttural growl, nor was there any demonic, windy hissing. I heard what sounded like a dungeon door slam shut, immediately followed by the mystifying, tormented scream of women. This scream was not like one who is quickly spooked and quickly brushes off her fright, but this expression of terror endured. I'd say it was a good twenty seconds of an enduring scream, loud and intense. It was like someone was failing to endure the flames of hell.

Just like the previous week in this room, I sprung from the couch, but this time I bolted directly to the living room where my mother typically slept on a pull-out bed. She was still asleep, but how is that possible, I wondered. The scream was so loud I remember thinking that the entire condo complex should have heard it. But yet, here is my mother, sleeping undisturbed. I woke her. Mom, what was that? She honestly didn't know what I was talking about. I was soon to find nobody heard this but me. Completely dumbfounded, I sat on a chair in the living room trying to make sense of these things in my head. The chair I sat upon was adjacent to

the den where my brothers slept. I happened to look up into the darkness of the den and I saw at knee level two beaming eyes of red staring back. It was too dark to make out any form of the body, but if there was enough light to see more, I am sure I would have seen this being in crawling position. At this point, I was so tired of being scared I simply stared it down, for God knows how long before it finally vanished. That night I didn't sleep until the sun had risen. The fact that this being continued to pester me and not respond to my rebukes bothered me for some time to come. All these years it had become clear to me why that was. There I was boldly engaging in spiritual warfare but I was rebuking the symptoms of this oppression rather than the heart of this attack.

I believed that I had confronted my Aunt Rosie and commanded this evil spirit to leave her. I would have gotten the results I was seeking. I don't believe my Aunt was possessed, although she may have been, but she was certainly oppressed. My mother, on occasion, would catch my Aunt, when she thought she was alone, looking at something that wasn't there and speaking to this something that could not be audibly heard. I told you to leave me alone, get out of here, Rosie would say. My mother would ask her, Aunt Rosie, who are you talking to? Realizing she was caught in this recourse like a child with her hand caught in a cookie jar, she would become sheepish and avoid

giving a real answer by saying, oh, it was nothing. I was somewhat relieved when one night it was my brother Brian's turn to sleep in Aunt Rosie's room and he, not yet knowing of my experiences in that room, shared in a lot of what I did. He did not hear any demonic voices in his ear but did hear what sounded like a dungeon door slam shut followed by a woman's scream. There was a strange comfort in knowing I was not alone in this. My sister, Michelle, went on to have her own experiences even to the point where she saw a full-on apparition appear before her. This activity stopped one day. It wasn't until later that we realized that it all stopped once Aunt Rosie moved out of my grandmother's condo to live with her son. Evidently, she took this spirit or spirits with her.

A few years later it came to be that I had adopted a party lifestyle. A group of fellow party buddies and I liked to gather in remote locations in hopes of not running into an authority figure. We were all drinking and smoking and many of us were underage. I remember hearing rumors about Satanists that would get together in this location and perform their rituals, whatever that might be. I didn't think much of it. My buddies and I were in the midst of having a great time, standing on an out-of-place slab of cement getting thoroughly loaded. I happened to glance behind me, and I saw something moving fast out of the corner of my eye. I turned to see, and it was a spirit of light. It moved at will and ran as if it were running in an incalculable speed. It happened so fast I wasn't able to get a good look at it. In shock I turned to my friend known as Red Headed Dave standing next to me to see if he saw what I

saw. He had the same look of bewildered fear about his face that I was wearing. He asked me, did you see that? He saw it longer and better than I did and said there was what looked like a scrawny old man in light. We had no idea what to make of it. Our fellow friends missed it entirely as they were looking in another direction. Later that same night, Dave was with me when I returned to my grandmother's condo complex. We were walking around the area discussing how weird our earlier experience was when we came across a condo with a lemon tree in

the backyard. Its branches were hanging over a wall over the street we were walking. We jumped and both grabbed a lemon. We decided to have a contest to see who can throw their lemon the furthest down the parking lot street. I realize as I'm writing this that this could very well be a you had to be there moment that you won't fully appreciate otherwise but regardless I'm going to write it out exactly as it happened. We both chucked our lemons as far as we could. It felt like I threw mine too far to the left and that I likely hit someone's condo or something. We thought he threw his too far to the right, likely over a fence into a field.

It was too dark to see either way from our distance. We walked down the street thinking we were going to confirm the lemons didn't make it onto the street. As we walked down the street we found our lemons in the middle of the street, perfectly lined up side by side. We were mesmerized. How was that possible? Our first thoughts were that these lemons must have rolled down an incline or slope and settled that way. We thoroughly inspected the street and could not find any such thing. This street was completely flat. How they ended up so diametrically and mathematically perfect right next to each other with less than an inch of separation really tripped us out. We contemplated on what the odds were that that should happen and we knew the odds must have been astronomical.

The next night, Dave and I were out once again gallivanting around the condo, having had a few to drink. We came across the lemon tree with plans of repeating that contest. We laughed and talked about how weird the previous night was, and we knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the results would be different this time. We chucked our lemons as far as we possibly could. This time we were even more certain we would never see those lemons again having thrown them too far to the left or right. As we walked down the street we joked about how we were going to completely trip out if we saw the exact same results but we knew that would not happen. It was impossible. But when we came upon the lemons, only to find them exactly as they were the previous night in the exact same spot with no logical explanation behind it, we said nothing. It was like the wind got knocked

right out of our lungs and we simply forgot to breathe. We just stared at the lemons as if somehow they would reveal their secrets, but they did not. I pondered in my head and still do how long it would take for this to happen by chance if you took two random people and had them do this contest. How long would it take before they would get the same results me and Dave did? Maybe eternity? I do not doubt that it had something to do with the spirit we saw but why would it behave this way I will never know, maybe just to blow our minds. A few years later me and a couple of buddies were out late on a quiet still night. My friend Pete decided to lead us to where a house once stood. While walking there he gave us the backstory of

this location. He said there was a man who owned this house that somehow managed to lose his mind, slaughter his family and burn the house down along with him inside. I couldn't tell if this story was true or not because it sounded a bit cliche as far as horror stories go but we went there and the second we got to where we were standing in the middle of where this house once stood an intense wind came out of nowhere. Not thinking much of it I started messing around trying to sound macabre and said the spirits are telling us to get out implying the wind was proof of this. I didn't really believe that I was just trying to be funny but what really tripped me out was the insane wind

completely stopped the second we left a couple of feet from where the house once stood. There was no wind at all that day except for the five to ten minutes of us being at that space. Was it a coincidence? Maybe, but it sure was weird. My final encounter with the supernatural of ill repute happened in 2005. By this time, I had left my partying days behind me and was happily married. Me and my wife decided to go out and see a movie. We weren't sure what we wanted to see, but we ended up settling for White Noise. This movie starred Michael Keaton and had to do with electronic voice phenomena. Keaton's character wife dies and he comes to find that by putting his TV on a frequency of white

static that by 3.30 every morning he is able to make out voices in the static that tell him things, primarily from his recently deceased wife. The movie wasn't all that good. In fact, I have seen far scarier movies in my life done far better. Albeit, I will admit there was a couple of scenes that were a bit eerie, but this is what we're supposed to expect from a movie of this genre if done properly. Nothing out of the ordinary. That night, being a night owl, I was watching television when exactly at 3.30 the TV switched from what I was watching and went to pure white noise. That didn't just happen, I thought. I turned the TV off, woke up my wife who was sleeping in

our bedroom and told her what had happened and I asked her to pray. She pretty much rolled her eyes and said what she thought I wanted to hear but I could tell she thought all the movie did was spark my imagination and that it will pass. The following night I was asleep in the bedroom and my wife was watching TV. The roles completely reversed. This time she wakes me up at 3.30 scared out of her mind to tell me that the TV again went to white noise. She left the white noise on, too scared to be in the living room long enough to turn the TV off. As I'm walking down the hallway, I was looking at this white noise, remembering that in the movie, this was a way for the dead to communicate with the living. No way I was going to speak to the noise. God condemns necromancy in the bible if the dead truly wanted to connect with me

they can wait until I die. I turned the tv off. This began some investigation. I had to know if there was a way that one of us accidentally set the tv to do this. We came to find that it was possible to set our cable to change channels at specific times. The thing is, neither of us knew how to do this, and what are the odds one of us accidentally setting our cable to do this at 3.30 a.m. on the very night we saw that movie? Odds are so astronomical that one can call it impossible. Next time around, we made sure that the TV was turned off and were both in bed by the time 3.30 rolled around.

I was certain this would take care of the issue. It did not. At exactly that time, we heard the sound of static coming from the living room. I go out there to find the TV had managed to turn itself on and went right into white noise. Scary. I was pretty much at a loss at what else to do the following night except unplug the TV. If spirits are using my TV to mess with us, maybe if I unplug their power source all will return to normal. It did, and what a strange experience that was. To this day, I wonder how it came to be that this paranormal incident came to be. I wasn't the least bit connected with the

white noise movie. I didn't think much of it. Again, I've seen scarier movies, so why of all movies was this one chosen by some otherworldly entity? I wonder if a demon from my past encounters has attached itself to me with the goal to oppress. I believe I will never know the answers. It's been 14 years since my last experience and I must say I do prefer it this way. I've had a lot of experiences ever since I was a kid in my house. Every single one could be put down to coincidence or explained in some other way. Forgetfulness, older sister playing a prank, etc. But the sheer volume of experiences make me feel as if it's something more. I don't know what I hope to get in posting this since it'll probably be drowned out in other stories. I just like talking about my boy.

I had an imaginary kid as a child. His name was Andy. I was also a mild sleepwalker and terribly afraid of the dark. I told my parents that Andy, who usually lived in the attic, would come down on a night to make sure I was safe and I didn't leave my room if I got out of bed. I also believed that there was a monster that only Andy would keep me safe from. Now, I was a kid and my mom just put it down to an overactive imagination which is fair enough. Then one day when I was a little older we had a letter come to the house intended for a man who used to live here. They hadn't realized he didn't anymore. His name was Andrew and as I now know he was dead. This could mean nothing. Andy is a common name. I have uncles called Andy and I watched Andy's on TV, but it was enough of a creepy coincidence that it stuck

with me. Here are some of my other experiences that I can think of off the top of my head. I had dolls when I was very little. I had this sort of jet ski thing that came with one doll that you could strap the legs into but with my little grubby fingers I could never manage it. I got so frustrated once that I stormed downstairs to fetch my mom. She was too busy to help. When I came back upstairs my doll was sitting upright in its little ski, all done up. The kitchen scissors went missing once and no one could find them. My mom joked, it's that ghost again. So I also jokingly said, Andy, we need those, can you please have them back? I found them laying out in the middle of my bedroom floor a minute later.

Said thanks and left it at that. One time the Christmas decorations in the attic mysteriously organized themselves. We often leave them a tiny bit messy when we put them up there after Christmas. No one ever goes into that attic but I don't know how they ended up all neat. I tried to hold a seance once because I have dumb idiot syndrome and I can remember this creepy feeling that made me need to stop. I know it's not the most exciting thing ever but it was definitely a sensation that I had never felt before. One time when something else went missing I called him terrible names and he knocked over things on my desk. This probably isn't convincing evidence but I just feel a presence in this house.

It's not threatening or anything, it just feels like someone's there, doing his own thing, living his best afterlife. It's entirely possible that maybe I'm just crazy This was back when I was in high school My mom used to say she heard and saw stuff But I always thought that she was just exaggerating and being annoying One day I was home alone playing video games in my room I had my headset on this was when modern warfare 2 was all the hype so I had my volume up high and through the headphones I hear someone yell Jacob coming from the kitchen I'm playing online so I couldn't pause it so I yelled back what didn't get a response figured my mom needed help with the groceries or something but

i had four minutes left in the match i'll finish up i heard my name again jacob i yelled back i'm about to be done i'll be there in a minute i yelled so the game finishes and i go to the kitchen and nobody is there go to my parents room. Nobody in there. Looked in the driveway. No car. I call my mom and ask her where she's at and she says that she's at Walmart and she'll be home in a bit. I could feel the blood draining from my face. I never told my mom cause she would just freak herself out more but that was scary. Does anybody have something similar happen to them? I'm not sure how this group works but I have other stuff that had happened and I don't want to cram it into one post.

Update. I had just gotten out of the shower. Nobody was home. I had my towel on around my waist and I had opened the door to let the steam out as I brushed my teeth. I started to hear the sound of plastic bags being moved around and I heard the refrigerator door close. I figured my parents were home so I shut the door. When I finished brushing my teeth I went into my room and as I walked in there I could still hear the rustling of plastic bags. I kept thinking, man they bought a lot of groceries as I was changing. I finished putting on my clothes and went to the kitchen to help put up

groceries. I stopped hearing the rustling at that point. I didn't see any bags or anything. I looked in the refrigerator and it didn't look like groceries had been put in there. It had happened again. I went and sat outside for a while. I finally took off to a friend's house on my bike and called my parents a little later. Sure enough, they had been at my sister's house the whole time. I wanted to convince myself that I was hearing things again but I remember it to this day how clear I heard it and it still gives me chills. My sister is quite a bit older so my house was always just my dad, mom and I. So I always had my own room. My mom always liked the antique look of the house so for some reason when I needed a

computer chair she got me this big red leather computer chair. It's real comfy but it was huge. I hated how much room it took up but I kept it anyways cause I liked how it made me look like a villain. Sometimes I'd spin around in it when people came in my room and pretended I was wearing an eye patch and petting a cat. I was facing my window, away from my computer area where the chair was sitting when I woke up one night to the sound of squeaking, like a long squeak, like it always made when I would turn around in it and then it stopped. I was awake but I had my eyes closed. I knew it was the chair but I didn't turn around cause I guess the fear froze me up. I heard it again and this time I opened my eyes but still didn't turn around to hear it. I heard it one more time

but it was in sections such as multiple squeaks. I just closed my eyes after that and eventually fell asleep. I didn't even want to turn around. A couple of months passed after that I was sitting on the edge of my bed putting on my shoes to go to the gym. The edge of my bed is directly in front of the bedroom door and in front of it is the kitchen. It's a very small one, more like a small hallway with a fridge and sink and counters and stove. When I looked up I saw six fingers which looked like two hands were holding the door but it was at eye level so it had to have been a child's hand and I saw the very top of what looked like black hair. The way the hands and top of the head were made it looked like it was holding itself up horizontally. Now before you ask no I did not do a double take.

It was not something I kind of just glanced. I stared at it for a good three seconds. I kicked the door closed as hard as I could and took off running to my friend's house. I was a 6 foot 2, 295 pound defensive end for my school. I didn't scare easily but I was scared that day. I left for college after I graduated and didn't experience anything there but then my dad started calling me. My dad's an old school construction worker, very serious and always rolled his eyes when he heard my mom was seeing stuff. I did too till they started happening to me. So my dad called me one night and told me he was experiencing things I knew I wasn't crazy. So when I left for college it was just

my dad and mom at the house. He tells me that he woke up at 5am like he always does, started his pot of coffee and got dressed for work. When he got back the coffee pot was off the coffee maker and didn't think much of it cause he figured he had just forgotten to put it on the machine since he was probably still groggy from waking up. A couple of days later same thing happened except the pot was closer to the sink. Again he wasn't one to believe in stuff like that so he just shrugged it off as him doing it and blaming it on being in automatic mode in the morning. It happened again a third time but this time the coffee pot was on the floor.

When he saw that he ran to my mom's room to see if she wasn't playing some trick on him. She was stone asleep. He drained the coffee and in the coffee pot was some change. 37 cents I think he said. He was freaked out. I don't have any little brothers or kids who might be playing tricks on him. Currently it's just my mom and dad. A couple of years pass by. I have a daughter. She's about three years old. I had just gotten divorced so I moved in with my parents till I got back on my feet and got my own place. My daughter was playing with her little kitchen playset and I'm in the kitchen making her some food. I hear her talking in her baby voice. Mine. It's mine. My toy. I think she has an imaginary

friend so I don't think anything of it. A couple of minutes pass and she let out a yelp and starts crying. So I run to her thinking she had smashed a finger on a door or something and I pick her up and hug her and ask her what's wrong and she says he's scary and I said who and she points towards the kitchen so I ask her simple questions is he tall or short using my hands as a measuring stick she points at the tall gesture I asked her her what color. Pointed at white. She said no. I pointed at red. She said no again.

I pointed at black and she said yes. I asked her if it was pretty or ugly and she said ugly. A couple of weeks pass by again and my daughter is sleeping with me in my old room. I feel her sliding down towards the bottom part of the bed. My initial reaction is that she is moving around but it was a smooth feeling like she was being pulled by her feet so I sit up as soon as I realized it and she was fast asleep. I get up, turn on the lights and start looking around the room and found nothing. I don't know if my mind was playing

tricks on me because I had just woken up out of nowhere but it felt real to me. Maybe I was dreaming but after everything that had happened over the years I didn't think it was logically explainable anymore. I moved out shortly after that. I never saw or heard anything again where I live now. My parents still live there and my mom says she hears things every now and then, but nothing huge like what I've seen and heard. My people, the Malays or Javanese, have this belief that there are seven people in the world who look exactly like you. Some also believe that if you meet all of them, you will die. Personally, I do not believe this, however my family members and I and my close friends have experienced seeing these doppelgangers numerous times. The first time it happened to me, albeit indirectly, it was when my brother saw my daughter and I in London. He was walking towards a tube station

near Hyde Park when he heard a child's voice behind him. He turned and saw a girl walking towards him. He was pleasantly surprised because he thought the girl was my daughter and behind her he saw someone who he thought was me. According to him both the daughter and the man looked exactly like my daughter and I. It was not until they got within a few feet away when they all realized that they were not who they thought they were. Apparently the dad said my brother looked exactly like his own brother which was why his daughter thought he was her uncle. My brother told him that he too thought that they were almost identical to my daughter and me. He even showed them our pictures and the man was extremely surprised. The second time this happened was at a shopping complex near my place. My wife and her best friends were having lunch together at a nando's a roast chicken place

my wife's friend then said she saw me coming down an escalator and walking towards them great my wife snickered let's get him to pay for lunch so they waited for me to come nearer but when I got within a few feet they both realized that it was not me and was very surprised at how the man closely resembled me. The third time was also at a shopping complex near my place but a different complex. A close friend who was also a former student was having a drink at a cafe when she saw me a couple of tables away. She wanted to join me but before she got up from her place she picked up on something that made her sit back down. She decided to scrutinize the man a little more and realized that he was not in fact me. She said there were minor differences.

He was slightly smaller and his glasses were different. She remembered this because the last time we met, which was not long before this incident, I had just come back from the optician and I was telling her about the good deal that I got from the optician for my new pair of glasses. I also showed her the glasses. She took a photo of the man and sent it to me. I'm sure I have the photo still somewhere in my external hard drive. The fourth time happened in Malacca, a town and state south of Kuala Lumpur. The town and the state shared the same name. I was at a hotel for a conference. It was in the afternoon and I was making my way back to my hotel room when a man stopped me.

He addressed me by a name that I did not recognize and he acted like we were old friends. He asked why he had not seen me at Zook for ages. Zook is a club in Kuala Lumpur. I told him that he had me mistaken for someone else and that I had never been to Zook even though it is actually not far from my place. He was silent as he scrutinized me up and down for quite some time before exclaiming Jesus Christ you're not the man's name which I have forgotten at this time. He was embarrassed and very apologetic which I said he had no reason to be. He then excused himself and went down the corridor still shaking his head. In perhaps a not so related incident my father was at an airport

in Delhi when a man dressed in military uniform came up to him, snapped to attention and saluted him. The man said, Major Bahadur sir. My father was surprised. He then told the man that he was not Major Bahadur. The man told him that the major was his former commanding officer and had since retired. Moreover, he informed my father that he looked exactly like the retired major. So, I have had four indirect encounters with my doppelganger. According to the superstition, if I have three more indirect encounters or if I encounter this man directly, I'm a goner. So if you guys don't hear from me anymore, you know what happened. If others had told me that there was a man who looks exactly like me, I might not have believed them, but the people who have seen my doppelganger are my own brother,

my wife, her best friend and a close friend. I trust that they would not have been fooled by what they saw so easily. Throughout my childhood I've had a few minor experiences which I believe have been paranormal. By sharing, I'm looking for advice, answers, people with mutual encounters. When I was little, about three or four, I distinctly remember being terrified of a shadow which was on my bedroom wall every night. I was too scared to sleep without a lamp on and I would always wake up to see the shadow on the wall. It was never there when I went to sleep, only when I woke up feeling scared in the middle of the night. The shadow was a profile of a woman's neck and head and the distinguishing feature was a big ponytail exactly like Polly Pocket.

I would always wake up my mom, but she would, as a non-believer, explain to me that it was just a shadow of one of my toys and dolls and tell me to go back to sleep. After we moved house, I never saw the shadow ever again, and after recently asking my mom about it, she said that she vaguely remembered it. A few years later, when I was about five or six, I had terrifying nightmares specifically revolving around religion. Two examples I remember are as follows. The first dream I remember in vivid detail was about angels. I was standing in my backyard with my class from school when we looked up over the hill and we saw angels flying around in a circle making a weird type of music. The teacher asked us what are they doing as though she was teaching a lesson and one of the girls in my class said they're laughing

and I woke up in terror. The next dream was about Jesus. I remember it so clearly because of how scared I was when I woke up I was holding a crucifix with a gold Jesus figure on it the Jesus started talking to me I was scared so I threw it in the garden I was outside again and I remember it saying no Emma pick me up I picked it up and the next thing I remember from the dream was I was in the mall with the crucifix and everything was blurring around us. It was talking to me but I can't remember what it was saying. Next thing I recall was waking up crying. After a while I stopped having these dreams and now if I'm in a nightmare I can literally wake myself up by telling myself I'm dreaming. I had a pretty normal childhood after that until I was about 9 or 10.

Once again, we had moved house and I was a happy child. Small things happen in this house but thinking back on them now I feel uneasy. I used to take a bottle of drink with me to bed at night and still slept with a lamp on and a blanket I called Blankie. I did this until I was about 15. I would wake up in the middle of the night and my bottle of drink would be in the middle of my floor and Blankie was folded into a neat pile next to my head on my pillow. I asked both my parents if they were doing this and they both said no and that I was probably doing it in my sleep. Yeah right. My sister also complained of feeling scared of the house and had to go to therapy because she honestly believed that there was a

man in the roof. I have spoken to her since and she says that she was just a kid with a vivid imagination. I also had an experience of falling asleep, to be woken up by a distinct whisper in my ear of someone saying, Emma. I was also afraid of my parents' room in this house. They had a built-in wardrobe with mirrored doors and I hated their whole room. We moved again when I was in year 10 to a house that was undoubtedly haunted or possessed really negative energy. I witnessed a door closing by itself, which I told myself was just because of a draft, and I was mentally at my worst. I was extremely depressed and remember contemplating ending my life to the point I even wrote my family a goodbye letter. After we moved, I was extremely depressed and remember contemplating ending my life to the point I even wrote my family a goodbye letter

After we moved I was fine I never thought about that again and was mentally doing well and so much better In this house however, I did feel scared being by myself And once experienced an object in the kitchen A metal object that could not have been carried by the wind, fallen to the floor by itself. Nothing other than that really happened, I just felt uneasy, I always have. Before we moved out of this house I was in the shower, home alone at about 8pm. My family was at our new house unboxing our kitchen stuff so I was alone except

for my puppy who was in his playpen in the kitchen. When I was under the water I heard our door open and close. It was a loud door so I could hear its trademark squeak and slam. I assumed it was my dad picking up more boxes so I continued my shower normally. When I got out, my mom and sister got home about five minutes later. I asked them what dad had come back for and they said they had been at the other house with them all night. I told them what had happened and we searched the house and found nothing. Needless to say, we were all pretty shaken up, but I've only heard the door open and close once, so either, if it was a person, they had been in the house for a while and were

leaving or coming in, but there was no one in our house. I still feel uneasy sometimes in my home. I see shadows out of the corner of my eye and hear noises before I go to sleep. I usually sleep with a fan on so I can't hear the random clicks or knocks around my room. I have spoken to one of my more spiritual friends about my experiences and she believes I may be a little psychic. Honestly, I feel like I'm just paranoid, so I'd love to hear your thoughts. Maybe it was the house that was haunted, but for whatever reason, I saw my husband's doppelganger at least twice while we lived there. The first time was after I drove him to work. It was a 45 minute drive each way and I was just getting back home. When I pulled up in front of

the house, there he was, standing on the porch smoking a cigarette. Same black hat and red shirt he had on when I dropped him off. I looked away for a second to put the car in park and when I looked back, he was gone. I hopped out of the car and looked on either side of the house for him. I was so confused. I called and asked him where he was. Obviously, he was still miles away at work. I thought I was going crazy.

The second time, I was not alone. We had a friend of ours over at the house who I'll refer to as W. Now W and I were hanging out in the kitchen eating munchie food and my husband was outside for whatever reason, I forget. Before I continue, the house was set up like this. The kitchen is the first room you walk into from the front door and front porch. It's the only room on the bottom floor. There's a set of wooden stairs in the kitchen that leads upstairs to the rest of the house. In front of the house is the main road,

so you have to walk off the porch onto the sidewalk and around to the side of the house to get to the yard. So we're both in the kitchen, but I'm leaning over the counter, eating leftover halupkis and W's at the kitchen table facing the door. My husband bursts through the door and runs through the kitchen, slamming the door shut behind him. I only see him out of my periphery. After a second, W says to me, Where did he just go?

And a chill goes down my spine. I turn around, and he's not there. I don't even bother checking the stairs because they're very loud and I would have heard him. I knew what it was. I say to W, that wasn't him and go towards the door to check outside and prove to both of us he was still out there and this is where it gets hilarious. W grabs a hold of the back of my shirt terrified and yells, don't open that door. I bravely open the door and yell for my husband who responds, yeah? And comes walking around the house from the side yard. Our simple friend then says to him, dude, someone just ran into your house,

causing my husband to go into attack mode, running into the house searching for the intruder. I know this is ridiculous because W didn't act as if a stranger ran into the house when we were in the kitchen. In fact, I think he even said something to him before asking me where he went. I stop them both and say, Wait a minute, wait a minute, W, what did you see? And he looks at my husband and says, I saw you. At that moment, we all realized what happened.

We saw something supernatural. We were thoroughly freaked out and W refuses to talk about it to this day. If you got a story, be sure to submit them to my subreddit, rLetsReadOfficial, and give and receive feedback from the community, and maybe even hear your story featured on the next video. And join my Discord to interact with me and other listeners directly. And if you want to support me even more, grab early access to all future narrations for just $1 a month on Patreon, and maybe even pick up some Let's Read merch on Spreadshirt. Links in the bio.

Thanks so much, friends, and I'll see you again soon.