The Lets Read Podcast - 57: Episode 050 | Taxi Driver & Camping Stories | 21 True Scary Horror Stories

Episode Date: December 2, 2019

Welcome to the fiftieth 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 Taxi Driver, Camping, and Repo Man Stories. 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 

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wherever you go, you can get it from our tread experts. Conquer rugged terrain with on-road comfort. We'll be right back. Auto Repair, we're always there. Trade Express.ca Being a long time member of this sub, I know that a lot of the stories here aren't actually real, despite this being a sub for True Scary Stories. That said, I can promise you everything that recently happened to me on my taxi ride home is 100% real and incredibly scary. I'll be brief with the basic facts and get to the heart of what happened. I'm not sure if anyone here may remember me from the story I told about my missing professor but as I wrote then I'm a TA at my university and since the disappearance of the professor

I've been working very late in an attempt to catch the temporary professor up on what's going on. Before the professor disappeared I would usually be free and plenty of time to catch the bus home but recently I haven't finished until well after midnight. Since taking the bus home has been out of the question, I've had to take Ubers home. Despite being your stereotypical poor college student, a little cash from the new professor has made this possible. The first few days I called an Uber, but after a friend told me about the cabs that cruise the bars on the edge of campus for fares that time of night I decided I'd just catch one of them.

I'd walked the two short blocks to where the taxis were supposed to be and was happy to see my friend was right. I noticed a cab sitting by itself probably 50 yards from the others and approached it. Knocking on the driver's window he rolled it down and I asked if he was available. He took a long look at me up and down before he answered. Sure kid, get in. Without a second thought I jumped in the back and gave him my address. He lazily started the car and pulled onto the road. As I sat back in the seat a memory creeped in front of my mind. I thought you guys were supposed to be going out of business.

I could have sworn that I'd read somewhere that this particular cab company had gone bankrupt and was closing sometime last year. I guess the strange purple color of the cab had reminded me of this. He paused for a moment before he answered. Eh, no kid. It wasn't us. He must have had us confused with somebody else, I don't know. Since I wasn't sure, I figured he was right. It had been at least a year ago and a lot of stuff had gone through my mind since then. No sooner than I'd sat back again

I noticed that the cab's meter wasn't running or even turned on for that matter. Uh hey dude you forgot to turn on the meter. This time he just raised his eyes to meet mine in the rear view mirror. No way kid we don't use those dinosaur things anymore. We have an app to keep track of the fares, works with GPS and all that. Just sit back and relax. As he had said that, he waved his phone at me real quick. But what I saw on the screen just looked like the regular timer function on your phone. Like before, I deferred to him. After all, I was a European history major, not someone that makes

apps. I took his advice and finally sat back in the seat and tried to relax. We'd gone about five blocks and I pulled my phone from my pocket and turned on the light. I shined it on my wrist to check the time. I wanted to see if I had enough time to have a few beers before I crashed. Tomorrow was going to be just as hectic so I wanted to have a few to take off the edge. That's a nice watch you got there. It appeared that while I was checking it the driver had noticed my watch. Is that a Rolex? One of those date thingies? Uh, yeah it was my grandfather's. He handed it down to my dad when he graduated college and my dad did the same to me when I got my bachelor's. This was the first time of the night

I became a little nervous. He knew well it was a Rolex in the actual name too. Until he noticed my watch he'd been quiet and uninterested in me, but the second he did, he became very animated. I'd been wearing this watch for over a year at this point and never once worried about wearing a gold $15,000 plus watch until that cab driver asked me about it. He went back to his business again, but from that point on I stayed aware of what he did. Like any normal person I tried to relax and disregard my instincts. About a minute after our conversation he picked up his phone from the seat next to him and made a call. Since I was already suspicious of the driver I did my best to hear what he was saying but he spoke very quietly and was only on the line for about 30 seconds

so I was unable to pick up on any of it. Once he put the phone down I leaned back in the seat to appear uninterested in him. He paused for a moment and then told me his friend had just called and asked him to swing by and pick him up because he had an emergency. That was strange because I'd been watching him and I didn't notice the phone ring or even make a vibrating noise. He assured me it was on the way and I wouldn't be charged any extra. Of course by now my paranoia was starting to get the best of me but I didn't want him to see it so I told him it was no problem. I guess he figured he had me eating out of the palm of his hand

because I noticed a little grin grow across his face when I peeked at him in the mirror. It was at this point where I began to form a plan in my mind. Although he'd not given me any overt reasons to be scared, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was in trouble. The second he did anything that didn't seem right I was bailing out. Forget the physical consequences. We were within a few blocks of my place so I figured if he was going to try anything it would be soon. Just to be safe, I removed my Rolex as inconspicuously as possible, wrapped my hoodie around it and stuffed them into my backpack.

He hadn't stopped to pick up his friend yet and we were approaching a stop sign where he would have to take a right to reach my apartment complex about a quarter of a mile down the road. When we came to a stop at the sign I decided this was going to be the place that he had to make his move. Either he would turn right, stop and pick up his friend where I would go ahead, pay him and walk the rest of the way home and he would be free to do whatever for his friend or he'd turn left, go a hundred feet in the direction of the highway where no one lived, take a right down an abandoned alley where his friend was waiting to assist him in robbing me and possibly worse. I'd gradually move to the right

side door so if I was forced to bail I'd be close to the right side door so if I was forced to bail, I'd be close to the curbside where the grass was. As the car began moving, I grabbed the door handle and double-checked the lock to make sure it wasn't engaged. When he pulled away, the car started turning to the right. Before I could let out a quiet sigh, he cut the wheel back to the left and said, Oh I forgot my friend lives just on the other side of the highway. This will just take a second. He should be outside waiting for us. I snidely say to myself, I bet he is.

He must have thought I didn't know the area but I grew up around there and was well aware there was nothing but fields on the other side of the underpass. The second the cab reached the opposite side of the intersection I said a quick prayer and bailed out of the cab. Despite landing on the grass side of the curb it didn't hurt any less. Even before I could get to my feet I heard him yelling from inside the cab. He was still trying to go along with the ruse saying something about owing him money but I didn't hear it at all. I knew as soon as I hit the ground I wouldn't have long so I got to my feet as fast as possible and began running for the alley that ran behind my complex. My hip was hurting so it was hard to go very fast but once I looked back at the cab and

saw him making a u-turn and heading toward me, the fear gave me speed. I had not been thinking when I told him the address of my apartment complex, but I realized I hadn't given my exact apartment number, so he wouldn't have any way to track me down as long as he didn't see me enter it. Since the alley ran behind my complex, I was hoping I would be able to hop the wooden fence and sneak into my place without him seeing me. I knew he was aware of the general area of where I lived, therefore when I saw his headlight stop at the end of the alley and then take off again I deduced he was going the other way in hopes of cutting me off.

My lungs were burning but I kept running as fast as I could. About three-fourths of the way down the alley I could see the lights of my complex on the other side of the fence. Looking ahead of me down the alley I expected to see headlights but I saw none. The thought that he may be waiting for me on the other side of the fence crept in and although the fact terrified me I knew the only place I'd be safe was my apartment despite the fact the fence was eight feet high roughly and I'd never been much of a high jumper I didn't hesitate. On my first try I grabbed the top but my foot slipped back down however on the second I had enough strength to pull myself to

the top and over to the other side. I was happy to see boards going across to step on and let myself down. I was even happier to not see his car sitting and waiting. Once I had my feet back on terra firma I took a second to catch my breath and look around. For a moment I was unsure of exactly where I was but once I started walking I saw my building off in the distance between the two in front of me. At that point only a hundred yards of concrete and grass stood between me in complete safety. I did my best to be as quiet as possible as I approached the two buildings ahead of me. Creeping with slow, light steps I walked between them and

slowed even more as I reached the corner. I peeked carefully around it and scanned slowly across the open courtyard. It was well lit and I knew running across it would put me in the wide open for anyone to see, but I had no choice. Taking one more quick look and letting out a big sigh, I ran as fast as I could for my building, praying to myself the entire time. It may have seemed an eternity, but less than thirty seconds later I was at my door. I fumbled with my keys until I found the correct one and then, just like that, I was inside and safe. I dropped to the floor, fighting back tears of joy. I laid there just a brief moment before I saw the lights of a car creeping outside my building.

I crawled over to the window facing the parking lot next to the road. Making as little movement as possible with the blinds, I slowly raised one rib just a bit and looked out. The cab driver was slowly cruising around the lot looking out his window. Even scarier was that another man was in the passenger seat doing the same thing. He must have picked up his partner in crime and they were looking for me. I continued to watch them creep around the parking lot for a while until they gradually got further and further away. I was far too afraid to turn on the lights so I just laid there in the dark until I dozed off. It wasn't until around 9am that I

woke up. I made a cup of coffee and kicked back on the couch to reflect on the activities of the night before. I considered calling the police but quickly thought the better of it. I had no proof that he was planning on robbing me. From the police's perspective and the cabbie's records, I would look like any other guy running away from paying what I owed him, so that was out of the question. Then I remember the thing that caused this mess in the first place, my day date. For a moment, I didn't know where it was but then remembered where I had stashed it and grabbed my pack. As I reached in I held my breath because I was almost positive my contact with the ground damaged it. I unrolled it from my hoodie and there it was, not a scratch on it and

ticking away. I guess it really is true, you get what you pay for. I would have hated to have been the son that ruined a three generation tradition. It seemed very possible that the cab driver was going to search for me for a couple of days at least so I called the professor and told him I was sick and wouldn't be coming to classes for the rest of the week. This wasn't totally untrue. I was sore from my meeting with the ground. not to mention I was getting burned out going to class all day and then staying there late to catch him up. From time to time I've peeked out my window the last two days to see if I caught sight of the taxi, but I gladly have not. While I was eating dinner last night to remember the discussion we had had about the company going out of business and just to satisfy the nagging feeling I still had in the back of my mind, I googled the company name and what I found made my blood run cold. Not only had the cab company

folded earlier the year before because of competition from companies like Uber, another result I found discussed an auto auction being held a few months later where several cabs once belonged to the company were being auctioned off. My god, I've been right all along. I bet that guy bought a cab at that auction and was using it to illegally pick up fares after the bars closed. I must have looked like a big rube he could get a little money out of but once he saw my watch I became probably the biggest payday he'd ever had. I'll never second guess my instincts ever again. That was the moment the full extent of it all hit me. I spent the next hour heaving my dinner into the toilet. I'm fairly sure tomorrow when I return to school I won't have

the cab driver and his pal to worry about, at least I hope, but the memory of the incident will no doubt stay with me for quite some time. I'll be sharing this story with my friends and family. I would recommend everyone who reads this to do the same. For the sake of those you love and yourselves, keep your wits about you especially after a night of drinking. Be very sure the cab you're getting into is a licensed one and if you have any doubt, make your Uber or Lyft driver prove he is actually who he says he is. A South Carolina female fell victim to a very similar incident I did recently but she didn't realize she'd made a mistake until

it was too late. Please don't make the same mistakes as us, and don't let this be you. We got a call for pickup at 1236 Collins. They're going to the airport, you got it? Sure, I'm on it. Those were the first words spoken in what would end up as one of the scariest and most nerve-wracking days of my young life. I wouldn't have a more grueling day until the birth of my first child. That at least was a positive experience. This was truly the exact opposite.

It was still early in the day and I had already drove one couple to the bus station. Things were looking up, a welcome change from the previous four days. The fair was in an upper crust neighborhood. Those folks would often tip big money if you got them to where they were going quickly. From call to door took me seven and a half minutes. Hardly a record but it had likely earned me a decent tip. No one was outside waiting so I made a quick beep with my horn. A moment later a cute blonde stuck her head out of the upstairs window. Just a minute. I slipped the transmission in the park and leaned back leisurely in my seat.

That summer of 1980 had to have been the hottest in memory. Even with the AC on I was still soaked. My mind began to wander. A moment or two later the cute blonde came out to the cab but she wasn't alone. A dirty long haired man came out with her. When they got into the cab I could tell that they were junkies. Where's your luggage? We're going to the airport right? They looked at each other for a second before answering. Yeah sure. The dirty guy confirmed this but said nothing about their bags. Okay, I shrugged my shoulders and turned around.

It wasn't my job to mind, read, hop heads. I started the cab up and pulled away. For most of the drive, nothing much was said. They would whisper to one another on occasion but not at a volume I could hear. I'd catch a glance at the blonde in the mirror at brief intervals. She caught me a few times, looking and smiled. Each time she flashed her now decayed teeth I felt a small pang of sadness. She'd obviously been a beauty before the dope took over her life. You could still see this when you saw her from a distance but as you approached the deep wrinkles and open sores made her vices painfully obvious. These were my thoughts when the man called out to me. Hey man, there's a change of plans. We're going to need you to take us out somewhere.

Somewhere else. As he said this haphazardly, he pointed ahead to a sign. We need you to go over to the viaduct to Polk. His words made me bristle. Not only was I not going to change the destination, I knew the area around Polk was dangerous. He more than likely wanted to score something. I didn't care what he wanted. I wasn't going anywhere near that place.

Listen, I'm sorry, son. Once we had set a a destination we can't just change it. It's a former driver's security, you understand. There's plenty of cabs at the airport, you can catch another one there and then you can take it where you want to go. Of course, this wasn't completely true. I could change the route as long as I called in and told dispatch. Fact was, I wasn't going anywhere near that place. Odds were no other driver would either. I looked into my rearview mirror as I told them this. I noticed the blonde whisper something to him. A smile grew across his face as she said it,

and a confident air began emanating from the both. They certainly confused me. I wasn't sure if they understood what I'd told them. Perhaps all the drugs that they had taken had finally fried their brains. They in fact understood me fully. It would appear that I was the one that didn't grasp the importance of the situation. They were going to have to show me. You don't seem to understand, old man. You're driving us there whether you want to or not. His arrogance made me laugh. However, when I looked up into the mirror, I knew why.

I came eye to eye with the cock 38. Now it all made sense. They likely never had any intent on going to the airport, and they knew if they said anything about Polk, dispatch would have never sent me. That meant nothing now. I was going to do what they told me to do, and hopefully I wouldn't get shot in the process. All right, I got the point. You can put the gun down. I'll take you over to Polk. As I said it, they both chuckled and the guy lowered the pistol to his lap.

I'm glad we comprehend each other now. He pointed again to the viaduct exit and I took it. The viaduct was nothing more than a big bridge that took traffic over the train tracks below. It had always been the artery that connected the safer, more productive part of the city to the crime-ridden ghetto on the other side of the tracks. We never went over to it, and I hadn't until today. As my wheels pulled onto it, a sick feeling began boiling in my gut. I wasn't really sure what I was going into. I hadn't been over the tracks since I was a kid. It was the early 60s then, even before the viaduct and the neighborhood was okay.

However, after the race riots a few years later, I figured I'd be safer on my side of the tracks and hadn't been back since. I'd heard stories and seen various pieces in the paper about how much it had changed but I knew no one who'd had seen it first hand. Coming down off the viaduct things looked basically the same. As I drove deeper into the neighborhood however things began falling apart. It was actually really sad. The little barbecue place I used to go to with my dad was boarded up. What I saw was decay, not danger. I quickly wiped a tear away from my cheek and asked my captors where I was headed. I had yet to turn around to address them. I was afraid to get nervous and just shoot me.

All of our discussions were done through the mirror. When we reached Polk Street up here, take a left and pull over. The end of the sentence made the taste of bile grow stronger in my mouth. I glanced down quickly at his lap and the gun was still there cocked in his grip. Was he going to end my life and leave me here? My body began shaking but I fought to stop it. I didn't want him to see fear. I had never been so afraid in my life. I wiped my sweaty palms onto my slacks and swallowed the massive lump in my

throat. When I reached Polk I turned to the left and went ahead about 20 yards before I pulled over. I smoothly slid the shifter into park and shut off the ignition. Instinctively I sat upright and swallowed one more time. My mouth was bone dry and I knew if I spoke the words would tremble. As I sat there staring ahead the cab was silent. Off in the distance two boys played catch with a football in the street. The silence was maddening. Was this the end? What did they have planned? My thoughts went to my family. I hoped my wife would be notified somehow.

Would she get my body or would I stay in this cab rotting away for God knows how long? The dirty guy finally spoke. Take off your watch and pass that in your wallet back to Annie. And don't turn around when you do it. So that was the blonde's name. They were definitely going to pop me, since he was using names. I did my best not to let them see me shake as I did it. When I passed them back, I could feel the trembling.

She let out a little chuckle as she took them from my hand. Well, they had everything they needed and this was probably it. Now hand me the keys. This made me even more terrified. They were going to shoot me and take my cab. It looked like my wife was never even going to be able to bury me. I did my best to hide the tears. I could hear the couple begin to shuffle around in the back. I was terrified to look in the mirror. I didn't want to see it coming. I took one more big gulp and closed my eyes.

As I waited, an image of my wife appeared in my mind. She was wearing a beautiful little red dress I'd bought her for our anniversary. Her hair was up and she was sitting in our Lincoln. It was the most beautiful I'd seen her since our first date. The sound of a car door opening came from behind me but I ignored it. This was too wonderful of a sight to leave but the sounds of people running soon after roused me from my fantasy. I was too afraid to turn around at first. Slowly I opened my eyes and peeked at the furthest point of my vision that I could. It looked like the door on the passenger rear was open so I summed up the courage to glance at my rearview mirror.

There didn't look to be anyone there. When I finally turned around a feeling of relief overwhelmed me. It appeared they didn't want to kill me. They'd got what they needed and took off. At that moment I didn't care that I was $50 lighter. I was just happy to be alive. The celebrations continued for the next few minutes until the weight of the situation dawned on me. Alive or not I didn't want to be in this neighborhood after dark. From the way it was looking it was getting into late afternoon. Although it was summer and the sun didn't go down until nine, it was going to take me a while to hotwire the cab. Walking wasn't even a consideration. I twisted myself upside down and under the dash. I'd never hotwired a car before,

however I was going to try my best to find out how. It took me about an hour to figure out the wiring setup. Another 15 or so later the sound of the ignition turning over shocked the cab to life. James Sayre cab 1128 answer right now where are you? The panicked yells of my dispatcher Cheryl came blasting from my radio. I took a second to catch my breath before I responded. What in the world was I going to say? I did my best to explain all that happened that morning as I drove back toward the garage. It was a tad bit after three when I finally pulled in. My first priority was to call my wife and let her know that I was doing okay.

Since my keys had been taken I told her there would be a guy coming to the house to change the locks. Her voice was so beautiful to hear. I reluctantly let her go when the police arrived to take my report. After sitting down with them I took the rest of the day off. I was still pretty shaken up about all that had happened My generation didn't have a war It hadn't hardened to the prospect of dying

The wife and I spent some time holding each other I wiped her tears as we made plans of future trips together I promised to spend less time working and more at home The locksmith showed up soon after. All the locks were changed and I took the link into the dealership the next day to have it rekeyed. I returned to driving a day or two later. Day by day I became less jumpy and the fear of having someone behind me got less and less terrifying. Despite my expectations, the dopeheads were eventually caught. The blonde did

indeed spawn from an affluent family and her charges were ultimately dropped. The dirty man did some months in county. I had lost interest in the case by then. My son was on the way and I was working any spare moment I had so we'd had enough. Our anniversary came a few months before our son arrived. We stuck to the promises that we made that night. The family saw a lot of the country those years and her and I still rent a cabin in Colorado from time to time. I stayed on the streets for the next 15 years. No incident near that bad ever happened again. I've been working dispatch since 1995. A combination of bad luck and failing eyesight forced the change. I don't really mind anyway. People drive like crazy these days with the rise of companies like Uber. I'd like to pass on one bit of advice that comes from my experience. In a time full of no end and distractions, please pay attention to who you let into your cab. Drug-crazy thieves and gun-wielding dopeheads don't seem to be going away anytime soon. The following is an excerpt from a letter discovered among my grandfather's papers by my father and myself

while making an inventory of his estate upon his death on February 15th, 2019. Keep in mind, none of the assertions made within have been confirmed at the time of posting, and considering the time in which the events were said to have taken place, it may never be possible to confirm them. In addition, at the time it was written, my grandfather was already in the advanced stages of brain cancer. The things he is claiming more than likely were symptoms of his illness and may have not actually even occurred. Please keep these things in mind as you read this as it pertains to the publishing of this document. We are only making this document public at this time in the interests of justice.

If any of the names or incidents herein are familiar or if anyone has any information pertaining to said people or incidents, please leave your contact information in the comments. Thank you. My name is Donald McIntyre Campbell. This year I reached my 91st year on this earth. Recently, due to severe headaches, I consulted my doctor. During the course of testing and the like, it was discovered that I have a large mass of cancer growing in my brain. Because of my age, mostly the great minds in charge of my care determined there was no possible treatment for my illness.

Because of this conclusion I was told I could not expect to see my 92nd birthday. Truthfully I can't claim to be very upset with this prognosis. I have had a far longer life than most and can assure you all did my best to live every moment of it honorably. There is however one incident I must relieve my soul of before I go before my maker. Not because I am an especially devout man but because I've never believed in leaving one's debts outstanding. The specific debt I'm referring to took place in the winter of 1951. Dorothy and I had been married three wonderful years. With the end of the war, jobs had been a little thin on the ground.

Luckily for us, people were still dying. Therefore, she was able to find work as a part-time secretary at Blevlin's Lackland Funeral Home. As for me, I've been at the sawmill since I was 15. The post-war suburban boom had well and truly begun by this time, and the demand for building materials was at its highest. I'd been moved into a supervisor's position the year before. Because of this, we were finally in a position to purchase our first home. Just a mere two months after my promotion, we found a nice three-bedroom house not far from

where I'd grown up. Now that we had purchased our home, we could focus more on starting a family. Don't get me wrong, we'd been allowing nature to take its course since we'd been married, but now having children had become our prime goal. It looked as if though our life was getting better by the day. That December we both had been working as many hours as we could. Christmas was closely approaching and we knew that would probably be our last holiday where it was just the two of us. The red Chinese were slaughtering our boys in Korea. For all I knew, I'd be in a hole fighting commies the next year. We had one last chance to spoil one another and I was going to make it good. Since we only had the one car, Dorothy would at some points have to get a cab to and from

the funeral home. My surprise was a brand new car of her own. I couldn't wait to see her face. The week before I made all the arrangements. The dealer would deliver the night before so everything would be in place for the big reveal that morning. The evening of the 21st, Dorothy worked late so I was left on my own to stir up dinner. The partners wanted to get everything caught up for the holidays.

It was near 8 before I heard the cab pull up outside. I was enjoying an after dinner beer next to the radio when she came in. I could tell from the get go that something was wrong. Before I could get one word out I was shut down. I'm going to take a bath and go to bed. She had to have been starving but I didn't push. We'd both been running ourselves ragged the past few weeks. The fatigue had most likely caught up with her and she now deserved some time to herself. I had one more beer and hit the sack about an hour later. Dorothy was already deep asleep.

I gave her a light peck on her forehead. She looked so peaceful as she laid there, as if she hadn't a care in the world. It wouldn't be until after the holiday that I would learn how terribly wrong I was. Once I'd swished off the bedside lamp, I too drifted off in mere minutes. The smell of bacon and coffee woke me up the next morning. When I sat down at the table, Dorothy still seemed a bit off, but still better than the previous night. She smiled very little and when she did it felt forced. Although I'd never seen her like this we were in uncharted territory. I know if I had to keep all the balls in the air that she did

I would have collapsed far sooner. Nothing would be gained by nagging her. She knew if she needed help I'd bend over backwards for her. Little was said the next few days but I could see pieces of the old Dorothy peeking through. By Christmas Eve dinner she was doing far better. The excitement in the air had us all smiling, even Dorothy. After dinner we swapped gifts with her folks. They left around 8.30 and we had the house to ourselves. Before I could even get warmed up she shut me down. We both went to bed that night with a frown on our faces. During a trip to the head around 2am I took a quick peek out the bedroom window. Just as arranged Dorothy's brand new Ford was sitting in our drive wrapped in a big red bow.

I slipped out of bed a little after five to get breakfast ready for my big surprise. Just after six, Dorothy came down slightly groggy and full of questions. Merry Christmas, honey. Hurry up and eat your breakfast. I still have to give you your present. Once she'd awakened fully, she lit up the kitchen. Her beautiful light had returned and I was elated. Breakfast went by in a flash. Now was the time for her present. With her hands over her eyes, we stepped out into the cold December morning. Okay, open your eyes. The shock on her face was priceless. For a moment she looked at me, unsure. Merry Christmas, it's yours. I handed her the keys and she ran over to get a closer look. I

watched her as she played with all the switches and knobs. This had to be the happiest I had seen her in ages. Now you will never have to take a cab again." My words hung in the air. Her face had dropped like a stone and tears began pouring from her eyes. Without a word she ran into the house leaving me clueless. I tried to be understanding but this was beyond stress. There had to be something she was hiding and I was determined find out, and I wish now that I never had. When I climbed the stairs, I found her sobbing on the bed.

For God's sakes, what is wrong with you? You've been walking around like a grump for the whole weekend. She said nothing, but the sobbing continued. Say something! I felt bad even as I said it but I was at my wit's end. As I sat next to her I wrapped my arms around her. I was now at the point of begging. Please baby, you're obviously hurting, let it out. Let me help you. She let out a long sigh and eventually spoke. The other night, Friday, the cab driver, he pulled over behind a building and he forced himself on me. Her words knocked the air out of me. I feared anything I said, I may regret. Some time passed before either one of us spoke again.

What was I supposed to say? Nothing could make it better. The best I could do was be there for her. I held her as she sobbed. As we sat there on that bed a plan for revenge began to take shape in my mind. That piece of scum dimmed the light that had once shone so brightly inside my Dorothy and he had to pay for it. Dorothy's reluctance to report the attack would ultimately play in my favor. Since there was no record, I would likely not be a suspect. Also, unless the sleazo had done it before and been caught, the police would possibly be in the dark regarding a motive. If I was going to do it to not get caught, I had to be careful.

I was going to take at least a few weeks of planning. My pop always told me nothing was worth doing if it wasn't worth doing well. In this case, that would certainly apply. We'd fallen asleep that morning as we held each other. Around four, I got up and started making dinner. After what she told me, I wasn't sure if she would feel like eating, but making dinner was the least I could do for her. I can't even pretend to understand women and how they think, let alone know what it would feel like for a woman as noble as Dorothy to have her self-respect ripped from her. Just thinking about it made me fume, but this wasn't about me.

I wanted to make it as easy as possible for her to begin to put this behind her. As for me, I knew I couldn't until I punished him for this crime. Every day that passed was a little victory. Dorothy became more and more like she once was and I would get a little closer to my prey. Weeks of casual conversation and a few anonymous phone calls finally led me to a name, Bobby Dunlap. He was 32 and other than a few misdemeanors, his habit of doing things to women had gone unnoticed by the cops. From what I could tell, no one was waiting for him at home either and this information sealed the deal. Now all I needed was to pick the perfect time. After a phone call in which I pretended to

be one of Dunlap's friends, I knew when he'd be working. Since the holidays had ended, I wanted to strike as quickly as possible. Moving forward was all I wanted at that point, so I chose that Wednesday to spring my trap. After dinner that night, I took my car to Patty's and had a few drinks. I made a call to the cab service to send Bobby to pick me up. Since I'd given the dispatcher a false address and name, I had little fear the call would be traced back to me. Dunlap arrived within a few minutes. This was the beginning of the second part of my plan. During our ride, I made small talk in order to relax him a bit.

So, you're a young and good looking guy. You know of any girls we could get together with and have a good time? It was obvious my plan was working. He wasn't even aware of where he was taking me. When we pulled up to the building I didn't move or speak. He sat still in his seat unsure of what I was doing. What's wrong Bobby? Don't you recognize the place? He started shifting around in his seat, unsure of what I was doing. What's wrong, Bobby? Don't you recognize the place?

He started shifting around in his seat. I could tell he was beginning to catch on. That beautiful woman. That one you met on the 21st. That was my wife. When I said that, he really started squirming. No way, man. She came on to me.

I didn't know she was married. His lies were starting to make me angry. I decided to move ahead with a final phase. You can lie all you want, scumbag. I know my wife. I would have been a lot nicer if you would have admitted what you did. The sweat was pouring down his face. He knew what I was going to do The second I stuck my pistol in his neck he shot upright

Drive us out to the lake We'll have some privacy During the drive to the lake he began shaking and the sweating became even worse I had him pull up to one of the boat ramps and get out of the car. It was like he'd already given up. I didn't even have to tell him to get on his knees. I guess he thought that begging would change my mind. So sorry. I couldn't help myself. It was time to end this.

I'll see you in hell. Two shots in the head and he was gone. I carefully removed my coat and slacks, exposing my coveralls underneath. Once I had loaded his body into the trunk, I removed the coveralls and threw him into the trunk with Bobby and the gun. Just to be sure I didn't forget anything, I sat for a moment in the car to collect my thoughts. When I was satisfied, I redressed and started the car. In one quick motion, I wedged a stone next to the gas pedal and threw the car into drive. Watching that cab shoot into the water gave me the feeling of accomplishment I'd

been chasing for weeks. Even though I had a seven mile walk and it was 23 degrees outside that night, I didn't feel a bit of it. In fact, that was the best I'd felt in months. I made it to my car around 2 and drove the rest of the way home. When I got there, Dorothy was already in bed. I tried not to wake her as I got undressed. If I did, she said nothing. The next morning at breakfast, she didn't ask where I had been the night before and that's the way it was for the remaining 48 years of our marriage. As smart as she was, I'm sure she had her suspicions.

But she held her tongue. After all, that was all in the past. We were moving forward. It was about a month later when I received my draft orders. Not until I came home in the fall of 53 did we finally get to start our family. Dorothy discovered she was pregnant with Donald Jr. in October. Christine was born in September of 55, and that was pretty much it. The adjustment period after coming home took a while, however Dorothy was there to help me through the rougher parts. It wasn't until I lost her in 95 that I realized how much I had come to rely on her.

Now that it's my turn to pass on, the only hope I have is that I will get to see my Dorothy again. Since we are coming to the end of my story, I want to ensure all law enforcement involved with this case that no one in my family, living or dead, had any knowledge of what I did all those years ago. What occurred on the lakeshore was only between myself, Dunlap, and God. Please don't hold what I did to that scum against my loved ones. Their only crime is being related to me and that's no fault of their own. I ask whoever discovers this letter to turn it over to the police in whatever way they desire. This is my final confession of what I did to that cab driver, Bobby Dunlap, on the night of January 10th, 1951. May he burn in hell forever. Sincerely, Donald McIntyre Campbell. I would have posted this earlier, but I just returned from a week-long vacation with my mother in California.

This whole mess I'm about to tell you all happened during my taxi ride to the airport last week. My parents separated and eventually divorced when I was 12. Per usual, it was decided I would live with my mom and spend the weekends with my dad. This was the living arrangement until it came time for me to choose a college. Eventually I decided to stay in Oklahoma and go to school there. Since I wanted to stay but my mom wanted to move to Los Angeles with her boyfriend, I lived with my dad my first year of school. However, every summer since she moved I've spent a week or two with my mom in

California. I was on the way to see her last week when something horrible happened. My flight was at 12.15pm that day. I had called the cab to pick me up at 9am that morning. Under normal conditions the drive to the airport takes about 20 minutes. I always try to leave myself two hours before my flight to get everything done, so I knew even with traffic I'd arrive with plenty of time. The driver showed up a few minutes after 9, no big deal. At that time I wasn't in any hurry and he didn't appear to be either. We left my apartment at 9.10. At no time did I express any need to hurry, but from almost the second we pulled onto the road, he certainly was.

I have a bit of a lead foot myself, so it wasn't until I heard the squealing of the tires that I spoke up. Look man, we've got plenty of time, you don't have to go so fast. I wasn't sure what he said back to me however he must have understood me because he let up on the gas for a while. He apparently took this as an imitation for small talk. Unfortunately his accent was so thick I couldn't understand a word he said. I didn't want to come across as racist so I just nodded along and smiled. It wasn't long after we started our discussion that he began picking up speed again. He seemed more involved in talking to me than paying attention

to traffic. The cab was weaving in and out, avoiding cars and bicycle riders alike. Horns were honking right and left. We were stopped at a light about 10 minutes from the airport. A man on a bike was stopped in front of us. When it turned green, the driver hadn't noticed at first. The bike rider was all the way across the intersection when he finally did. I guess he wanted to catch up with the rest of traffic. He floored it and shot across the intersection. The bike rider couldn't get out of his way fast enough and the cabbie hit him with such speed.

He and his bike launched over the top of the car and into the grass beside the road. I couldn't help but screech. The worst thing I'd ever seen up to that point was when another girl broke her ankle at cheer practice. This was far worse. I'm not even sure the cabbie noticed what he'd done until I screamed. He gave me a clueless look until I told him to stop. He seemed reluctant to do so. He made a u-turn and pulled into a parking lot across from the scene. The driver slowly stepped out of the car and crossed the street. People were already gathered around the bike rider. A few of them were attempting to assist him, the rest were talking to my cab driver.

Since I was in the cab I couldn't hear what was being said although I felt obligated to get out of the cab and actually do something I didn't until the police and ambulance arrived. It was heartbreaking as I stood there watching the paramedics work on the cyclist. I couldn't tell if he was alive when they took him away but he certainly didn't look good. My turn to speak to the police came and I told them everything that had happened since I got in that cab. He seemed like a good guy, but I couldn't hold anything back. My opinion was, and still is, that he shouldn't be driving a cab.

Hopefully the people who make that decision feel the same way. By the time the cops let me go, my plane was already gone. Hopefully the people who make that decision feel the same way. By the time the cops let me go, my plane was already gone. One of the officers arranged a ride home for me. I rescheduled my flight for the next afternoon. This time I ordered an Uber. The ride to the airport was at a regular speed and I arrived in plenty of time for my flight. My mother and I had a great time but the poor man on the bicycle was always on my mind.

Since I got back yesterday afternoon, I haven't heard anything from the police about the cyclist's condition. When it comes to my cab driver, I'm not sure if I'll ever know of his fate. I plan to call in to the officer handling this case in the morning. If I discover anything, I'll let you all know. Just a few days ago, I had the strangest experience I've had in the ten plus years of driving a cab. I picked up this well-dressed and good-looking middle-aged guy. However, when he opened his mouth, he said the strangest things. What started out as an entertaining discussion ended up as an all-consuming fear. I'm going to

write down and post everything I remember that happened and was said between the two of us. Then whoever reads it can tell me if I'm crazy or just being paranoid. Saturday night I was working the graveyard. Most of my fares come from bars. I just dropped off a pair of drunk bimbos. I only say bimbos because the redhead claims she didn't have enough for a tip. Instead she decided to show me her rack. Unasked by the way. I admit they were nice but I prefer girls my own cast. It was around 3am when I noticed a well dressed tall man waving me down. The neighborhood combined with his fancy suit spoke possible big tipper to me. Once he got in and closed the door he removed his hat, a fine looking straw fedora. His clothing and movie star good

looks were out of place. I feared at first that I'd picked up a time traveler. I did the usual and asked him where he was headed. I don't know really. I'm in town on business and was looking for somebody to show me around. His answer made me chuckle. It seemed awful late for a sightseeing trip hey as long as you're paying me mister i'll drive you anywhere and that was how it all started for the next two hours or so i showed him around town the university the capitol building the usual touristy stuff at some point during our little tour I remember why he said he was in town. So what kind of business are you in? His reply made me laugh even more than his first. The guy was a natural comedian. I'm what people would call the

contract killer. We've been having such a good time so far, I decided to go with the ruse. Okay mister, I'll play along. Tell me how it works, how does one go about hiring a contract killer? Well, a woman contacts me. How they do so I'll keep to myself. If the reference checks out we move on to business. She gives me names and any other info I asked for. If I decide to take the job we move on to money. If we agree on a number then I go to work. With all that anonymity I asked him how he made sure he got paid after he offed someone. It appeared my choice of words made him laugh. It probably wouldn't be wise to tell you that part. We professionals have to keep some secrets to ourselves.

Okay, fair enough. Well then, how does a client know you've completed the job? I regretted asking the question even before I finished asking it. Even though it was a stupid question, he still entertained me with an answer, albeit with a tinge of sarcasm in his voice. We live in a time with a 24-hour news cycle and multiple social media outlets. Don't you think if your dad died suddenly that someone's not going to contact your mother first? If you don't discover it on your own, someone's going to tell you. Once I'm paid, my relationship with the customer ends. She's ultimately on her own after that.

The last part of his answer brought up another question in my mind. If something goes wrong per se and she gets arrested or implicates herself, what do you do? He thought for a moment before answering. I imagine he was considering how much he should say to a stranger driving his taxi. Well, sometimes contingencies have been put in place to protect myself. First off, if I've done my job right, the client shouldn't have any information about me to give the cops. And if on the off chance I screw up so badly that she can, I have multiple exit strategies.

I certainly won't let the police get their hands on me. None of us get to live forever. There were a few times I had to remind myself this was all a game. He made it fun nonetheless. His imagination and forethought wowed me. We'd been playing this game for hours before I thought to ask him how he got started in his business. I joined the army fresh out of high school. It seemed my work caught the attention of my superiors. They referred me to a couple of gentlemen in the government and I've

worked for them for ten years before I made the decision to go into business for myself. I gotta tell you, mister, you're really good at this stuff. You really should be a storyteller. If that's not what you're really doing for a living, I'm seriously impressed. And that wasn't blowing smoke. This was the most fun I'd had driving a cab in my life. I was used to dealing with drunks and arrogant businessmen. This was a blast. Well, thank you, young man. I appreciate everything you've shown me tonight. I could tell by the way he was talking the night was coming to an end. It was just as well the sun would be up soon and I was beginning to flag myself.

I took the opportunity to ask one more question. One I should have asked far earlier. He had said earlier in the night he was in town for business. Did that mean he was here to off someone? A sly grin grew across his face as he thought of his answer. Well, as a matter of fact, I was. However, I received a message at the last minute to cancel the hit. I get to keep the half she'd already given me, so I didn't mind. That's business. It happens on occasion. That's a woman's prerogative, after all, isn't it? To change their minds. I hope her and her old man work it out. Anyhow, that's how I ended up with you.

Just as the first rays of the sun broke over the horizon, he pointed out a place to let him out. There were a few hotels at the end of the parking lot and I assumed that was where he was headed. He reached over the seat and handed me a thousand dollar bill. Before I could argue, he told me to keep the change. It was twice what he owed, but I was too tired to disagree. Keep the change, kid. You earned it. I had a great time tonight. Thank you, mister.

I had a great time myself, and thank you most of all for the awesome story. As he stepped from the cab, he said one last thing. And thank you for showing me around tonight, Adam. Take care of Linda, and stay out of trouble. I pulled out of the lot and headed for home. My hope was that Linda would have breakfast going. And that's when it hit me, like a hammer. How did that man know my name? Not to mention my wife's.

My license was nowhere he could have seen it. I reenacted the night's discussion in my head. There was never a point in which I told him. It would have ruined the game. I didn't ask him his, and there was no reason for me to tell him mine. Certainly not my wife's. How did he know I was married anyway? I hadn't worn a ring in years. I lost it down a drain and never found it. I suppose he could have guessed.

The problem with that is that Linda and I had just gotten back together last week. We'd been separated and considering divorce for two years before that. When I pulled into the driveway, a terrible idea came into my head. Was there a possibility that guy wasn't making up a story? No one would dare tell someone, even a stranger, in such a bold and frank way that he was a hitman. If he was serious, the fact he knew my name and my wife's could only mean one thing. Even if it was true, I wasn't ready to accept it. While Linda and I sat and ate that morning, I couldn't stop myself from watching her. I was terrified that my wife had wanted me dead. Even if she had changed her mind, there was no way she'd admit it.

If I did ask, either answer would most likely destroy the fragile peace we've built between us. I need to know what the readers think. Am I crazy? Or is this really happening? happening. I was in town recently and ran into a friend from college. I hadn't seen her in quite some time. She told me the story I'm about to share with everyone here. It involves another girl from school who had recently been the victim of an, until recently, unidentified serial murderer. The story he told the police of what she experienced that night makes any horror film pale in comparison. To preserve the privacy of her family members, I'll be referring to her as Fiona. Also, I will not be using the actual name of her killer. I refuse to let that filth's name come out of my

mouth. I hope you all understand. Fiona has always been an aspiring writer. Although she'd managed to have a few minor successes, the one big popular hit continued to elude her. Because of this, she still kept a day job. She's been a bartender at the local college-friendly bar. Therefore, when her and her boyfriend moved to Miami, she began tending bar again and making ends meet. The night she died, she stayed after her shift and had some drinks. Her fellow bartender that served her that night said that although she was intoxicated, she wasn't fall-down drunk. She most likely still had some of her decision-making faculties left. After you read what she went through, you may wish she was blacked out. The bartender on shift called Fiona a cab.

She left 15 minutes later and that was the last time anyone saw her. This cab ride would prove to be her last. Still unknown to the world, her driver, John Smith as I will refer to him as, had taken the lives of six other women over the past ten years. Fiona was about to be the seventh. The only positive thing we can take away from her losing her life is it causing an end to Smith's decade-long spree. Smith's confession gives us a first-hand account of the inner workings of a killer's mind we would not otherwise get. I'll try my best to give you as thorough as possible retelling while not causing unneeded stress. There's no need to be vulgar. At some point in her ride,

Fiona nodded off. Smith took this opportunity to take the cab to an out-of-the-way place. He'd used this area several times in the past to be alone with his victims. Before she had any idea of what was going on, Smith had separated her from her phone and quickly locked her into a pair of handcuffs. Smith believed once that was taken care of, Fiona would be at his command. Despite this, she fought her captor. However, a hard knock on the head with a tire iron stopped this. Only then, Smith was truly free to brutalize her at his will. He claims he never actually did anything, but tests of her body prove otherwise. Sometime after the assault, Smith left Fiona alone, still apparently believing her to be unconscious. This is when she took her

chance to get away. On this part, I'll have to use a little conjecture. Although she was handcuffed, she must have had some hope that she could find help. The area Smith had taken her to is heavily wooded and remote. From the scratches found in her face, it's thought she'd been running through the woods for a while before she stumbled upon a road unfortunately the road she had discovered sees very little traffic when a car did finally come along she waved it down the bad news was that it was smith as soon as he'd notice her missing he headed for the main. He drove up and down for about 30 minutes until he saw her waving at the car. When she realized the situation, it was too late for her. She tried to run back

into the woods, but Smith caught her. He was done playing games at that point. After five or six strikes to the head, she was gone. Her body was left in the woods and wasn't discovered for another four days. Before he left her, Smith did his best to build a plausible story. If he was questioned, he could say that he took her home and went on with his life. He had a record of her payment and his prints wouldn't be on anything she owned. From the outside, he had nothing to hide. Other than the fact that he had given a ride to a couple of the victims, the police had nothing solid against him. In a town with only three cab drivers, he was bound to have driven one or two of the

girls. What Smith didn't know at the time was that the police had found a pair of eyeglasses near Fiona's body and they had traced them back to him. The cops wanted to see if Smith would confess if caught in a compromising position. So, they hid out across from the spot where her body was found and waited. Sure enough, on the second day, they caught him at the dump site searching for his glasses. An hour later, they had their confession. In the following days, he would confess to the other six girls' deaths and recount, in

gory detail, how he undertook his crimes. My friend who had originally told me about the case works with the county prosecutor. She says their intent is to go for the death penalty on Fiona's murder, if not all of the victims. She's the reason I have so much inside information about Smith's confession. Owing to her position in town, she is only able to say so much about the case. However, I have no such restrictions on myself. She wanted to make sure our friend's fighting spirit and determination to not go down easily be known by the wider world. Please, rather than remembering the name and horrors that monster committed upon these

seven innocent women, let's celebrate their lives and the way in which they enriched the lives of those they loved. They will all be missed. A few days ago while doing research for an upcoming book, I came across several photos from an unsolved murder that took place in May of 1954. They portrayed a shocking scene. Two bodies, one male, one female was discovered. The male had a single gunshot to the head, the female, a violently mangled skull lacking any nearby blood. The only sign that there was any crime at all was the blood-soaked taxi found almost a mile from the bodies. The aspect of the crime that grabbed my attention and motivated me to take a further look was the downright lack of any motive or suspects. Included with the pictures was a story written at the time of the murderers and a recent

update telling of how the case was being reopened. Although it's beyond cold, the hope is that all the amazing advancements in science can finally be used to solve the case. It's more than likely the individual or individuals involved in the crime are now dead. Regardless of that probability, the loved ones left behind deserve the chance at some form of closure. Since I've been unable to think of anything else, I've dedicated my research time to finding out more about those involved in the crime and the area in which it took place. With a few days of intense study under my belt and a small amount of hindsight, I've formed a theory as to what may

have occurred that warm May evening. Before I let you in on my whole little idea, I want to stress that I have come to this conclusion on my own. The new police investigation has no connection to myself and the law enforcement agencies working the case have no knowledge of my research or existence for that matter. What started as an entertaining bit of reading has become a personal search for the truth and a possible chance at justice. No, I never knew either victim of this long forgotten horror. It is still no less personal of a journey. The way I see this thing playing out is like so. The male, whose name was Alfred Green, had a record of assaulting women, one being an attempt

to force himself on someone which the charges were later dropped. Green was an employee of the Checker Cab Company. It was his blood-soaked cab found almost a mile away from the two bodies. Considering Green had only the one bullet wound to the head with the average blood pool surrounding the body, I've concluded the massive amount of gore covering the taxi's interior belonged to the female, Anne Hillman. It was said very little blood was found under her body, which only strengthens my belief. Miss Hillman was an assistant librarian and had no criminal record or connection to the crime world. Her friends said she was the stereotypical bookworm. She also had no boyfriend or any romantic entanglements known to anyone at

that time. That therefore eliminates the love triangle theory. The last person to see her, Linda Banks, a teller at First National Bank, said that Miss Hillman had mentioned catching a cab back to work. This is where my research of other crimes in the area helps out. Another woman's body had been discovered dumped on the side of the road not far from where this crime took place a month prior. She had been assaulted and beaten to death with a blunt instrument. This likely occurred at another location. With all this information compiled, I have been steered to the following assumptions. I believe Mr. Green and the third unknown subject had joined together to abduct by misleading the victims, taking them to a separate location and worse of all,

doing terrible things to them and then ending their lives. In this specific case, I believe that after the two men had abducted Miss Hillman, rather than taking her to a separate location, drove to the area the cab was found in. At this location, one of the men, probably Mr. Green, assaulted Miss Hillman. When it came to the act of ending her life, it appears that Mr. Green took it too far and lost control, causing the car to be coated in blood, thus making it a very obvious crime scene that would be difficult to conceal or clean. At this point, Mr. Green's accomplice likely decided he was far too risky of a partner to have.

Therefore, after assisting with the dumping of Miss Hillman, the unknown accomplice killed his partner with a gunshot. He more than likely never saw it coming. Once the liability had been eliminated, the partner removed any evidence of his existence from the cab. Now satisfied, no one alive could connect him with the crimes. The unknown third man left the scene Because of his smart actions at the scene, he remains free all these years later As I said, this is only a theory I haven't any new information or facts held back from law enforcement

It's all a result of putting one and one and one together This is the only logical way it makes sense to me. Green obviously didn't shoot himself, and there had to be a third person involved. I plan on turning my notes over to the police. Whether they decide to use any of my conclusions is up to them. For the sake of the loved ones left behind, I hope they do. Everyone's got a pro. Need tires? I've got a pro. Car making a weird sound? I've got a pro. So who's that pro? The pros at Tread Experts. From tires to auto

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Most guys I work with are over 6'3", 200-300 pounds, bald with a beard. I know it sounds specific, but it really holds true in my experience. I own the other hand am 5'11, 155 pounds but I do have a beard. I was out working during the day and checking a retail location for a vehicle I'd been searching for. The address I was checking was located in a large mall area. I glanced in my rearview mirror to see a red Ford Focus behind me. He made a few of the same turns I did but I didn't think twice about it. After the seventh or eighth turn that he mimicked I decided to pull into a parking spot. I figured he would either move on or come talk to me if that was his goal. I noticed he was on

the phone in my rearview. I parked the truck and watched the car as it parked about 50 feet from me. Okay, fine. I noticed the man driving the Focus was staring and pointing at me as he spoke on the phone so I decided to ask what his deal was. When I approached he got out of his vehicle which was alarming so I backed off and didn't get closer. I leaned my head out my open window and said, sir is there a reason you're following me? He moves his phone from his ear covering the microphone and yells, yeah you're harassing people on private property. Cops are on their way. I told him that was fine and I would wait around to speak to the police. He yelled some more unintelligible nonsense as I put my window up and sat pretty waiting for

the police. A few minutes later a cruiser shows up behind me. The officer approached my window and we spoke about the situation. I told him that I'm permitted on private property unless I'm explicitly asked to leave by someone who owns the property or works security, which he agreed with. Long story short, the police told me I was good to go and asked that I not engage this man as I left. I complied and planned to move on with my day. About 20 minutes after all of this, I glanced in my rear view to see the same Ford Focus driving a couple of cars behind me. So I parked again out of frustration. I immediately exited my truck and lit a cigarette. The man driving this car screeched up beside me and exited his car without putting it in park,

rather putting it in neutral. As this car begins to roll away, he is turned away from it, screaming at me about violating his right to privacy and harassing the public at this mall. I calmly told him that I was already cleared by the police department and that I was losing patience. I told him he needed to leave right then before I called the police. It was at this point that his vehicle struck the concrete base of a light pole and stopped. He started screaming and

saying I crashed his car. I told him I had a dash cam and the footage would completely negate that claim. That's when he charged me. Now remember I'm not a big guy but I've dealt with plenty of confrontation at this job and this guy did not appear coordinated at all. I stepped out of his path and guided him to the ground, telling him to stay down while I leave and to leave me alone. I got in my truck and left. Looking back, I absolutely should have called the police again as I've gotten the officer's cell phone number and badge number. This story all comes to a head two nights later in a bizarre turn of events that genuinely scared me. At the time,

I had just gotten married to my lovely wife and we were living in our little one bedroom in our hip little suburb of a major Midwest city. It was a Friday night and I decided I would go grab some beers for the wife and I to enjoy after a long week. As I was leaving the store with our booze, I saw a maroon Ford Focus in the parking lot, seemingly unoccupied. I made a mental note of the coincidence given the bizarre ordeal a couple of days prior, but didn't think much more of it. As I pulled into my apartment's parking lot, the Focus pulled in behind me. I hadn't noticed it following me up until this point. I live on the third floor so I decided I was going to hustle up the steps just in case this was the same guy and he'd stalked me or

something in order to exact his revenge for whatever perceived transgression I'd bothered him with. My plan didn't work. He followed me to my patio where my wife was waiting, again unbeknownst to me. I was apparently not feeling very observant that night I suppose and that's when this man snuck up, crouching behind our small fence. Neither of us knew he was there until he said, still hidden from view, pretty girl. I snapped to my feet and began to look around when I spotted him I knew instantly it was him I immediately ordered my wife to go inside, lock the door and call the police When I approached him he drew a small switchblade and pointed it at my belly

I began to back up with my hands up saying something along the lines of We don't have to do this What do you want? He told me he wanted me to call my wife back outside but that wasn't going to happen. I'd rather be stabbed than expose her to this man so I told him as much. He lunged at me with a knife, grazing and cutting my side as I attempted to grab and redirect his forearm. Then we went to the ground where he lost his knife. I got some knees to connect to his head when the police lights became visible and I heard shouting. Long story short, Buddy was arrested and

I provided the badge number and PD of the officer from work a couple of days prior in order to corroborate my claims. I decided to press charges and as far as I know he's awaiting a court date. I'm sure I'll have to be involved in it. For six months I lived in the north of Spain. About a week before I was going to move back to Ireland my friend and I were at my house having dinner. About a week before I was going to move back to Ireland my friend and I were at my house having dinner and drinking a little. I was renting an apartment in the city and my roommate was an older lady maybe in her 50s. I'm 20. That night my roommate left to go have dinner with her friends. About a minute after she left someone buzzed our door to be

let into the building. I looked at the camera and didn't recognize the woman. She looked to be in her late 20s to early 30s so I just assumed it was one of my roommate's friends and she was coming to meet her or something like that. I buzzed her into the building assuming that they would meet in the lobby. At first I didn't buzz her in because I didn't recognize her and she walked away from the door but then I hit the buzzer as soon as she walked away and then I, myself, walked away from the camera. Meaning I couldn't see if she actually entered or not. Assuming that if she didn't enter, she would just call or text my roommate. Boy was I wrong. This woman came up to my apartment building on the sixth floor. She came up just two minutes after my roommate left

so I know she didn't take the stairs and I know they must have seen each other when my roommate got off the lift and the lady got in. Realizing that this is weird, I don't open the door when she rings it. I look through the peephole just to confirm that it was nobody I knew. At this point, I back away from the door and gesture for my friend to be silent. We creep back to my room which is at the far side of the apartment and I begin calling my roommate who isn't picking up. Meanwhile the lady is incessantly ringing my door. My roommate is not picking up and my friend is just telling me to open my door. In her mind it's a woman so she must be harmless.

I tell her she's an idiot for underestimating females. Women can be criminals too. She keeps telling me to open the door and I refuse. The door keeps ringing. I keep looking at the peephole. At this point I understand that if she knew my roommate or was looking for someone specific she would just call or text them. She didn't take out a phone at all. She just stayed eerily silent. Didn't call out any names or ask if anyone was home. This was weird to me. I finally get through to my roommate.

She says she wasn't expecting anyone and that she doesn't know anyone in that age range. She asks if I'm okay and I say I'm fine. Now it's been at least 20 minutes. I know the lady knows someone is home because the lights are on and my understanding is that's why she's not leaving. I continue watching her through the peephole and see her go into the lift for a minute and then come back out again. The lift is really loud and I would have heard it move. It didn't. She just went in and came out. In my mind this means someone is in the lift waiting for her and this screams sketchy to me. After about 40 minutes she leaves. I run to our hall and flick on the outside camera. The lady left the building with two men.

They all had backpacks on. I will be eternally grateful for trusting my instincts and not listening to my friend. Sometimes, it's better to be safe than sorry. It happened about a month after I had started my first job at a grocery store. My main job was to be a cashier, however, I was often told to restock, clean, make some back runs, and things like that. Likely, I had been cancelling my day shifts as I was a senior in school and had lots of assessments to do so the manager decided to put me up for night shifts. Now since I was the oldest teenage cashier there they would often put me up for closing shift along with about three others who were all aged well above 20. I was fine with this as the store was much quieter at night and it was really relaxing honestly.

However, one night changed the whole opinion on that. It was a Sunday and I had started my shift at about 5pm with my finishing time set at 10pm. Between 5 and 6 we had a big rush of sudden customers so I was flogged with customer after customer. I was the only employee minding the registers and was placed at the end of the store near the cold produce. Most of the customers were in a general rush and barely looked at me. The last customer however did the complete opposite. He had brown eyes and dirty blonde hair and was pretty tall and lean looking. Earlier I had noticed him down the aisle right next to me staring at me as I served another customer. I suppose he thought I wouldn't notice him out of the corner of my eye. I wrote it off as him maybe having some kind of anxiety disorder or something. When he came up to the register I repeated the same sentence I had to say to every customer.

Hello, how are you tonight? Would you like a bag? Most people would answer the question but no, not him. Instead he smiled at me weirdly and replied, You have such a soft voice. This embarrassed me as I was often told I talked too quietly and people couldn't hear me. So I smiled awkwardly, apologized and asked again if he wanted a bag. He nodded and I turned around, bent down and reached for my last bag which was stuffed right at the back of the tiny little holder thing by the register. When I turned back around the man was leaning slightly over the counter with his chest pointed downwards as if

he was looking for something. I paused as we both made eye contact. His smile now slightly faded. I asked him if he had dropped something very harshly as I was pretty certain I knew what he was trying to see and he shook his head quietly taking a step back from the register. I finished serving him and watched him leave before telling my team manager what had happened. He listened silently and told me he was a usual customer and was probably just a weirdo. After that I sort of pushed the memory aside as I had a lot to do still. Once I had finished my shift and helped turn off all the registered lights and clean up, I checked out in the employee room,

grabbed my bag, and made my way back to the back exit that led into the back alley. I hated leaving this way alone as it was pretty creepy, but my co-workers had asked me if it was okay if they were to leave and leave the last of the cleaning to me. So I agreed, eager to make a good impression on them. Thus, I was the last person to leave, other than the night stalkers. I walked down the alley for a bit before slowing when I noticed a man smoking near a back door to one of the other stores. I was raised to be wary but also not afraid, so I continued to walk while staring at him. As I got closer I identified the man as the same man who had acted strangely earlier. With no other way to go I decided to just walk past as fast as I could as the alley would lead to the street any time now anyways. As I walked past him he lifted

his head and smiled at me once again. I didn't smile back. Now past him I quickened my pace and with good reason the man had begun to follow me. On one occasion I glanced back at him to be met with another smile and a wink. Too afraid to run I decided to pick up my phone and pretend to be calling someone hoping it would turn him off but it didn't. The man continued to follow me and I started to panic. I contemplated calling the police but concluded that if he had heard me he would immediately attack me and I'd be done, or worse, before they even arrived. To my luck however as I rounded the next corner I spotted two men that had just finished their shift at our neighboring grocer. Once I was near them I stopped, turned

around and confronted the man. I told him that if he didn't go away I would call the police and then I told my co-workers all about him. This grabbed his attention of the other two men who started to walk towards me and the man. The man stopped as he had noticed the other two men and his smile quickly faded again. He turned around without a word and stalked back down the alley as the men began asking me if I was alright. After a short explanation and a lift home, I decided to call my manager the next day and report it. Needless to say, that man is now on our banned list. So I've been working at Wendy's, a popular fast food chain in the US, for a few months now.

And while I've had the occasional offhanded comment of, Wow, you're so beautiful. Do you have a boyfriend? He must be a lucky guy. When are you off? I'd love to take you out. I've never had something like this happen before. So there I was, an hour before my shift was over. My work as a cashier and the majority of people who come in are old people and construction workers. I have my back turned to the dining room and I'm putting liners on trays when I hear someone loudly clear their throat. I turn around and apologize and tell them I'm ready to take their order whenever they are ready. The customer is a heavier set man, in his fifties or sixties, whose shirt appears to be covered in either grease stains or sweat.

I also notice the smell of cigarettes was strongly wafting off him, but that kind of thing never really bothered me. Then the conversation goes like this. Hi there, darling. How's your day going? It's going well, ready to be finished with the work day. What time are you off? I'm a bit uncomfortable with answering that. Can I get you something? Well, it's just an innocent question. I'm not a creep. Although you are very naturally beautiful, I'm sure you get a lot of weirdos in here. It's refreshing to see a girl your age not wearing any makeup. Are you Spanish? I can tell because of your name. I have a very common Spanish last name and I am but I look like a white girl with dark hair.

Now me, very obviously uncomfortable. Yeah, I'm half Mexican. On your mom or dad's side? At this point my shift manager comes over because she can see I'm clearly uncomfortable and there's a line of a few people now behind him. When he sees her walk over he says, oh you're in trouble. She hears this and asks him if everything's okay and he says, sure just making conversation is that against the rules or something? And she responds, uh no, but you're holding up the line and haven't ordered anything.

He makes a face like he's annoyed and orders a small iced tea. Pays in change and the whole time he's just staring intensely at me. It makes me so uncomfortable I start to get red in the face. I continue taking orders while he just sits there staring. Eventually I tell my manager he's making me uncomfortable and asks if I can go wash trays in the back or do drive-thru for the rest of my shift. She says no and reminds me I have to clean the dining room before I leave. I start to walk away and she says he's probably just a lonely old man and it's not against the law to stare. This makes me really anxious and

annoyed but I need this job so I just go grab a rag and start cleaning tables. I try to keep my distance from the man who's sitting in the right corner when he says, excuse me little miss my table wasn't clean. Trying to use my best customer service voice, I say, you're welcome to switch to a clean one and I'll wipe that one off. He insists he doesn't have to move and even has the balls to say, should I go get the manager? If you've ever worked in retail or food service, you know that's the last thing you want to happen, especially if your manager is terrible like mine. So he lifts up his tray and sneers at me while I wipe it from the opposite side and try to stay as far away as possible. He also asks me to go grab him a straw which is not at all my job but of

course I do it anyway. When I come back and set it on his table he says something that makes my stomach drop. What's an old man like me gotta do to get you to say yes to a date? I know this isn't just an anxiety thing but when I start to have a panic attack I literally can't talk. I get red and hot all over especially my face and I shake bad. I could feel it coming so I just walked away. I went in and told my shift manager that he was being really pushy and that I can't go back out there. She told me I can just leave early. I think she could tell I was near tears. Plus I had only 20 minutes of my shift and the person taking over was there early. I'm 19 and the whole reason I got this job was to save up for a car. My house is a little less than a mile away and I don't usually mind walking but

today for obvious reasons I didn't feel comfortable doing that. I tried calling my boyfriend for a ride because I knew he was off that day but he was at lunch with his younger sister and so I downplayed the situation to avoid making him leave like my needy self. I walk on and surprise surprise the man is still there. As soon as I walk out he walks out too. I decide to completely ignore him and begin making my way to the crosswalk next to my work, headphones in. It isn't until he blocks my way that I see he's still trying to talk to me. Need a ride sweetheart? It's awfully hot out here. He says with a wink that makes my skin crawl.

I walk around him and ignore him, pushing the button to cross. He makes this face of horror, like he can't believe I'd just refuse his offer after clearly showing I'm uninterested. I put my headphones in and blast the volume but I can see his mouth moving like he can't believe I'd just refuse his offer after clearly showing I'm uninterested. I put my headphones in and blast the volume, but I can see his mouth moving like he's cursing me out, and turns around and gets back in his car. I keep pushing the button as if that will somehow make the walk sign appear faster, desperate to get home and lock the door behind me. When it does, I start to walk without even realizing his car was at the crosswalk and he quickly speeds up, narrowly missing me and the shock made me fall back on my butt.

He speeds off and I ran across and hit on the small bike trail for 15 minutes before running home and locking the door behind me. I just called the actual manager, different from the shift manager, basically the big boss, and she was much more understanding. She told me that I'm allowed to have someone take my place if he comes in again, and also let all my co-workers know not to give I used to live in a university apartment complex while my parents were studying. This complex had a hill that it was on top of. It was steep enough for kids to take sleds and sled down the hill during the winter time. At the bottom of this hill there was a small patch of woods. This forest contained a drain to prevent flooding.

So back in elementary school I was hanging out with my friend Daniel during summer break. Daniel was also two years older than me. We were over at my apartment playing Mario Kart. Then my mom came in and suggested that we go outside and get some fresh air. My parents were relatively lenient and allowed us to go anywhere as long as it was in the complex. Unfortunately, Daniel and I, we pushed this rule today. We went outside and went down to the woods to do some exploring. We began by looking for turtles, snakes, and frogs.

We couldn't find anything, so Daniel suggested to go through the flood drain and see if there was anything on the other side. The tunnel was dry since it had not rained in ages so I was okay with it. I had been to the other side before and just led to a creek and it was rather nice and secluded. So today we went through the tunnel like usual, and when we came out, there was a group of four sketchy looking high school boys smoking. They saw us, and being a third grader I got nervous, so I will briefly describe them to make it easier to differentiate between the four. One boy was chubby, one skinny, one was holding a speaker and one had long hair and looked like a stereotypical surfer. I'll call them Fatboy, Skinny, DJ and Surferboy. Upon seeing us, they dropped their cigarettes and started heading over to us.

Fatboy asked, What do you guys think you're doing back here? I was still really nervous so Daniel did all the talking. Daniel said we were just exploring and seeing what we could find. They all nodded and DJ asks if we want to have a rap battle. I didn't want to but before I could say anything Daniel says yes and our troubles begin. DJ finds a beat on his phone while Skinny Boy and Daniel prepare to battle and this is where it begins to go wrong. At first it is rather harmless. Skinny Boy was a decent rapper and Daniel was absolutely awful. Now I forgot to mention that Daniel was kind of racist and Fat Boy was black. At some

point in Daniel's verse he decides it's a good idea to include the n-word. Upon hearing this fat boy calls out what did you say? Daniel now looks nervous and stutters that it just slipped out. I start grabbing Daniel and trying to leave through the tunnel when skinny boy grabs Daniel by the shirt collar and drags him closer to him. I begin to try to run away like a little baby to get my parents help. DJ sees me trying to leave and pushes me hard so I fall and eat it. After that, no one is focused on me and they are all standing in a circle around Daniel. I continue running through the tunnel out of the woods, up the hill and into my apartment. I frantically burst inside and start tearing up and telling my

parents that Daniel was in trouble with older boys. I wasantically burst inside and start tearing up and telling my parents that Daniel was in trouble with older boys. I was unable to articulate sentences because I was panicking so it took five minutes for my parents to understand what was happening. After I finished telling them what had happened my dad grabbed a baseball bat and went with me back through the tunnel. Fifteen minutes had passed at this point. My dad and I arrived to a horror scene. The four boys were all gone and Daniel was lying in a bloody mess on the ground. He was knocked unconscious by the boys and there was a tooth laying next to him. My dad quickly called 911 and attempted to explain the situation. I had to help out because my

parents are foreign and struggle explaining things at times. After he explained what had happened, he told me to go up to the apartment and wait for help to arrive and lead them down to where Daniel was. We also called Daniel's parents to let them know what had happened. Luckily, we live in a relatively small town so it took everyone around 10 minutes to arrive. I led everyone to the scene that had occurred behind the tunnel. When we got there, the paramedics got to work to get Daniel awake and treating his numerous injuries. Daniel barely regained consciousness eventually and was then led to the ambulance to be driven to the hospital with his parents.

Two police officers stayed behind with my parents and I to give us a lesson about being more strict and being careful in areas you think are safe. After everyone left my parents did not even ground me because of the shock that I had just witnessed. After this I never talked to Daniel again since his parents were so angry at my irresponsibility and my own parents lack of care. He had also probably moved away since I had never seen him around at school. If anyone gets to this point in the story, I would ask for you to please be responsible

and if you are a parent be strict on your child while they are young. They might not like a strict childhood growing up but it is better to have a strict childhood than to have no childhood if it's prematurely ended by a tragedy. 2012 had a rocky start for me to say the least and had I have known at the time that I was going to be using my junker project car to save my life from someone I had hardly known but who had been in my life for almost 13 years

I might have spent less time reading about and working on 3d art and more time out working on the car my own fitness. I however felt that having finished high school single and spent the following five years on failed dates, maybe once a year, that there was absolutely no reason to think anyone would want me around or to bother me as I was a monster just under 280 pounds. Rob and I had become acquainted through school as far back as elementary school but I had never really gotten to know him. Often helping him out with bullies and such simply because I couldn't stand watching. I wasn't popular, pretty much everyone including the outcasts left me alone, even Rob did till late middle school and it wasn't hard to see why. I always looked about ready to hurt someone and when I wasn't it usually meant I had fallen

asleep in class. After graduation as far as I was concerned everyone moved on with their lives and grew up. You know got jobs or died young partying as word came up from time to time through social media. Rob's parents had apparently moved to Australia for three years and left Rob with the house. His uncle moved in to help with upkeep on bills and such. Rob himself had developed schizophrenia at some point shortly after graduation, brought to light by the passing of his grandfather. I wish someone had been able to tell me any of the above before he tried to drag me down with him. I would run into him from time to

time at the mall or Walmart or GameStop, just regular places that didn't seem odd at all. For me, talking to him was somewhat of a break from my fairly boring life. This was the way of a small town. Rob had become a big guy, well balanced in weight and height compared to the majority of our school years. His self-esteem was still shot and he would always ask if I wanted to go drinking but as conversations went on would also ask if he could help me out with anything. He always asked these two things if we talked no matter how short the conversation was. I always declined. At first I thought he had outwardly started acting bi or gay and had

taken a liking to me so I avoided him whenever I could. I was bad at getting a date and I'm straight so turning down a guy wasn't exactly in my mindset anywhere. Spring of 2012 I went to a car meet to show off my new prize. Rob was there but something was wrong. This was two states away from home and he didn't own a vehicle yet. Looking back it seems odd just how I knew this was off so soon and how my gut told me trouble was brewing. He didn't approach me though. He did watch giving glances on occasion from where he stood. Before the meet ended I decided I'd say hello at least to be polite and see what he was up to. In a voice

that was clearly not his, almost as if his mind had been someone else altogether he said, I was messed up you know and it's not going to be the last mistake either I bet. My head fell to my right shoulder and my eyes were locked in confusion. What? I just said hello. Hello. He mimicked in the same voice again. I turned away and brushed it off as him being childish. Maybe someone had already made him mad and he was just venting. Oh well, not a problem. The meet ends and I'm easily the third or fourth one out. Rob had been sitting in a passenger of some Dodge Charger and looked to be now watching the owner waiting tiredly to be taken home. Skip ahead a few weeks, another meet. I show up late after getting off of work late.

I'm going to see a restored Ford Falcon that this guy on the forums I joined had been posting progress pics of. There's someone standing around the car. That's not the owner, it's Rob and he's looking dead on at me as I walk up. He waits till I'm walking by him around the front of the car and lightly open handed pushes my shoulder to get me to look back at him and the second I do, that mocking voice from last times comes from him again. Mistakes, mistakes. I'm losing my nerve because the voice doesn't sound to be a threat but when I ask him what his deal is, it seems like I suddenly stop existing again. There's a guy next to me now, Travis. I know him because of his truck. You just can't miss it, the paint job's so out there.

He's out of his head, just ignore it. It's not the first strange thing he's said tonight. Travis seems to have caught the look on my face and is trying to help, I guess. The evening ends. Everyone leaves but me. I stick around to enjoy the night sky and cool breeze. I'm in an empty lot on a mountainside for at least another 40 minutes before I finally leave. There's the Falcon about 20 or so miles back down the road towards town. It's sitting on the shoulder blinkers on and Rob and the owner are both leaned on the car looking entirely bummed out. It ran out of gas and they both just finished arguing about whose fault that was. I offer to give them

a lift to go get gas. The owner instead hands me a canister from the trunk and some money insisting that they both need to watch the car as no chances I'm letting anything happen to it. As I leave I hear them get on each other's cases and could almost swear for the first time ever actually hearing legit anger and the otherwise depressed normal voice of Rob. I return to them. The owner is sitting in the car's driver's seat in a huff. Rob quickly nabs the canister for me and waves me off in an almost disgusted fashion. Maybe I should have taken the hint that Rob's mocking and such were a mental issue,

but for whatever reason I keep thinking it was just some misplaced anger. Guys sure you won't need any more help? I ask. The owner starts to speak but is cut off when Rob whirls his heels from filling the tank and in a rage filled scream says, always helpful but never when needed always a mistake. We don't need you. I'm not about to fight with him or let him get any closer to me. Fighting Rob be about the dumbest thing I could do as I was out of shape. He on the other hand was just a big guy, not muscular but tough enough to take me out without a second thought. I wouldn't go to another car meet for a month. However however it'd be far from the last time I saw Rob. These next two visits would leave me helping him get home and the other running away from him with a dislocated shoulder.

I had been out in town getting some supplies to build a new desk for my home office. On the way home I had come across a gold Corolla sitting half off the road, its front end blown apart by an impact with a deer and, never too far from predictable with my luck, Rob. He was down and clearly had been crying sitting in front of his new totaled car holding his keys mumbling about how bad his luck was. I didn't recognize him at first and when he saw it was me who had pulled up beside his car, his face turned from sad into a broken joy clearly still broken but relieved. As he walked up to my window, the tow truck he had called showed up. He sternly asked for a lift home after he directed me there, I dropped him off. The ride was silent aside from directions.

He got out with a painful sigh and a thanks and went into a house where no lights were ever turned on and I left. I had rented a small car garage to work in to be away from home so my family couldn't distract me from my work and so I could study my car as I was using it for a reference to a 3D model I was making. It had been two months since I had last seen Rob or gone to a car meet and Summer was having a fit of heat waves so instead of sitting at the computer I was under the car doing minor repairs like a break job. The only people who should have had any idea where I was or what I was doing would have been my parents and the shop owner Tom. However, when a hand gripped around my forearm and yanked me from under the car where I had been trying to see to undo a caliper bolt, the last person I ever expected to see was Rob.

It's your fault, he said loudly and angrily face to face with me as i tried to jerk free and to get to my feet in a moment getting to my feet would be the least of my worries left hand still firmly grasped to my forearm. Seeing his fist already as he swung I jumped it, did little to help as the full blow went straight into my kneecap and the force from me jumping caused him to stumble sending both of us into the ground. I attempted to kick up to my feet, once more my right arm now held behind me in his grip from how he had fallen. Bad idea. I got up alright but the force against his grip not only forced me back down it also dislocated my shoulder. Pain. Pain was now screaming its way through my entire right arm and I yelled out which caused him to let go. He kicked me in the back as he got to his feet and reached for the jack nearby, swinging it on the ground at me as I rolled clean under the car and to the other side,

getting to my feet. You're not. I can't. No, you'll make more mistakes, more trouble. Stop, stop, stop. He yelled and rushed around the side of the car blocking my attempt to run out to the open bay door. Rob had the wrench I was using in his hand now and was just standing there enraged, glaring at me. I wasn't some pro fighter but I wasn't going to waste time being chased around the car either. No more thinking. I ran at him and jumped, tossing all of me into him. Being overweight paid off with its one and only benefit my weight knocked him down again and sent me tumbling over him towards the bay door. I got up busted out the door in a sprint as the wrench flew by me clashing against the asphalt

and I heard Rob yelling and running after me but he tripped. I glanced for only a moment and made my way to my project, Junker Car. I got in and turned the key, turned it over. Rob had got up and was coming at me, bending to grab the wrench again, as he did. I turned the wheel hard and floored it. Womp. It hit him waist level and I slammed on the brakes watching him bash against the hood and fall back onto the pavement, this time staying down, groveling in pain. Kicking the door open to make room I frantically started trying to reach my phone in my right pocket. With my left arm to call the cops and to the best of my ability started running towards the owner's home. The yelling had caught Tom's attention, and he had seen everything that had happened outside of the garage.

He was already on the phone with the police, and after reaching me, stayed between where Rob laid and where I sat until they arrived. After a hospital visit and a very fun session of let the interns do it, the police stopped by and informed me that with Tom's statement and my injuries it was clear what had happened. They also went on to tell me that Rob had recently been suspected of trying to attack another person and had in fact beaten the Ford Falcon's owner the night I saw them. I have never seen Rob since then and to the best of my knowledge he is currently being held in a mental institution somewhere in Pennsylvania close to the family he has left here in the United States.

I don't think there's some lesson I can give here or an explanation outside of his mental condition. All I would like to say at the end of this is fight no matter what even if it seems a hopeless fight. 2008, Francis Scott Key Mall. I'll never forget the day my instincts saved my friend. I had gone to the mall with my childhood friend Sarah. We had actually been catching up. I never had many friends in school and in high school me and her never had the same classes and life outside of school for me was mostly sleep. So this was as good a time as any for us to catch up. Sarah was petite, small and skinny but I'd never call her frail. I was a tall heavyset dude with a bad limp. She would often joke that she felt safer with me because I looked like a big scary bear and the limp made me look like a hardcore mother who always won. She knew I hated being seen as

scary but would often tease and the small walk be no different. After about two hours of walking around, we had been leaving Hot Topic when I felt like I was being watched, like we were being watched. I finally caught eye of some guy in sunglasses, a tan shirt, grey jacket and black dress shoes looking at us from across the center of the mall. The most offsetting thing about him, he was clean cut, clean shaven, short black hair. Everything about him screamed official but his clothes looked like he had grabbed them off the floor and tossed them on. At first I thought he was a cop in regular attire and that I had once again been falsely accused of stealing. Little background, the owner of the mall's Walden Books had taken a strong

disliking to me after I accidentally busted their theft sensors two years prior by falling over onto one stupidly distracted talking to another person. But he never said anything nor got close to us to try and stop us. I decided I wanted to see what he was really up to and led us up into Sears and sure enough he followed. I didn't tell Sarah about it but made a decision. There was a hall to our left for restrooms down by the service bays and waiting room and a good 12 or so feet ahead was electronics. I asked Sarah to wait for me by electronics while I went to the bathroom. There, now I'd know for sure as we had passed the hall this would mean I'd have to turn around and walk towards him a bit then down the hall. His pace slowed a bit when he saw us splitting up. I glared him down as I came his way and then

turned down the hall pretending to look at my phone using it as a mirror. He clearly looked at me as his head turned but he continued straight on past the hall. I turned into the bathroom doorway and as soon as he was beyond view of the hall I turned around. My turn I muttered to myself and laughed a bit. I felt like a kid playing spy. I guessed that this guy might notice me so I came out of the hall and made my way towards tools. The tools section wasn't separated by any walls but just by the walkway giving me a clear view and cover behind toolboxes and shelves. He was following Sarah now but still keeping a good distance. What annoyed me about this was Sarah never got the feeling of being watched or looked over like I had.

In fact, both times she looked at him had only happened as turning to look around the store. Now I needed to know, but I wasn't going to cause a scene, or so I thought. I walked over from tools, Sarah saw me coming and joined me. We went back into the mall and then headed for a mall exit. Sarah had started to ask me why we weren't heading towards our cars but a simple hand motion from me cut the question out. We walked outside. He was a considerable bit behind us so I rushed us through the two sets of doors giving them time to close. He walked to the edge of the overhang and stopped. I explained everything while pretending to look for cars then turned around. In the area behind the doors there he stood and now he had no way

to avoid both of us seeing him directly. We walked back in and he had turned standing against the side wall. I now stood in front of him. What's up chief?, mocking a cop, not a smart idea. But if he was a cop or even mall security, then he'd now have to call me out. He wouldn't look directly at either of us. Gonna say I stole something? I've been minding my own business, how about you mind yours? I was now projecting at him, but he said nothing and even having raised my arms at him, he didn't move and didn't look at either of us. I opened the next door and waved Sarah through stopping the door almost touching his face. Sarah had hurried on ahead. I stepped through and the next few seconds remained frozen

in my mind. He sighed almost as if relieved I hadn't hit him with the door. I walked in and took a slow pace. Sure enough he followed. However he hadn't noticed him with the door. I walked in and took a slow pace. Sure enough, he followed. However, he hadn't noticed that I was now walking backwards. I backed right into him, and my upper arm caught the feeling of a holster under his arm as we bumped into each other. In Maryland at the time, concealed carry by civilians wasn't legal.

I now knew something was entirely out of place. I was angry, but I was also lucky as mall security rounded the corner to exit. Gun! He's got a gun! I yelled. He backed away from me as mall security came running up with a taser drawn. She's lucky you're so annoying. He muttered as he continued back towards the exit and mall security followed. I didn't stick around to find out anything. I ran for Sarah, grabbed her wrists and took off through the mall towards the security office. The head of security in the office was not exactly thrilled to see me but was aware of what had gone on. Apparently they had been watching since we entered Sears and the tapes showed them that this man had been following Sarah since she parked and had actually only started to try to hide himself when she met up with me.

The most unreal part of all of this though, they caught him but released him when he produced an official government ID and number. To me I don't care if he was God himself, This isn't the type of behavior you just let slide. Back during the summer of 2011, a few friends and I decided to organize a little camping trip to a forest just a few miles outside our hometown. Delamere Forest, despite being pretty small, presented us with a much needed opportunity to connect with nature. City living can be good, but it can be stifling, so any chance to get out into the countryside was well received. But as time went by, and the date of the camping trip approached, things began to unravel. One by one, various friends called and texted to inform us that they wouldn't be attending, be it family illness, lack of cash, or just laziness.

In the end, there was only two of us that actually decided to go. So early on a sunny summer morning, we boarded a train for the journey down to the forest. The weather was perfect, a cloudless sky with a light breeze that made the hike through the woods not nearly as oppressive as we were expecting. It didn't take long for us to find a decent spot in the shade that happened to be right next to a stream we could use for washing and drinking water. The only trouble was the spot was very open, visible to passerbys and not the least bit subtle. So it's late afternoon. We're tired from our hike and we decided to build a fire to cook some dinner on. But here's the thing. Building a small fire is an

essential part of camping, sure, but it attracts people. The smell of burning wood and the cooking food, the smoke, sometimes you might as well be announcing yourself to the whole forest with a megaphone or something. But we know this, so we're not exactly surprised when a group of locals stumbles across our little camp and comes down to say hello. They seem friendly enough at first and this might sound paranoid but the whole time I just had this bad feeling about them. It fascinates me how human instinct can pick up things like that. Little clues and body language or speech that leads us to believe that someone isn't being entirely genuine. I wasn't sure if it was the way the locals were looking at each other or the strange probing questions they asked,

but I knew they didn't have the best of intentions. When they moved on and were out of earshot, my friend suggested we move the camp. Now he's normally the skittish one who I'm perennially telling to calm down or chill out, but on this occasion I knew he was right. Maybe we were being a little bit paranoid, but in instances such as that, it's always better to be safe than sorry. So as tired and half drunk as we were, we packed up our stuff, doused the fire and then started looking for another place to set up camp. Luckily we found somewhere pretty quick,

a heavily wooded hill that basically overlooked our old campsite on one side. Not that we had a direct view of it, but if you walked a minute or so away from camp we had a pretty good view of the surrounding area, at least we did during the daytime. As the sun set we started another fire, cooked ourselves up some ramen noodles in our mess tins, then proceeded to drink and smoke ourselves stupid. We talked nonsense around the fire until we were too tired and drunk to continue, then retired to our poncho shelters for the night. I'm pretty sure I passed out as soon as I got into my sleeping bag, as I don't remember drifting off or anything. I just know that the next thing I can recall is opening my eyes in pitch darkness

to the sound of a distant car revving its engine. At first I was just annoyed to be woken up. The hangover was kicking in hard and I felt like boiled feces as I tried to fall back asleep. But the distant vehicle kept revving its engine and as the sound grew louder and louder, I knew it was getting closer. Something told me to go and check it out by the time I started to hear voices. It might have been just a bunch of kids taking a stolen car for a spin, but like I said, sometimes it's better to be safe than sorry. But when I go to the edge of the hill I can already

see torch beams all over our old campsite. The revving engine was from a vehicle that had been driven all the way down the forest path to our previous camp. Someone was down there looking for us. I think I acted more out of instinct than anything else moving as quickly and quietly as I could back to my sleeping friend to wake him up. I must have explained what I'd seen like two or three times. He was just as exhausted and half drunk as I was, but when it sank in, he was up on his feet with me and helping to kick dirt on our dying fire. We then grabbed a pair of binoculars we were carrying with us and then ran back to the edge of the hill to watch the scene below. In utter horror, we could see what was in the men's

hands thanks to the torches that they shone on one another. Baseball bats, hammers, and the length of rope were just a few of the things they carried. They spat and cursed, furious that they'd come back too late to catch us to do god knows what. All we had were our Swiss army knives to defend ourselves with. If the guys down there had decided to actually search the area, they had found us pretty easily and I'm not sure I'd be here typing this today. But to our infinite fortune, they didn't. Maybe they'd been drinking themselves or were just too lazy to actually look for us, but thank God they didn't.

With one person keeping watch, the other went back to camp to pack their gear as fast as they could. The guys down below were hanging around our old camp, kicking at the fire we'd so carefully constructed, taking all their spite out on the things we'd left behind. As I've mentioned before, they didn't seem keen on actually looking for us, but they didn't seem like they were in a hurry to leave either. stuck on this wooded hill as an escape attempt with our heavy packs meant that, if we were discovered, there would be no outrunning any of them, especially since they had a vehicle. We ended up staying there until morning. Neither of us could get any sleep despite the gang leaving with their vehicle. I remember being terrified they returned with more. More torches, with more of a will to find us. But they didn't.

They were probably sleeping off their own hangovers by the time we were on the train ride home. We were due to stay another two nights and I was still annoyed we'd had to call the trip short. But with those scummy local thugs around, we just didn't want to risk it. Be careful when you're traveling around, whether it is internationally or locally, because despite the unfathomable kindness of strangers, some of them aren't so friendly. The story takes place up in Scotland a few years back. Two friends and I took an overnight coach from Liverpool to Dumfries for a week-long wild camping trip. The major difference between wild camping and regular camping is the presence of tents. Wild campers don't take tents.

They just use ponchos or tarps to make a basic shelter, then basically just sleep on the bare ground. Yeah, it can suck sometimes, but it's a challenge. It burns the fat from our souls, so to speak. So it's like five in the morning. We've hardly slept and we're trying to navigate our way through the Scottish countryside. Naturally, we take a wrong turn. We have six and a half miles ahead of us, roughly nine of ours of walking, and we have taken a wrong turn two minutes in. I am in disbelief that we could be that dumb. Even though it's about half five in the morning and we are a strange looking trio, we stop a passing cyclist to ask directions.

He is typically friendly and helpful and points us in the right direction. We turn a corner and catch a glimpse of a war memorial that would serve as a navigational checkpoint. A medley of weak cheers is droned. We cannot help but stop, lay our packs on the benches near the memorial and take a breather. The war memorial is at a crossroads. I am reminded of people taking their own lives, being buried at crossroads, and this troubles me. We are bathed in warm golden sunlight as we make our way southwest towards Kargen Bridge.

The pavement is narrow and we are often forced onto the road to stay level. On a rise to our left, we see our first rabbit. This seems like a good omen. We mime, aiming through imaginary scopes, making popping sounds and rubbing our bellies at it. It clocks us and scampers into a hedgerow. We continue walking under heavy packs, past a tacky fox stone house sign

with two plastic-looking swords protruding from it. It says something in Gaelic. Only in Scotland, one of us pants. We reach Cargan Bridge and cross the Bray with an old blacksmith's dwelling at its foot, working our way up a gentle slope past the local secondary school and reach the farm track. We have made good time and there are no farmhands in the fields, just scores of grazing livestock. The farmer's house is exceptionally trim, but the cattle shed and neighboring building are run down and I suspect home to bats.

Sheep and months old lambs spot us and skip away skittishly. We navigate past the cattle shed and clamber over two fences to avoid a giant waste tank. This had inadvertently put us right in front of another kind of fence, the electrified kind. Is that electric? Someone whines. I follow the wire with my gaze and see it dig sharply connecting with a battery unit. I grimace. It is too high to bound over and our packs make it impossible to crawl under it. I imagine what it feels like to receive an electric shock to my testicles. I spot a large piece of deadwood and, surrounded by fresh cowpats and, as if they were landmines, avoid them nervously and drag the deadwood to the fence. It is heavy enough to pin it down as I step over, I hear it buzzing faintly.

We continue across two fields, climbing the fence between them. This is not easy with a heavy pack. I take out my iPhone to film the ascent of the first of many hills. We start to breathe heavily as our packs suddenly feel twice as heavy and we lean forward to maintain momentum. Our steps are strained and small. I put the phone away. At the steepest point the banter ceases and we heave ourselves up the grassy ascent. I start to feel hungry and our first rest point comes into view. A plan stopped to orient and order ourselves. We lay down our packs just a few yards away from where we pitched our tent on the previous trip and rest our aching legs.

My friend Corky takes his shirt off. It is soaked with sweat and I notice steam rising from his shoulders. Jesus. Martin, the other guy, exclaims, there's actual steam coming off of you. We laugh as we take out tobacco and food. Martin and I have the same scotch oat cakes. We eat them with cheese spread and share Martin's jet-boiled coffee. The jet-boil is an incredibly handy little gadget and will almost become the center of our lives for the next week. Corky puts on my dry civilian clothes and eyes up a tin of all-day breakfast, proceeding to read out some of the ingredients. It is much cooler here in the shade and we gaze out across the landscape, either picking bits of oat cake out of our teeth or smoking rolled cigarettes. It is already seven in the morning yet our sleep

deprivation makes it seem later in the day. This is mildly disorienting yet we estimate arrival at La Halber by around 10. Corky is skeptical of this. The wrong turn was not a satisfying enough speed bump and he is still expecting one. This feeling is justified. After moving slowly but steadily cross country along the ridge of the hill, we reach the small collection of houses that serve as a landmark. After some deliberation, we decide to cross a field of cows that has the only traversable fence we can see. We're motivated partly because it seems quick and easy, partly because it avoids another more vicious looking electric fence. About halfway across the field, I notice the numerous cows begin to stare at us. This is not usually particularly intimidating, but their number and obviously hostile glares make me slow

my step. They're all looking at us, you know, I say. They're just curious, Martin says. The cows begin walking towards us, spreading out in the line. I am reminded of almost a battle formation. They're walking towards us now. They just want to have a look at us, Martin says. The cows start into a trot and then a cumbersome gallop. Corky stops and starts to walk backwards. Dude, they're running at us. I too stop and begin to turn. Over my shoulder, I see a small enclosure with electrical conductors in it. Bail, dude, bail.

Corky yelps and we try to run under our packs. This amounts to hobbling. I have already waited up and have decided death by electricity has to be quicker than trampling. Don't run! Martin screams. Instantly the order fires synapses in my brain. I stop, spin around and throw my arms into the air making myself appear large. Corky repeats the same motion, simultaneously and without regarding me. The charging cows seem to respond instantly, some stop, the rest slow their pace. I hear an indistinct shouting coming from the other side of the field. It is the farmer,

bidding us to advance along the fence to the gate. See, we're good, just keep moving, Mart says reassured. We move slowly and compactly, arms outstretched as the cows surround us and jostle for a view of us. They are aggressive with each other. Some mount the cows in front of them for a glimpse. This is all okay, I say to myself. This is all going to be okay. Nice cows. This is completely safe. This isn't really Pero. I want to laugh, but I cannot. I am genuinely terrified, limbs shaking. I climb over the wooden gate as the farmer addresses us. Eh, they're just curious.

They're just come up for a wee look. If you're along the edge of the field, you'll do alright. If you've gone across then. He then breaks off and looks away. Then I don't know. Could you tell us a good route to Maybe House? Eh, just follow this road here. It's usually quiet. Then turn right at the main road

and follow it. Don't turn off into the farm, just keep going and you'll find the road to the house, or key. Yeah, cheers mate. We are delighted for his assistance. He seems mildly interested in us, but is obviously too annoyed by the commotion to show it. Pretty much every time I told this story since people have laughed. I get that, I can see why a bunch of city kids getting scared by cows is definitely somewhat comedic but it did scare the life out of us especially when we got home from the trip and realized just how much danger we were really in. You see cows kill more people each year than sharks do, in pretty much the exact way I described. A hiker or country walker decides to cut across a field,

not around it or using the edge, and they get trampled by cows. In fact, the UK Health and Safety Executive has since reissued long-standing advice to farmers not to put calves and their mothers in fields accessible to the public as a precaution. That is straight up pulled from an article from the British newspaper The Independent. So next time you fancy taking a shortcut through a field, make sure it's not occupied. You could get a nasty, very unexpected surprise. Washita National Forest is the oldest of its kind in the southern United States, nearly 2 million acres of untouched wilderness that make for some of the best hunting trips imaginable. In fact, it is said that Washita is composed of the Choctaw word of Owa for hunting and Chito for big, together meaning big hunt far

from home. So as you can imagine, during hunting season you can't move for high-vis jackets and bright orange hunter caps. My buddies and I have never really been into hunting. We're about as east coast as they come. I mean until we visited Arkansas I'd barely even made it past Pennsylvania so our idea of relaxing in nature does not include butchering a freshly killed animal. So when we discovered that there was a window during high summer when hunting in the Ouachita is strictly forbidden we were absolutely elated. There'd be entire sections of the forest that would be basically deserted. We'd have the place to ourselves, or so we thought.

We drove for eight hours a day for three days to make it all the way to Arkansas from our home in Haverhill, Massachusetts. Since 1,500 miles in one sitting was too nauseating to think about, we made a little road trip out of it, stopping in Philly, DC, and then Nashville. Honestly, I think I could move to DC just for the mumbo sauce. I saw it on Anthony Bourdain and just had to try it. Trust me, it does not disappoint. But anyway, by the time we finally made it to Washington National Forest, we were seriously ready to relinquish the trappings of society and embrace the tranquility and purity of nature. Which is a fancy pants way of saying we were ready to get blind drunk around a roaring fire and sing dropkick Murphy songs at the top of our lungs. Which we did, maybe with a

little too much enthusiasm. As after just two out of the four nights we were due to camp in the Ouachita, we ran out of beer and tobacco. Not exactly at an opportune moment either. It was late in the afternoon when we opened our coolers to discover just three untouched cans, just enough to keep us company on what would surely be hours of walking to the nearest liquor store. Outlaw Liquor was a little more than a wooden shack on the outskirts of a small town called Crystal Springs. It took us about three hours of solid walking to get there, and I can promise you, it's worth every step. At first, we weren't sure if we were in a liquor store or a hunting lodge. There were taxidermies of black bears, buck, turkeys, and red foxes dotted all over the place. Jeff, the owner, showed us all

the locally made wines and spirits and even gave us samples of a few choice fermentations. We walked in with the attention of grabbing a six-pack or two and left with our backpacks full of beers, some of Jeff's homemade beef jerky, and a few little bottles of home-brew wine. Along with the bottle, each of what Jeff, the owner, called barrel-aged Abraxas, a locally brewed stout that was 11%. Yep, you read that right. 11%. The sun was beginning to drip below the horizon by the time we were anywhere near our campsite, as aching feet from hours of walking were numbered by the booze we sipped as we walked. I had already cracked open my own little pack of jerky, passing out strips of it as we hoped

that it might soak up a little of the booze. We were at that point in a drinking session when bladders are getting a little too full, so every so often our journey back to the camp, we'd stop so one of us could take a walk off in the trail to urinate. It was a beautiful evening. Crickets chirped as bats flew around our heads, chirping softly as they used their sonar to hone in on flying insects. When it was my turn to call for a pee break, my buddies sat down on the edge of the trail with their beers as I wandered off into the woods to find a decent spot. I found one, did my thing and then started to turn back when I heard something through the trees. It sounded like

people, hushed voices and footfalls among the fallen leaves. In my stupid half-boozed state, I thought it might be a good idea to introduce myself. Maybe we could have a few drinks, tell some stories, make some friends. But these people did not want to be friends. As I pushed through a patch of dense brush and into a small woodland clearing it became clear that wanting to introduce myself was a terrible idea. The moment I emerged three or four guys in the clearing turning to look at me in angry surprise. They were in rough clothing, ragged leather boots and a lot of denim. Each had some kind of weapon in their hands, machetes, bowie knives.

One of them had this rusted spiked club that looked like it could have been a hundred years old. Between them, hog-tied and writhing in the dirt, was a young woman, her body a mosaic of bruises and abrasions. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Never in my life had I heard anything so upsetting as the noises she made through her cloth gag. When I finally unglued my eyes from the sight before me I looked up at one of the hillbilly looking guys looming over the prostrate girl. He was smiling, and with one smooth motion he raised a single finger to his lips. I turned and started walking, slowly at first. I didn't want those guys to think I was panicking, that I was going to call the cops or something. I tried to stay calm,

but after a few seconds I started running, sprinting towards the trail. I didn't need to say a word to my friends. They started sprinting too as soon as they saw my face. We ran and ran and ran until my buddy puked up beer and half-digested jerky all over himself. But by that point, we were out of danger. No one was following us. When I told them exactly what I'd seen, an argument ensued. One of my friends went to call the cops immediately, while the other insisted we had to get out of the woods as soon as possible. This would mean driving his car well over the limit until we could find a motel.

We could not call the cops and risk a DUI, not in Missouri. We concluded that we'd call the cops first, then get out of there into a hotel before we got pulled over, breathalyzed, and arrested. We never heard back from the cops. My buddy reported what I'd seen over the phone in as much detail as he could, but I never got closure for what I'd seen that night. I often wonder what happened to that girl, if she ended up getting rescued or if she is living a peaceful, happy life now. But sometimes, in the darkest of moments, I know that girl didn't make it out of the

Ouachita. Even if she was alive, a piece of her would be forever left in that little clearing in the woods, taken from her by cruel, wild men. Back in early 2014, a few friends and I had an idea to do something for charity. We discussed shaving our heads, running marathons, organizing some kind of community picnic, but nothing seemed to gain any traction. They were all tired, overused ideas. If we wanted to get donations, we needed to do something big. So when I had the idea of spending seven nights sleeping rough after hiking 20 miles into the Brecon Beacon mountain range in Wales, I knew it was crazy enough to get donations. But I didn't think my friends would

agree to it. But they did, for some inexplicable reason they agreed. It was a numbers game. Simple. Tell people seven nights, twenty miles, homeless for the homeless, and watch the purse string loosen. By the date of departure, we'd collected the grand total of £1,255, just over $1,500, for Shelter, a British charity that helps street sleepers and those facing housing crises. We felt proud beyond words. But in the run-up to the aforementioned day of departure, we were getting pretty anxious. The Brecon beacons are used by the British Special Air Services, basically our version of Delta Force, for their training due to how rugged and wild the terrain can be. We'd also planned the trip for early April, which meant heavy rain and

strong winds. This meant that we ended up investing a fair bit of our own money in military surplus equipment. We'd need a lot of gear to keep ourselves safe and warm for seven whole nights in the beacons, and it so happened that army surplus gear was the cheapest and most reliable option. So as you can imagine, we were covered in camouflage for the march out in the beacons. Huge rucksacks stuffed with canned food and water weighed us down as more miles meant more pain. Pain in the shoulders, pain in the feet, pain in the knees, and the neck and the thighs. By mile 17, the two other guys who attended had thrown in the shoulders, pain in the feet, pain in the knees and the neck and the thighs. By mile seventeen, the two other guys who attended had thrown in the towel.

I found myself the only dissenting voice as they proposed we call a taxi for the final three miles of the journey. One of my friends claimed his pack was ridiculously heavy and he simply couldn't carry on marching. I wondered just what he'd brought with him that made his gear so difficult to march with. But when we reached a large freshwater lake and set up camp, I found out why. He'd brought an air rifle, a.22 pellet gun that must have accounted for almost half the weight he was carrying. Yeah, I was a little annoyed. Maybe if he'd left it behind, he'd have had it in him to keep going, but boys with toys, right? We had eight whole days to kill. Target shooting would definitely

account for a few hours of fun. Not to mention if we found ourselves a tasty looking wood pigeon or rabbit, we might be able to treat ourselves to a bit of fresh meat. So after an initial first night of exhaustion, chilling around a fire at the lake's edge before getting some sleep, we arose at dawn with a big day ahead of us. Somehow we'd gotten into our heads that a dawn hunt would be a good idea. Few people around, the wildlife would be active. But it wasn't to be. We didn't get a decent shot on a single animal,

but we did run into something. At one point in the absolute middle of nowhere, we break through a tree line and find ourselves face to face with a blurry-eyed early morning dog walker. We couldn't believe it. The chances of running into someone around here was minimal, but there someone was, looking nervously at a group of lads wearing camouflage, one of which was carrying an air rifle that looked exactly like an actual firearm. We waved, he smiled, we all moved on. We didn't think anything of it, to be honest. He didn't seem like the type to call the police or make a big deal out of it. I mean, he didn't ask questions, he didn't seem like the type to call the police or make a big deal out of it. I mean, he didn't ask questions.

He didn't even mention the rifle. So by the time we made it back to our camp in time for lunch, it incidentally had been pretty much forgotten. After an afternoon of gathering firewood and other camp crafts, we settled in for an evening of fireside storytelling. I cracked out a few choice ghost stories, some of which got more laughs than spooks, while we downed a few beers before heading to sleep. A few hours later, I'm jolted awake by something. The large shelter we'd made

for the three of us from a huge tarp should have been pitch black, but I could see rays of light penetrating from torch beams outside. Then I heard it. Armed police, come out with your hands raised right now! One by one we exited the shelter, just as they ordered us to. My hands were shaking horribly as I pushed them out of the entrance and into the blinding light of five or six torches. I remember the pure gut-wrenching fear as I realized the beams of light weren't in the police's hands. They were attached to the end of whatever weapons they were carrying. I only noticed in a flash, but the realization hit me right between the eyes. I'm honestly amazed I didn't wet myself right then and there.

On the ground now! Get on the bloody ground! I hit the dirt, hands on the back of my head as my two friends followed. Soon all three of us were lying face down on the cold wet forest floor as the armed police searched our shelter. It didn't take them long to find the air rifle. Got it, boss, one of them called out. I couldn't see any of this, but it was obvious based on what they were saying. Is that it? That's your lot, yeah? Just a pellet gun by the looks of it? Wait, so you three aren't pathfinders or something? It took a minute before we found the boss to speak up. No. Military at all, no?

No. The three of us said at once. Oh, well, alright then. The police officer in charge took a few guys back down the trail a little and had a little huddle. From what I could figure out, the dog walker who had seen us had mistakenly thought that we were British Army, lost in maneuvers and had decided to inform the authorities. I don't know if this is standard procedure for civilians in the area, I mean they must be used to the presence of armed men in the beacons, but sometimes I think he may have thought we were going AWOL or something and made the decision

to call it in. There are a lot of ex-officers living in the beacons, maybe he was one of them, but I digress. The armed police had us get up off the ground before they questioned us as to why we were there. We were honest to a fault, told them it was a charity thing, homeless for the homeless or whatever maxim we'd adopted for the fundraising. Aside from the air rifle, they actually seemed pretty impressed. I figured they'd be annoyed at the false alarm, but in reality an armed policeman getting the call means overtime pay and hunting idiots in the woods with real guns, not crappy

pellet guns. This wasn't some inconvenience for them, they lived for this stuff. It was surreal, but they left having only confiscated the air rifle. They left us our knives and fishing gear, even though we admitted to not having a fishing permit for any of the local lakes. They talked about smelling something funny in the air, but still didn't search our tent for anything. Even though I know that they'd found a lot, we didn't want them to. They also verbally assured us that we'd not be charged with anything. Just don't do it again boys, yeah?

Was all they had to say on the subject. We actually went back to collect the air rifle too. In the back of my mind, I was sure they'd go back on their word and arrest us at the police station. There are some serious armed trespass laws in the UK and to this day I have literally zero clue as to why they didn't charge us with anything. I'd like to think that they were impressed with the whole charity thing that they decided to come down lightly on us, but in reality I think we just got lucky. After all, I still think we're extremely lucky that our pellet gun wasn't the only thing they'd taken from us that night. One wrong move, I might not even be here to type this. A few years back, a few friends and I went on a camping trip in the Scottish Highlands. It was tough going, the weather was unforgiving and the terrain even more so,

but the trip was an overall success. No one got hurt, no one got lost, nothing remotely unnerving or scary happened at all. At least until the last night when we arrived back in the small Scottish village we were due to catch a bus in. We were physically and emotionally exhausted by the time we arrived back in the small Highland village that served as our line of departure. Five nights in the mountains would do that to you. We had barely slept and barely eaten so the sight of a small, greasy spoon cafe almost brought tears to our eyes. We drew stares from the locals and to be honest, I don't blame them. We were a mess of bloodshot eyes and greasy hair. All of our clothes

reeked of smoke from huddling around a fire at night. They were curious but still friendly. The owner questioned us on our trip and took a great deal of pleasure in our fascination with the highlands. It always earns you brownie points with the locals when you tell them they must be tough, hardworking people to live in such a barren place. We left with full stomachs and headed to the nearest and only pub in the village. They were equally welcome, and even stayed open an hour or so later than usual, just so we'd have somewhere to keep warm until our late night bus was set to arrive. We left the pub with about twenty minutes before our bus was due, having heartily thanked the bar

staff for accommodating us, then made our way along almost barely lit streets towards the village's one and only bus stop. Now it's important to note that the bus stop is located just next to a small bridge which provides a crossing point over the river that runs through the village. So in the low light of semi-functioning street lights, we knew that there was a bridge, we just couldn't see what was on it at any one time. The minutes are ticking by and we're all clock watching. We can't wait to go home to hot showers, warm beds, and properly cooked food. There must have been less than ten minutes to wait when we heard something from the other side of the river. A grunting sound,

but I think we were too buzzed and exhausted to make anything of it. But the sound continues, getting louder and more vocal until we realize there's someone on the other side of the bridge, someone who sounded drunk, someone who sounded angry. I can't remember who, but someone was curious enough to gather the energy to go check it out. I wasn't watching, but I could hear their heavy footsteps and boots against the metal bridge, moving slowly to the top. Then there was a humdrum of noise as they came down the bridge stairs faster than they'd gone up. Grab your bags now, he hissed, trying to keep his voice down. Come on, move!

We had no idea what was going on. In fact, I thought it might be some sort of prank, some lame attempt to inject a little excitement into the final hour of our trip. But one look in his eyes told me he was serious. I had never seen my friend that scared before, ever. As if to confirm what he was saying, I began to hear the same kind of footstep noise on the metal bridge. Someone was moving fast across the bridge from the other side, making the same angry grunting noises we'd been hearing. None of us wanted to take a chance, so we all grabbed our heavy packs and dragged them across the road and into a small, dark village street. We were fairly concealed in the darkness, but we still had a good look

at our side of the bridge, each of us wanting to see just what had scared our mate so much. Then we saw it. A man staggering down the bridge's metal stairs with something in his grip, the glinting of stainless steel in a low light. Jesus Christ, is that a machete? No sooner had one of us exclaimed that, the man honed in on the sound of our voices. He raised the huge blade in his fist, pointing it towards the dark alleyway that we thought was concealing us. You! He roared in his rough Scottish accent, then began to bound down the bridge's stairs towards us, waving the machete as he ran. We bolted, hurtling down the small dark street. We had no idea where we were going, but anywhere that wasn't in the immediate vicinity of this drunken, blade-wielding

maniac had to be better. Whoever was in the lead must have had the presence of mind to loop around the block. If we got too far away from the bus stop, we'd miss our ride, and the only other inner-city bus to roll through the village wasn't due for another two days. He explained this to us the first chance he got and we all rued the situation we were faced with. Go back to the bus stop and risk getting stabbed or stay away from the bus stop, miss our bus and end up stuck in the middle of nowhere in Scotland. It was like a military operation or something. We moved in pairs, covering each other's movement and watching for any sign of our potential murderer. Somehow we made it back towards the bus stop without running into him.

We figured we'd lost him and started to relax as best we could. It was about five minutes after the bus was due to arrive and we were starting to panic again. Some of us had gotten it into their heads that we'd missed the bus entirely, and we better start looking for a decent place to bed down before we ran into the machete wielder again. But they didn't have to wait long as a few minutes later, a familiar looking figure emerged from one of the poorly lit side streets. Our collective hearts sank when we saw what he had in his grip. The machete. It was the same guy. Yo! He roared again before slowly walking towards us. This time we took a different tact.

I don't know if it was the adrenaline or the pure desperation to catch the bus and get our butts out of there, but we stood our ground. We roared back at him, pulled out our pathetically small Swiss army knives and dared him to try us. Looking back on it, it was kind of glorious. We went from terrified vermin scattered through the streets to full-on warriors willing to defend their ground. What happened next was like something out of a film. As we were facing the dude, we began like pacing back and forth in the street, zigzagging toward us in the street, still waving his machete.

He was obviously deterred slightly by our newfound aggression, but it obviously didn't deter him entirely. A horrible feeling came over me as I realized that one of us could well be about to suffer life-changing injuries. But in the distance, near where the road pulled away from the river's course, a police van came trundling around the corner, revving towards the scene to our rescue. It was like the cavalry showing up in an old western and we were saved. Our bravado doubled and we actually began to advance up to him, pushing him towards the approaching police that he was somehow completely oblivious of. He only realized what was happening

when the van skidded to a stop behind him and a trio of burly-looking Scottish policemen jumped out and pounced on him. He got tackled, hard. So hard you heard the sickening thud of his head slamming into the concrete. But we had zero sympathy. We cheered as the bedroom's lights of nearby dwellings flickered on and faces began to appear in windows to watch the melee. Then, as all this is happening, the bloody bus turns up, coming around the same corner the police van did. We continued to cheer, grabbing our bags and padding victoriously towards our ride home. The police wanted to talk to us about what had happened, but backed off once we explained that this was our one ride out of town.

I told them we'd be in touch to make telephone statements but we never ended up getting in touch. We were all just so glad to be out of there in one piece. I loved camping. I used to spend every waking moment either camping or planning a camping trip. I love being outdoors, away from the suffocating mundanity of everyday events, the first world problems. I used to do it pretty hardcore too, making shelters instead of taking a tent, drinking from mountain streams, hunting and setting traps

for our food. So in April of last year, two friends and I departed on a four-night hiking camping trip on the Appalachian Trail. With loads in excess of 50 pounds, we marched 20 miles into the lush green hills before reaching our first major water source, a long strip of tranquil, clear water set in a picturesque valley. The journey took two days with around eighteen hours of straight marching. Our packs began, digging agonizingly into our shoulders with every step, yet the sense of achievement was intoxicating. Days and nights rolled by as we worked our way along the trail, foraging food as we went. It was tiring, a constant struggle, but the sense of peace that the outdoors can provide is profound.

At night, we skewered hot dogs on sticks, wolfing them down as we warmed sweet apple cider in our mess tins over the fire. We listened to owls call out like ghosts and watched embers dancing up in the air like fireflies as our eyelids grew heavy. We had found a fair amount of fruit and fresh water was plentiful, but our attempts at finding protein came short at each turn. We were unable to find any duck eggs, too slow or too inexperienced to snare rabbits, and our improvised fishing rods weren't working as well as we were used to. We were getting desperate and, although we were trying, man cannot live on cereal bars and peanut

butter alone. We would have to make a journey to the nearest town, nearly seven miles away. Needless to say, we got lost. After a few hours of walking, we began to climb a fairly steep hill by means of a shortcut. The whole way up, I remember watching a thick fog cling to the top of the hill, at least 500 meters above us. Only, it wasn't exactly clinging, it was just waiting. Waiting for the temperature to drop low enough for it to roll down onto us, over us, and it did. I remember the image my friend Chris being severely obscured as I walked behind him. We tried to remain cheerful when we started to see the remains of newborn lambs. April is birthing month for sheep, so this isn't necessarily an unusual sight,

but these remain completely unscathed. No scavengers had touched these corpses, and there were a lot of them. Needless to say, we were relieved when the outline of a cottage came into view. We had absolutely no idea where we were and there was no mention of any cottage on our map. My feet ached and our water supplies dwindled, having not expected to be out or lost for such a long time. We decided to stop and ask for directions. We had to climb over a low dry stone wall to reach the building itself as the cottage was oddly set in the hillside. I noted with grim interest that there was no path leading to or from any kind of road or highway,

the dwelling being completely cut off from all human contact. We stopped as we reached the front gate or what passed as a front gate. It was made of a few roughly cut tree limbs, crudely bound with rusty nails and rotting twine. Chris tried to open it, but there was no hinge. It just fell back into his hands. He set it aside politely, albeit confusedly. The small courtyard before the front door was overgrown with weeds, grass growing long between broken slabs of concrete beneath our feet. Dotted around a smaller front garden was an assortment of curios placed in decorative positions. Things were tied to the branches of a sapling in the center of the haggard lawn, small toy cars, a tennis ball, a hairbrush. A wheelbarrow sat at the foot of it, filthy from

exposure, containing a few soggy looking books, some VHS cassettes and a children's action figure. They were oddly arranged in a rough circle around the action figure. Arriving nervously at the door I reached my arm out, feeling it grow heavy as I made a fist. I rapped three times, feeling it shake under the force, then waited, listening for signs of life, peering through a small, filthy window to the right of the decrepit door. I could make out yet more assorted, seemingly non-related items scattered on shelves and tables. That's when I turned to Chris. I remember simply remarking that we should move on,

that there was no one home. But he didn't respond. There was something about him. He looked pale and confused. I can hardly explain it now that I try to recall it. He'd been looking through the grubby windows as I'd been knocking on the door and had gotten a much better look inside the house. It was almost like he had seen something, but just couldn't explain what. He began shaking his head violently, hyperventilating as he rushed out of the little courtyard. I was confused, a little frightened, and began shouting after him, asking just why he

was acting so strange. Yeah, the little cottage was weird, but he was acting like he'd seen a ghost. He only replied to me once through gritted teeth. We need to leave now. Later that night, while we were nursing beers around our campfire, I finally plucked up the courage to ask him what he'd seen through the window. He started shaking his head in that same weird way Stuttering as he tried to find the words to articulate himself He went on to explain that someone had been in that cottage the whole time Hiding from us That as I'd been banging away trying to get their attention That they'd taken one solitary look outside at us

Right into my buddy's eyes My buddy said that he had never seen anyone so messed up that he couldn't tell if they were disabled or they had just been beaten so badly that their face had been rearranged. He said that when they locked eyes the figure on the other side of the glass had looked terrified but there's no way that they could have been surviving alone up there. Something else was living there too. Something that might have been heading back to us to arrive at any moment. I thank God we didn't find out what it was. At least once a year my stepdad's family has a little camping trip get together down in South Carolina.

My mom has been married to him for about 6 years now so I've had the opportunity to attend a handful of them when my job permits me to do so. The first trip I attended was right after mom and my stepdad got married. Alone with my little brother, we loaded up my stepdad's truck with camping gear and made the nine-hour drive from our home in Pittsburgh down to his native South Carolina. We had just passed the state line into West Virginia when we first stopped for gas. All of us piled out of the truck to stretch our legs and use the bathroom. While my stepdad handed down an elderly attendant a few bucks to get us filled up, I finished up in the bathroom, then headed back to the truck when I got into a little conversation with the elderly attendant. He seemed nice enough at first, asking where we were headed,

how long for, that sort of thing. But when I mentioned that we were camping, his mood seemed to shift. You know, you should always be respectful in nature. It can be unforgiving, he explained. Don't mess with the animals. Don't leave nothing but your boot prints. Any mess and, well, the woods have a way of letting you know you're not welcome. I assured him we had the utmost respect for nature and we wouldn't be leaving any trash around when we left, but this didn't seem to change his demeanor at all.

He finished pumping our gas and went back to his chair without a word. Several hours later we were well into South Carolina when we made a final rest stop before the campgrounds. It was basically a wildlife preserve that was also a truck stop, complete with a little information board that told us about the local flora and fauna. But something caught my eye in the bottom corner of the board. Carved into the white plastic were just two words. Respect. Nature. Those were the words the gas station attendant had said to me. It was weird, sure, but it had to be coincidence. The same words, yeah, but hundreds of miles apart. There was no way it could be the same guy.

I mean, that stuff only happens in dumb horror movies. Naturally, I didn't bother mentioning this to my mom or stepdad. I mean, why would I? I'd have seemed crazy. I mean, I would have been crazy to think that there was some connection between the gas attendant and the scrawled message. So we just got back in the truck and pushed on towards the campground. Upon arrival, we say hello to the extended family. A little round-robin of hugs and handshakes,

then get to work putting up the large, luxury glamping tent that we'd been sleeping in. Once we're done there, we head back and hang out with the family and fill up on barbecue. My stepdad's entire family was just as delightful as he was, and I feel like at this point I should add that my stepdad was a far better parent than our biological dad. So aside from the initial period of them dating, I was glad my mom had found someone so good for her. After an evening around the fire, singing old songs with my step-uncle on the guitar, we headed back to our tents to get some sleep. But on arrival we see something lying in the grass just near the entrance. It was a dead bird. My little brother starts freaking out. The thing was starting to decompose and a huge collective eww echoed through the trees when the smell hit us.

My stepdad calmed us down, saying something about my little brother's car farts smelling way worse, then proceeds to get rid of the thing as we get ready for bed. But I watched him in the light of his own torch as he used a stick to get the feathery little cadaver away from our campground. He knelt down into the dirt and pulled something from under the bird's rotten wing, something that looked like a note. When I asked him about it, he brushed the question off like he hadn't found anything. I would have followed up with more questions, but when I saw the look in his eyes I decided against it. He was spooked, like seriously spooked.

The next morning some of the other family members mentioned hearing footsteps outside their tent during the day. They were asking around, trying to find out who went on a walkabout, if we had any sleepwalkers in the group who might be the ones responsible. But to no avail, no one would admit to being the group who might be the ones responsible. But to no avail. No one would admit to being the one out of their tent so late. That's when the atmosphere started to get a little uneasy. The second night was a little less eventful. There were no footsteps outside anyone's tents,

but I did hear something that meant I hardly got any sleep at all. In the dead of night, I could hear my little brother's voice across the tent. At first I figured he was reading aloud as was common when he was that age, but there was no flashlight so he didn't have a book. I strained my eyes and ears trying to make out what he was whispering. I thought I was going crazy when I finally made out the words. There was no way he was saying what I thought he was saying, but he was. He was reciting the information that was present on the wildlife board back at the rest stop we hit when we got into South Carolina. It sounded like he was reeling it off word for word, like he was using all these big words that

I knew my little brother didn't know off the top of his head. He eventually stopped, but he was using all these big words that I knew my little brother didn't know off the top of his head. He eventually stopped, but I was so freaked out that I just couldn't manage to get any decent sleep. I woke up exhausted to the sound of my stepdad's voice. He sounded unusually stern when I stepped outside into the campground, and I saw why. Everyone was packing their stuff up and piling it into their various vehicles. We were due to stay another couple of nights at least but the mood was tense. People weren't speaking to each other as they quickly packed up their gear. My stepdad asked me to help out getting packed up and to do so as quickly as possible. The look in his eyes told me not to ask questions. We were back on the

road to Pennsylvania by noon. I was so glad to be out of there that I managed to keep my mouth shut all the way back home. I needed to know just what had happened to freak everyone out so much. I also needed to ask him what he'd pulled off of that dead bird on the first night, but the timing needed to be right. We got home in the late evening, so late that my stepdad had to carry my sleeping brother from the car and right up to the bed. After some late supper, I managed to catch him alone in front of the TV. He knew what I wanted to ask before I'd even spoke. There'd been a note on the dead bird, just as I'd expected. He told me it had said, go home, but had figured it was either a prank by local teenagers or one of his cousins who'd resented that he'd left the Carolinas for the Yankee North, so he'd ignored it. I asked him if he'd heard my little brother sleep talking, but when he shot

me a confused look, I knew he hadn't heard it himself. But he did go on to explain what had gotten the family so freaked out that they'd chosen to flee the campground. The cousin, who he suspected of the first note, had woken up at dawn with a bladder full of beer. Sleepy-eyed, he shuffled out of his tent, peed and then headed back a little more awake. That's when he noticed the dead deer laying near the fire pit. Someone had left it as a message. He woke up my stepdad and got him to move the deer before anyone else woke up and freaked out. Soon as that was done, they woke their families up and got everyone moving. But that's not the worst part. My stepdad explained that whoever had left the dead deer had

carved something into its flesh. They must have cut into the deer while it was still alive. As he said, the letters were formed more out of clotted blood than open gashes. He said it was just two words, two little words. I asked them what they said. He sighed, unable to bring himself to look at me in the eyes. Final warning, he replied. Hey friends, thanks for listening. Be sure to subscribe and click that notification bell to be alerted of all future narrations. If you got a story, be sure to submit them to my subreddit, or Let's Read Official, and give and receive feedback from the community, and maybe even hear your story featured in 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. And if you love longer videos, be sure to check out my podcast, the Let's Read podcast, available on both Spotify and Apple Podcasts. Links in the bio. Thanks so much, friends, and I'll see you at Area 51.