The Lets Read Podcast - 59: Episode 052 | Stalker & Bodyguard Stories | 24 True Scary Horror Stories

Episode Date: December 23, 2019

Welcome to the fifty-second 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 Scary Stalkers, Metro Strangers & Bodyguards.  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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Same game, parlay, it's all fine You'll put a smile on your face Bet on the sports you love with BetRivers Sportsbook. Take a chance! We'll be right back. I'm a 25 year old woman and I've been living in Japan for a few years now. It's a beautiful country. Every bit as fascinating and alien as I imagined, but I do have one major complaint. In rural areas where foreigners are a rarity, Japanese men can become a little bit obsessive when it comes to foreign girls, especially fair-haired blue-eyed girls such as myself. I have dealt with quite a few situations where I was way beyond uncomfortable Even one or two where I feared I might be abducted or worse

One such encounter took place a few years back when I was in my third year of my university course The following was a very brief encounter but a terrifying one nonetheless I was studying abroad at a school in Saitama, essentially a suburb of Tokyo being only 15 miles or so away from the capital city center. I was meeting a lot of new people, making a lot of new friends, getting to really practice my Japanese and generally having the time of my life. One day after classes were finished, my friends invited me to go shopping with them at a local supermarket to get things for a nabe party. For those who don't know, nabe is basically a potluck dinner kind of thing.

You get some fresh vegetables and cuts of meat, then you put a big pot on a little gas burner before everyone gathers around and eats together. It's a huge part of traditional Japanese culture and a great way to socialize. I was over the moon that they invited me. I was usually left out of these kinds of things at first because I was an outsider, whereas they had known each other since their freshman year. Though over the few months that we had been singing together, they'd grown to be like a family to me, each one like an overprotective big brother, especially a guy named Shinji. He was short and a bit on the heavy side but he was extremely charismatic. Whenever he saw me fumbling around, nervous or confused, he'd quickly appear by my

side and throw a heavy arm around my shoulder asking, What's the problem, Jamie-chan? We all went to our friend's house for the party and ended up drinking and talking until pretty late. I checked my phone at one point to discover that it was already like four in the morning. Not only that, but my battery was dying. The guy has already decided that we're going to sleep for a few hours until the train started back up but I was only about a 30 minute walk away from my shared apartment. I announced that I was leaving and started packing my stuff up.

Shinji offered to walk me home but I politely declined the offer. It would be sunrise soon and it really wasn't all that far. I made it to the station safely, only to see a single car parked outside with a man I didn't recognize leaning up against it. He was staring at me. He was much older than me in his mid-thirties or early forties. His head turned, watching me as I approached the station. I began to pick up my pace a little, crossing to the other side of the street to avoid him as best as I could, but I heard the car door slam and the engine start up. Headlights illuminated me and he turned to drive alongside where I was walking. His window

rolled down. Good morning, Gaijin. He said in Japanese, Gaijin meaning foreigner. Are you walking alone? No, I'm meeting with friends soon. I replied politely. My word, you speak very good Japanese. Where are you going? I started walking faster, pretending not to hear his last question. You're very beautiful. Can I get your phone number? He asked.

I have a boyfriend. It was a lie, but I didn't know what else to say. He then proceeded to drive and I figured he'd given up, but he suddenly pulled his car over just ahead of me before he opened the driver's door and got out. Come on, let's go home together. He repeated a little more vehemently, taking a few steps towards me on the sidewalk. I panicked, immediately sprinting into a nearby park. There were only a handful of entrances and exits, all of which a car could not enter thanks to some well-placed bollards. I pulled out my

phone, immediately calling Shinji. Just my luck though, he didn't answer. He was probably passed out, still drunk on weak Japanese beer. I tried the rest of my group. No one answered. I looked at the next exit just in time to see his car crawl by slowly. He was still searching for me. Trembling in fear, I tried again and again with no success to reach the guys. Just as I was about to cry, my phone lit up dimly with a phone call from Shinji. What's the problem, Jamie-chan? He said jokingly. I'd never been so glad to hear those words.

In a flurry of words I explained to him that I was potentially in serious trouble. Though he didn't say a word the entire time I could practically hear the smile leave his face. In a tone so serious it was almost weird to hear it coming from him he told me to stay where I was and that he was on his way. But I was already 20 minutes walk away and I wasn't sure that I had 20 minutes before the guy parked his car and came to look for me on foot. I looked behind me again, just in time to see him drive by that exit slowly looking through. I don't have time, I'm going to make a break for it, next chance I get. I explained. No! He said. Wait for me. I can run and be there.

But Shinji wasn't a runner, not by any stretch of the imagination. There was absolutely no way he could get there any faster than I could. He started to say something more but my phone suddenly went dark. Dead battery. No turning back now. I waited a few seconds and there he was, right on schedule. He crawled by the exit, then stopped, waiting for a moment to pounce. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear a thumping in my chest. The sun was starting to come up now and he had a better view. It really was, now or never. He slowly moved forward.

I crept out of my hiding spot and moved toward the exit. I poked my head out and saw him turn the corner. I sprinted toward my house and didn't look back. I don't know if he saw me and I was too fast to follow or what but I didn't ever see the guy again. I immediately put my phone in the charger and called the guys back to let them know that I was okay but Shinji never ever let me walk home alone in the dark again. For a long time my father has suffered with major anger issues and has a reputation for being very aggressive. My family had to put up with this until I was nine when my parents finally got a divorce. Naturally mom got full custody which

severely upset my father. He began to obsess over myself and my sister going so far as to tell us that we shouldn't have boyfriends because he was the only man who could ever truly love us that no other boy could ever come close. It was this sort of psychological manipulation that led my mom to file for a divorce in the first place. A bad temper is one thing, he was never particularly violent anyway, but mind games can be one of the cruelest forms of emotional abuse. So my mom had the divorce papers for a good couple of days before she actually put pen to paper. I suppose she wanted to make sure she was making the right decision. Separating kids from their biological fathers can be very bad for them but as you can

imagine these were extenuating circumstances. The final straw was the fact that my father admitted to infidelities. This was bad enough but it was who he did it with that really broke my mom's heart. You see before he married her he was in an extremely toxic relationship with a woman we'll call Cruella DeVille. She earned that nickname from myself and my sister who saw her as all fox fur and garish red lipstick. My father was a full 30 minutes late to divorce court which probably contributed to having his custody rights revoked. Like I said he was very upset by this and apparently had nowhere to go after moving out of our house. According to my mom he moved straight in with Cruella DeVille and started drinking heavily. This caused him to show up at the house a few times,

drunkenly cursing up at my mom's window. It didn't take long for her to file a restraining order against him. This just made him angrier. This is when things get dark. Somehow Cruella Deville convinced my father that they needed to come up with a plan to abduct myself and my little sister. This would secure custody whilst getting back at my mom. We only know this because we live in a small town, everyone knows everyone, and some good Samaritan heard them planning this stuff and reported them to the police. But we didn't actually know that for a little while, not until things had started to escalate in ways that, frankly, terrified us as a family.

It started with cars following us. At first I thought my mom was just being paranoid, the stress of the divorce getting the better of her. But she was right. I too began to notice the same grey sedan outside of my school, following us to the grocery store or parked outside the house at night. It only stopped when my mom caught the driver taking photos of the house on his smartphone. She threatened to call the cops and we never saw that same car again. Cruella DeVille then added me on Facebook and out of curiosity I accepted. I think I was just curious to check out the kind of life she lived, see if I could gather any information on how my dad was. But when I saw a status basically saying, I can't wait until those two babies are mine, referring to me and my sister, I blocked her.

It was horrible thinking that such a terrible woman had designs on us like that. By the time I was 16 and my little sister was 12 my mom granted my father permission to see us every second Saturday. He was great at first. It was lovely to be able to catch up with him but he soon began displaying some scarily possessive tendencies. One such Saturday he proceeded to sit me and my sister down and explain to us for a good half hour how we need to tell him exactly where we are and who we're with at pretty much all hours of the day. This was kind of confusing at first until he explained that he was going to give us each a cell phone to call from and that we were not to tell our mom about the phones. I am so glad I had the presence

of mind to ignore these requests. I knew that there was something fishy about it, that Cruella would be involved somehow. I was right. They were relying on these calls from secret phones to plan our abduction. This whole thing comes to a head one day when me and my sister took a short walk to a corner store near our house. My sister needed to pick something up for school and still being pretty young, my mom demanded that I walk her there and back to ensure her safety. After the car following us and the creepy Facebook statuses, I only happily obliged. So we're at the corner store and I decide to treat us both to an ice cream.

We're gazing into the freezer cabinet at the wondrous array of flavors, arguing playfully about which is the best. Suddenly this rough, burly looking guy appears next to us, smiling at me and my sister. I gave him this awkward smile back, thinking he's just a regular creep, but when when he speaks I know this is something way different. Are you Jerry's kid? He asks. I just nod and wonder who he is. He says you gotta come with me. He's waiting for you. This was a school night, not a Saturday. I knew he was lying. I immediately walk my sister to the store's counter and we paid for

her school supplies then leave without the ice cream we'd been so looking forward to. But outside of the store sat in a beat up old van was Cruella DeVille. She'd made a terrible attempt to disguise herself and I knew it was her and I swear my blood ran cold as the thought of her creepy Facebook status flashed in my mind. I grabbed my sister by the hand before looking over my shoulder. The burly guy was standing behind us now and this time he didn't seem so friendly. I screamed, screamed bloody murder at that creep, telling him to get away from me and my sister. I screamed all these terrible names over and over again pointing at the guy and watching as he started to freak out. People were coming out of the walls to protect me and my sister.

It was such a heartwarming display of humanity. Even this local homeless dude got up from his doorway haunt to tell the guy to leave us alone. He got into the van with Cruella and they sped off down the street as an actual angry mob was forming on the sidewalk. My little sister was crying by the time I recognized one of my mom's work buddies in the crowd. She'd known us for years and was sweet as can be. She drove us home and we called the cops immediately. This story doesn't really have an

ending. My dad is still incredibly weird. He's attending therapy but he manages to behave himself much better during our fortnightly visits. He's been improving steadily since a certain woman is out of his life. You see, I did get a kind of closure from this whole event. Recently, my dad had to cancel a Saturday visitation because he was attending a funeral. It was the funeral of Cruella DeVille. She'd overdosed and apparently she had been pushing this on my father, and he stopped taking it when she died. The difference between him now and then is honestly night and day. I thank God he's getting better, it makes me happy beyond words. But that feeling is kind of bittersweet because it comes with the acknowledgement that I'm actually happy that

this woman is dead. I'm glad she took a little too much and died convulsing on a grubby carpet of some cheap motel Sometimes, I feel like if I had the chance I'd have pushed down the plunger of that spike syringe myself Just to get a chance at having a normal father again This all starts with a football match. In late 2016, Liverpool played Everton in one of the most hotly anticipated local derbies in English football. The rivalries between the two teams is beyond intense, dividing communities and sometimes even families. These matches are always tense affairs and this one was no different. The score remained nil-nil up until the very final minute

of the game when the glorious Sadio Main tapped home a scuffed shot to bring us victory. The pub I was in exploded. I mean almost literally. Beer was flying everywhereitten. Myself and Katie spent a few weeks dating, grabbing pizza and beer, binge watching Netflix, you know the deal. It was a great time and admittedly for the first few weeks she was excellent company. That all changed one afternoon as we were chilling in bed watching the Netflix series 13 Reasons Why. For those that don't know, 13 Reasons Why is a show about a girl who ends her life. Yes, I appreciate there's a little more complexity to the plot, but that's the gist of it. So we're chatting away after one of the episodes

finishes when, naturally, the subject comes up. Now this is something I told her and it's something I'll tell you too. I have absolutely zero sympathy for people who go through with it. My grandfather ended his own life to avoid a lengthy prison sentence for fraud, while a close uncle drank himself to death after our aunt, his wife, passed away. The coroner reported said that he died of liver failure but we knew what it was. A perfectly healthy man going from a glass of wine with dinner to two bottles of vodka a day in the space of three or four months. Yeah, we knew well what the score was there. I miss my grandpa and my uncle but I'm also very angry with them. Through their own short-sightedness,

they turned a personal tragedy into boundless heartache for our entire family. I'd give anything just to walk and talk with one of them again, and they took that chance away from me because they felt trapped by something that would work itself out given the time. In a word, it's selfishness. It's the most selfish act a person can commit. They just check out early and leave everyone else to carry their water. Anyway, I guess I'm a bit jaded, but I give this Katie girl the speech, then watch as tears form in her eyes. I assume she's just sad for me, so I instinctively go to give her a hug to tell her that basically I'm over that stuff, that it's painful, but it's behind me. To my absolute shock

she pushes me away and jumps off the bed. I'm really, really confused at this point. She has this angry look on her face so I decide to keep my mouth shut and wait for whatever she's about to say. Do you have any idea what it feels like to want to go through with that? She says, her voice breaking up. I flat out told her no, that I couldn't imagine being in a position that I would want to give my family its third tragedy in less than ten years. I actually felt like asking her if she'd been listening to a single word I just said. It was almost like she was reacting to a totally different statement. But before I get a chance to ask her, she just storms out, locks herself in the bathroom

and refuses to talk to me. After trying and failing to calm her down I just get my stuff, walk out of her apartment, never to see her in the flesh again. Yeah, you got me. I said in the flesh. So it's obvious this story doesn't end here. Thanks internet. So I hear nothing from Katie for weeks and I'm glad of it. I'm still really angry she reacted in such a way to me putting my heart on my sleeve,

no matter how insensitive it may have seemed. So, when notifications pop up on my phone saying Katie sent a photo or whatever, I'm not best pleased. If it wasn't some sort of apology, I told myself I wouldn't be replying. But life just isn't that simple, is it? The picture message is of an online betting website, displaying a whole load of odds on various football matches being played that week. At the very bottom, in the same font and style as the rest of the lettering, were the words, OP, not telling my real name, to end my life. 35 to 1. I told her to F off, blocked her

number and Facebook, then tried to push her despicable insult to the back of my mind. It wasn't easy, but I just about managed it. A few days later, there's an email in my Gmail inbox from an address I don't recognize. But as soon as I see that it's just a picture file attachment, no words of it, I know who it is. Lo and behold, the picture is the same bedding site screenshot, telling me to end my life, 35 to 1. I don't even bother replying. Obviously, this is going to happen over and over until she's blocked on all forms of social media. So even though I was in the office I spent like a third of my workday working through all my social media from LinkedIn to Twitter finding and blocking this absolute crank from

contacting me. Little side note this meant I fell behind on my workload meaning I had to spend an extra half an hour in the manager's office at the end of the day, getting moaned at relentlessly about the importance of integrity in the face of deadlines. He ended by saying this amounted to a verbal warning. As you can imagine, I left the office in a very, very bad mood. The day only gets worse at this point. I get home to find my flat's door kicked in, like almost booted off the hinges. Raging, I assume it's some local junkie having burgled me senseless, but I find that nothing is missing. Instead, I realize with absolute horror that all of my stuff is either smashed or sliced up. The TV, Xbox, laptop, everything of value that could be easily sold was utterly destroyed.

I get out my phone to call the police, apoplectic that it appears to have been vandals instead of thieving smackheads. Christ, at least junkies would find a good home for my stuff, these idiots just smash the place up. But as I do so, there's a message from an unknown number on my phone. A picture message. I know what you're thinking, and you'd be right. But the only thing that was different from the other bloody messages I got off of that complete psychopath were the odds.

OP'd and his life. 20 to 1. When the police arrived I took a selfie of myself and the officers and sent it to the unknown number along with the fact that I had shared the photoshop betting odds with them too. I assured who I assumed was Katie that if this stuff continued then she'd be spending a long time behind bars, but there was an obvious connection with the break-in and her messages. I don't know to this day if she got her psycho brothers to do it or paid some local thugs or something, as there was no way she did it all that herself.

But the thing that really gets to me is that she didn't know where I lived. Somehow, in between finding my various social media profiles, she had actually managed to find out my home address. Nothing's happened since the police called round and I sent her that selfie of myself and some confused camera shy policemen. But I am still planning on moving. There's no way I'm sticking around here while that woman knows where I live, just waiting for the right time to strike. It was the night of my 18th birthday and I was enjoying my newfound freedom by getting drunk as possible. I'm with my mates at the local Wetherspoons, we've claimed one of the pool tables as our own, and we're having the absolute time of our lives. A couple of tables over there was a group of girls,

two or three of them chatting away as they nurse 2-4-1 cocktails. One of them catches my eye when I look over and she is absolutely gorgeous. Long fiery red hair, bright green eyes, full pink lips. I look away trying to look nonchalant as I take another swig of cider but she keeps on catching my eye. Eventually it's my turn to get another round in so I stroll over to the bar only to notice the gorgeous redhead doing the same. We get to the bar and I let her order before me, earning instant brownie points before I strike up some conversation with her while our drinks are poured. She tells me her name is Janelle. I make some kind of joke about it being an unusual name. She laughs and I'm in. Long story short, we ended up going out for a while, always meeting out somewhere then heading

back to mine. Eventually we drift into actually being a couple and from there we start to do more couple-y things and that's when she started acting weird. She starts arguing with me about every little thing imaginable, from not saying hello in the right way to not holding her hand in public, anything she could turn into a fight she would. Every argument ends the same way. She threatens to dump me, I coax her back, we kiss, everyone's happy. After about two months or so, I start getting really sick of it. I do the decent thing. I take her out for coffee to a cozy little cafe, a public place, tell her in the nicest way I can that we're not working out. At first, everything seems really amicable. She said that she understood and as much as it hurt, if it was the right thing to do then there we are.

But it was a front. She didn't take it well at all. And the way she acted then made her former self seem sane in comparison. The phone calls start. Always from a private number. Always crying. At first to my mobile, then to my home phone. I know she's faking it because if I don't answer the phone, my parents would have a friendly little

chat with her, then hand the phone to me and immediately it's like this torrent of crying and whining as soon as I'm on the line. Then the emails start. Wall of text rants of absolute gibberish along with threats and pleading to take her back. And there are hundreds of them. There'd be days when they'd come every five minutes. My phone buzzing in my pocket almost constantly. I changed my number to try to get rid of her. Got a whole new contract with a different carrier. Changed my email too. That stopped it for a while and that should have been the end of it. Little did I know. I started going online on various forums, games, etc. On one such forum I struck up a friendship with a girl on there. We had a great time chatting and whatever and we had so much in common it was completely insane. Not only were we into the same things but she was this utterly stunning little brunette, like a proper English rose. Anyway,

eventually we basically started dating online, having little Skype chats for hours. Things started out well but over time she got a bit too clingy for my liking. She'd ask where I'd been if I was a minute late or got jealous if she'd seen a picture of me on Facebook with another girl. She got upset at the slightest thing or angry if I mentioned another girl's name. Even if it was, oh Maria said she liked my work when Maria was the lecturer for my course. Eventually I got fed up, dumped her and we had a nice clean break. I avoided those forums, changed my Skype and that was that. Not learning my lesson at all,

I went on different forums, found another girl and got to know her too. This was a tan blonde, all breasts and legs and incredibly sexy Australian accent. She liked most of the same things I did, with enough difference that we could teach other how to do things, how to appreciate things, how to like things. She was laid back too. Compared to the latest ex, she was a breath of fresh air. If I got on Skype half an hour later than I'd said I would, she was cool with it. Eventually, I talked of meeting her. Though it was a long way from England to Sydney and expensive as anything, I was willing to fly to meet her because I wanted to see her face to face,

to see the places she told me about, to go to the clubs and bars and restaurants she told me she loved. I wanted to hold her in my arms and kiss her and actually have a proper girlfriend again. She immediately broke up with me, saying I'd only be disappointed with the reality. Then came the latest girl. She was American, brunette, something of a rock chick, completely different to my usual kind of girl. We met on some chat site I used when I was bored, got talking, swapped details, etc. She introduced me to a ton of music I'd never even considered listening to and I did the same for her. If I complained about something, she told me to man up.

If I turned up late, she told me it was fine because time is something the man makes us believe in. She was the coolest girl I'd ever known. Again we dated on Skype, again we talked about meeting, again she broke up with me, saying that it had all just been in fun or whatever. It was cool, it was amicable and fine and that was that. All this happened over a couple of years with me being with each girl anywhere between four and six months and my between times being made one to three months. I was a quick worker and all about the rebound. Anyway, I came back to my hometown for the holiday. I was wandering along the road when who should I see but Janelle of all people. Rather

than avoiding her I carried on walking. She came up to me, said she had something to tell me and we needed to talk, desperately. I made all kinds of excuses but each one she batted aside until she wore me down. We went to the pub and she told me something that basically terrified me. She hadn't wanted to give up on me, so she used what she knew of me to find places I'd go online. She made different accounts, lots of different accounts, in the hopes that she'd find me so she could talk to me and try and win me back. Except she'd make fake accounts, so I wouldn't immediately ignore her. See where this is going? Yup.

Every one of the girls I had dated had been her. Using pictures of friends, using fake accents, pretending to not know things she knew. She'd follow me across at least a dozen different websites, stalk me across hundreds of posts and threads, and all the time had me believe I was talking to a completely different people. I didn't date anyone for a couple of years after that. I don't know whatever came of her. After that she sort of disappeared from my life and I haven't seen her since. I went out briefly with a couple of other girls but only ones I'd met face to face who didn't look anything like her at all.

I don't know if she still follows me about online or if she does if she knows about this account but if you're looking at this. Hi, Janelle. The following is taken from a Reddit comment left by a deleted username on a post from a young lady who is suffering at the hands of a stalker. Stalker, such an ugly word. By definition, it suggests stealth, a threat, something ominous. But I just wanted to be noticed. There are so many beautiful girls out there. I see them every day, but they don't see me. I want them to see me. I think you should be grateful that this person has chosen to only pursue you online. They're not trying to be threatening or trying to scare you, they're simply trying to gain your attention. The attention you so wantonly squander on brain-dead drooling chads who want nothing more

than parts of you. People like us are different. We want all of you. Every. Single. Piece. I prefer the word passionate to stalker. I mean, can you not see how much passion this person has, how much time and effort they've taken to finding you on all of your social media? You should be flattered. Not complaining to a bunch of other Stacys on Reddit how fortunate you are to receive such attention. But I do feel like he's made a few mistakes in his approach. I've pursued a handful of girls over the past few years, admittedly to no avail. But the thing I learned was that a guy should learn to take joy on the subtle things. Just knowing where

your potential soulmate is at any one time, learning and mapping out her schedule so you can be there at a special moment in her day, all the while she's totally unaware of your presence. Things like that make you feel smart. They're a rush. He's also making no attempt to mask what he's doing. Reaching out using his own personal social media profiles is a huge mistake. If I could, I'd recommend creating a fake business page that suits her interests. Pad the page out with fake posts. Maybe pay one of those Chinese like farms a few hundred dollars to make the page look even more legit. Then boom, once she's liked it, you break past her privacy wall and can view all of her posts. All those little check-ins, photos of friends and family, it's so nice to get to know your girl's parents before you meet them. That kind of thing impresses a girl.

Another good way to gain access to your girl's possessions is to fake a burglary or break-in. Now, this is very risky, but if she happens to live in the inner city, this is definitely a feasible manner of approach. The cops already have a list of usual suspects they're going to turn to. Why on earth would they suspect a mid-twenties community college student who lives in his mom's basement like ten miles away? They won't. Not unless you've contacted her with your own social media, that poor, desperate fool. If he hadn't been so rash, he could have smashed his way into your apartment while you were at work. The rougher the better. Junkies don't do lockpicks. Grabbed a few electrical items to mask the scent, then helped himself to a fistful of your dirty panties. Trust me, a few pairs of underwear go missing doesn't even register when your $1500 MacBook is missing. And how often do

you lose underwear? Yeah, that's what I thought. I feel like one of the more upsetting things about this post is that the guy is out to hurt you or something. He's obviously smitten with you. Why would he hurt something he clearly loves? I mean, occasionally I feel like if I can't have someone, no one should. But rarely do our kind act on such urges. They're mostly born out of frustration. Like have you ever even tried talking to this guy, asking him to stop? From what I understand the only communication you had was when you were very rude to him, and I don't think this is the kind of situation that you want to escalate so that your pursuer is angry or contemptuous. Like I said, you should be grateful such a

passionate person is reaching out to you. We're passionate, not monsters, not by any stretch of the imagination. One time when I got a little too excited to see one of my girls walking home alone at night, I might have rushed after her so I could catch up to say hello. Obviously, this wasn't a brilliant idea, and she got so, so scared. But I'm not the kind of guy to give up easily. Not when such a fruitful opportunity presents itself, so I kept running, following her into a dark piece of parkland. She shouldn't have been wearing such silly footwear. Heels are definitely not designed to run in. So when she tripped and landed in the dirt with a horrible thud,

I couldn't help but laugh. I know, hardly gentlemanly of me, but the way she fell and twisted her ankle was just hilarious, like something out of a bad horror movie. When I approached her, I was too out of breath to really say anything, just stood over her, admiring how pretty she looked in the moonlight. She was crying, but it didn't bother me. Nothing could have ruined that moment for me. Nothing. I kneeled down to, I don't know, hold her or something. Comfort her in that moment of pain but she begged. She pleaded with me. Please don't. And that's all she needed to say. Please. I'm not a monster. I didn't want to scare her. Even if it was so funny. One little please and I left her alone.

I even called her an ambulance as her ankle was askew at this really gross angle, but not before I took a little kiss as a thank you. So please, rethink your approach to this situation and ask yourself, if you were in this guy's position, lonely, ignored, requiring attention, would you be acting any different? No, you wouldn't. You'd be desperate not to spend your time on Earth alone and end up some used up old spinster with a herd of cats and a dried up snatch. So maybe give this guy a chance. It might be your only option. After all, if he's doing his job properly and he's able to see this post, he might be your only option. After all, if he's doing his job properly, and he's able to see this post,

he might be very, very angry indeed. Of all the new mediums of entertainment to come out of the digital age, streaming has to be the most interesting. Raw, candid footage is beamed all around the world while faceless strangers tune in to watch anything from cooking tutorials to gaming sessions, and even some seedier content. This has caused a cosmic shift in how younger people consume media. Traditional forms of entertainment, be it movies or TV shows, are being increasingly neglected in favor of content that provides a considerably more interactive experience. What's more, viewers can contribute financially to their favorite streamers, giving a sense of purpose, belonging, and community that aforementioned media mediums simply cannot offer. For example, streamers who play video games online often invite certain viewers to join

them in their favorite game, even further breaking down the barriers between creator and consumer. The benefits and rewards are obvious. Some streamers who began streaming games like Players Unknown Battlegrounds or Fortnite just a few years ago in their mom's basement are now self-made multi-millionaires thanks to advertising revenue, sponsorship deals, and subscriber fees. But little is spoken of the negative aspects of putting one's personal life on public display. While the relationship between creators and consumers is mostly a healthy one, there comes occasions where the boundaries of that relationship are crossed, when admiration and affection become

obsession and possessiveness, and this is the story of Bianca Devins. Bianca Michelle Devins was born in 2002 in Utica, New York and grew up there with her stepmother Kaylee and sister Olivia. By the time she is 17 she is a petite pretty young lady with dark brown hair and eyes so dark they're almost black. She loves fashion, Chinese food and any movie starring Brad Pitt. An interest in fashion led Devins to the photography app Instagram and naturally it wasn't long before the teenager was taking pictures of herself and posting them to Instagram, earning herself over 100,000 followers. Her niche seemed to be the pastel pink hair dye and anime uwu chick that Instagram seemed to find irresistible,

and Devin soon branched out into other corners of the internet such as 4chan and Discord. This is supposedly where she met Brandon Clark. Despite a claim from the sister Olivia that Brandon Clark was a friend of the family, Devon's repeatedly referred to Clark as her internet boyfriend, and sources insist that they had only met a handful of times. What's clear though is that Brandon Clark was under the impression that he and Bianca were dating exclusively, and was heartbroken to discover that Bianca did not share his devotion. In his heartbreak, Clark began spying on Devins, tracking her down in public, creating embarrassing spectacles of himself by begging for her return.

In her Discord server, using the name Oxy, Bianca posts cryptic, caveated apologies for hurting those close to her as a result of her own selfishness. It is widely believed that this is referring to the breakdown of her relationship with Clark. Subsequent, unconfirmed rumors began to circulate that Devin was increasingly dabbling in hard drugs and BDSM, and was selling nude photographs of herself to fund her new habit. Perhaps most disturbingly, there are reports that Devin's recorded an illicit tape with a member of her Discord server. The footage spread like wildfire online, message boards, and forums, but due to her being a minor at the time of filming, the New York State Police intervene and her online presence diminished considerably as a result.

After a brief online silence, Devins broke the news that she and Brandon Clark would be attending a concert by Canadian singer Nicole Dollinganger. The concert would take place in their hometown of Utica, so on the night of the performance, Clark picked up Devens in his SUV and drove her to the show. Clark can be forgiven for thinking that this was some kind of date night, two young lovers attending a performance of ethereal, romantic pop music together, but again, this was simply not what Devens had in mind. Messages on her Discord server revealed that whilst attending the concert, Devins met up with another, different boy, reportedly holding hands and kissing him in full view of Brandon Clark.

However, the interaction didn't end there. The trio returned to Clark's SUV to smoke cannabis, with Devins sitting in the back seat with her new boy, sending a clear message to Clark. This must have been objectively humiliating for someone who was surely already feeling insecure about the rekindling of the romance, but what happened next is almost unthinkable. The next day, when Bianca Devon's failed to return home, her stepmother began to worry. She called around Bianca's friends, but none had heard from her or Clark since the previous night. It's about then that Devins' stepmother called the Utica Police Department to report Bianca missing.

Yet, around the same time that these phone calls are taking place, an Instagram account with the username YesJuliet posts a teaser of a new Little Peep album that they supposedly have exclusive information on. Hype begins to build in the year and a half since the musician's accidental overdosing interest in him has skyrocketed, but the following posts do not concern a new record. Yes Juliet is the Instagram account of Brandon Clark and the photographs he is about to upload will horrify all that see them. The first is the body of a young woman who bears a strong resemblance to Bianca Devins. She has the same dark eyes, the same sculpted nose, the same messy brunette hair. As she lies in the passenger seat of an indistinguishable vehicle, blood is soaked into her clothes, red flecks of it plastering her lifeless facial features. She has a huge, jagged slice in her throat. The picture is immediately shared to Discord where some users simply cannot believe what they are seeing. The body is in such a horrendous state

that many fail to recognize their teenage idol, saying the resemblance to Devon's is a strong one but that it simply cannot be her. Try to reverse image search on this, found nothing. Who is this girl OP? Another person asks. The next photo shows a green tarp on the floor of a forest, the clear shape of a lifeless corpse underneath it. The caption reads, I'm sorry Bianca. But this is somehow still not the most traumatic of all the photos. The next takes that title easily. Brandon Clark proceeds to upload a photograph of himself, his head resting on the covered dead body of his former lover. He has cut his own throat. His lips are pursed with pain, the color draining from his face,

the wound to the left side of his neck, the same side as the fatal wound that Bianca suffered at his very own hands. Ashes to ashes, reads the caption. Little is known about the investigation other than that Brandon Clark has been charged with her murder. How he came to survive this attempt is open to speculation. Perhaps a jogger or dog walker came across the grisly scene and called for medical help, or perhaps Brandon Clark is more cowardly than he is dastardly and called for his own ambulance. He was, after all, posting pictures of himself in his dying moments via smartphone. It's no great leap of the imagination that he was simply afraid

to die and hit 911 himself. Bianca Devins lived her life online, and no doubt it enriched her life for a while. But in the end, the exposure she sought was ultimately her demise. There is no doubt that Brandon Clark was an evil, cowardly, obsessive person who was entirely to blame for Bianca's death. But there is also no doubt that his malevolent ways were exacerbated by a life lived in the public eye. But regardless, the lifestyle Bianca chose to lead did not warrant the kind of violent death she suffered. What happened was an avoidable tragedy, a callous crime committed by a cretinous coward. May Bianca Michelle Devins rest in peace. It all started with a Reddit comment. I saw a Change My View post about trans pronouns that advocated the use of unconventional pronouns such as zim or zur.

I've always thought this was the height of silliness. I'm not anti-trans by any stretch of the imagination, but inventing sci-fi sounding pronouns for an already isolated section of society is no way to solve the problem of inclusion. So I simply stated as such. I don't believe my comment was offensive or inflammatory. I made it clear I sympathized with anyone in the grip of an identity crisis. After all, even the ancient Grecian philosopher Thales said that the most difficult thing in life

is to know oneself. But as you can imagine, after a few odd upvotes, the post was brigaded by various left-wing subreddits as vote manipulation and abusive responses sent the comments section into chaos. Nothing new to Reddit, I'm sure many of you will understand, but I wasn't expecting the personal messages to start appearing in my inbox, messages that mentioned the writer wanting me to die in a fire, for my mom to get bone cancer, and other such creative put-downs. I was dismayed sure but I just blocked the users and carried on with my day. The next morning when I arrived into work I was immediately called into a meeting with our office manager. I didn't suspect a thing. Morning meetings were hardly a rarity so I was relaxed as could be when I strolled into his office and took a seat. But when I saw the

look on his face, I knew something serious was afoot. He was nervous, which wasn't like him at all. In his hands were a few sheets of printer paper. He starts asking me if I have anything I'd like to share with him, that old routine. And in the politest way possible, I asked him to cut it out and tell me what the issue was. I had hit all my monthly deadlines, my client review was the best in our region, I had nothing to hide and nothing to be afraid of. Or so I thought. He put the sheets of paper down in front of me, the letterhead bore the logo of our country police force. I read with absolute

disbelief how it stated that I was subject to an investigation pertaining to a trafficking ring that was targeting deaf children around the state. I tried to explain that there had to be some kind of mistake, that there was no way these documents were real or if they were, that it had to be someone who shared my name. I received no contact from local law enforcement and all it would take were a few phone calls on management's parts to confirm this. But the more desperate I got, the less my manager seemed to believe me. He seemed genuinely sorry to have to do it but he told me I would be suspended from work on full pay until the situation resolved itself. I couldn't believe it. I just sat there, numb, as he apologized and asked me to vacate the building before lunchtime.

I was still in shock as I drove home, unable to quite compute just what had gone down that morning. Yet I remained confident that the situation would blow over once the company discovered just how grave an error had been made. When I reached the neighborhood my apartment was located in I noticed a large pickup parked outside my building, one I'd never seen before. Any other day I'd have just ignored it but something about this particular day told me to expect the unexpected. Bad things do come in threes, after all. I wasn't wrong. Hey! Hey, you!

An angry, grizzled voice came as I was halfway to the door of my apartment. You think it real funny, huh? Excuse me? You think it's funny to make jokes about a woman's terminal illness? Wait, what? No! Who? But then it clicked. This was another case of mistaken identity. It had to be.

I started to explain that this was some kind of mistake and that I'd never seen him before in my life, and that there was no way I'd ever make some obnoxious comments about fatal illnesses. The punch hit me before I could even react. I'd never been a fighter, I wasn't even remotely athletic, so when I saw the guy's fist flying through the air in an almost cartoonish slow motion, I just froze. The next thing I knew was coming to on the steps of my apartment building as this pickup truck owning tough guy was still barking obscenities at me. My ears were ringing. I could taste blood in my mouth. I felt so dizzy I was nauseous but something the guy said brought me out of it in an instant. You think you can run your mouth just because you got a reddit account?

Not so anonymous now huh? I was too winded to respond. Those words echoed around my skull. Reddit. My reddit account. Suddenly the penny dropped. After the guy drove off I dragged myself up from the concrete hobbling up the stairs into my apartment and over to my laptop. It was my post history. I realized in horror that there was a lot of personal detail in my post history. Nothing concrete, but it wouldn't take someone a whole lot to piece together certain snippets of information to gain a rough picture of who I was. It seemed someone had done just that. There was no other explanation,

and in a flurry of clicks I deleted all the posts and comments that someone could use to glean information on me. The bad, unexpected things stopped happening after a few days. The final straw was when someone spray-painted transphobe on the door of my apartment in bright yellow lettering. It was only then that I truly realized what was going on. Some absolute psycho had seen my comment on the trans pronoun question and decided to dox me. I'm still not 100% sure how they managed to, or the extent of the doxing, but I know things started to calm down once I moved apartments and cleared my name with the local police.

I suppose the lesson from all of this is to be very, very careful just what information you release online. There are some very unsavory people out there who, despite their claim of moral superiority, are nothing more than hateful, spiteful stalkers. This happened to me two to three years ago. I was around 23 at the time. I'm a female and I live in Romania. One night I was coming home from class. Master.

Classes after 6pm and end at 10pm. At around 11pm. I had to take the subway for about 12 stops. The destination I had to get off at was at the end of the line for the subway. At the time there wouldn't be many people in the subway. I'm a pretty lonely person. All I need is my headset and my music and I'm good to go. Said and done I plug in my music, pick the furthest chair in the subway away from the only two people that were taking the subway with me at that time. So far so good. Until I see, with the corner of my eye, a silhouette approach me and sit right next to me. It was a man, fairly built, dark hair,

wearing glasses, a black shirt with a black hoodie and a sickening smile. He doesn't engage in talking with me but would just stare at my phone as I would browse through my music. I can hear him breathing heavily, not like painfully but still like he was feeling something very strong. I feel uneasy so I decide to change my seat and go even further behind, trying to avoid him without looking like a freak myself. I don't know to whom, there was just another person with us the whole way. I guess that scared me even more. I pick a new chair, sit down, pluck my headset again and proceed with the remaining stops on my way home. I see the silhouette growing bigger and bigger and a breeze running on my skin as I realize the guy is again sitting right next to me, glancing in mid

air. Dead eyes, a big smile, staring right into my phone. I panic. There are still four stops to go. I have nowhere to hide. I look after the other person in the subway trying to sit next to her thinking that strength comes in numbers. She is no longer there. I start shaking a bit but not allowing the creeper to notice me being vulnerable. I stand up, go to the door and just decide to stand until my stop comes. This way he won't sit next to me, right? Wrong. He comes straight after me, sits on my chair right near the door and because he couldn't see my phone, on which he was so focused so far from that angle, he fixates on me right in my soul with his black dead eyes and says, Hi gorgeous, why are you avoiding me?

I'm freaking out as I look at my phone trying to call my boyfriend or message him and he stops me by saying, I know no one will help you, you would have sent an SOS message by now and I know you didn't. That moment that I realize I'm cornered, he's been focusing on my phone to see who I was talking to, trying to figure out if I panic, trying to see if I would ask someone for help. He cornered me bad. I had the luck to reach my stop as I would delay any reaction or ignore him so that he would repeat whatever he wanted to say. I drop off and run for the exit, not looking back. I get out at the surface and I don't see him anymore. At this moment I put my phone in my purse and realize I had pepper spray with me all along. My heartbeat comes back to normal as I know I at least have something to defend myself with but still a long way to get home and who knows if he is alone

or not. I walk rather fast for maybe five minutes from the metro and feel a hand grab my wrist hard pulling me back. Another hand covering my mouth disabling me from screaming my lungs out. It was him. The same black hoodie, dark eyes and dead eyes stalker. He was furious and said, Running from me? How dare you run away from me? You should be honored I give you attention. No, I'm fairly built for a woman. 80 kilograms and 1.75 meters tall, so I guess he thought men don't find me beautiful or something and should feel blessed a creep like him stalks me and tries to hurt me. Now my phone is in my bag. I can't call the police. I can't reach for the pepper spray. I panic. I can't punch him in the

crotch. I can't scratch him as I don't have long nails. His hand is still on my mouth. What do I do? I did the most desperate and disgusting thing I could think of just to save my life. I played along. I used my other hand to touch the inside of his thigh and mumble, I'm sorry, while his hand was on my mouth. He took his hand off my mouth and I repeated that I'm sorry. I didn't realize he was just flirting. He left his guard down and took his hand off my wrist. He asked me for my phone number and address to drop me off, but I refused, saying I'd rather add him on Facebook, and he agreed.

I told him I'd reach reach for my phone but instead picked up the pepper spray and got him sprayed all over his face. Made sure I'd cover both eyes, nose, mouth, even his ears and hands. He was instantly all red, suffocating from the pepper and swelling. I called the police, told them what happened and what I did. They asked me if he is immobilized and I said yes as the effect wears off in 45 minutes. The police arrived there 5 minutes later to see me shaking like a leaf and a man on the ground, swollen like a pumpkin, throwing up and swearing at me between gasps of breath. He was arrested and the police told me they had been looking for him for the past week as they discovered the body of a 24 year old woman in his apartment.

A fairly built lady, 1.77 meters tall, 75 kilograms, red hair. I have red hair too. The woman was his girlfriend and ever since he's never gotten back to the apartment. I don't know what he wanted to do with me. I can understand why he targeted me due to the similarities, but... Stranger in the subway stalking women at midnight, trying to befriend them, or even worse. I hope to God you never, ever get out of jail. This story happened when I was 12 years old. I'm a female and 25.

The story I'm about to tell you might not be as scary to most, but for me and my parents it was. I remember it was a Saturday night around 9 or 10 p.m during the summertime. I owned one dog at the time, his name was Benny. My parents decided that night that they feel like going for a walk around the block, walking Benny and asked me whether I wanted to join them. I said no because I wanted to play PWI on my PC, Perfect World International. My parents were okay with leaving me alone since the walk wouldn't take longer than 30 minutes tops. As my parents would get dressed to leave the house I logged in PWI and looked around in my guild and global chat to see if anyone was on. For some reason no one was so I decided to join my parents. I get dressed, I put Benny on his leash and we all leave. I'd like to mention that I lived in

an apartment building that had 10 floors and we lived on the very first floor. Not sure how to explain but you have the basement of the building and then the first row of apartments. Basically you enter the building and are already facing apartments. I lived on the very first one. I remember always hating that because whoever would pass by our door we would hear them at any time of the day or night. Whoever was lurking at night we would hear them. It was somewhat eerie to live on floor zero. We leave the house, my dad closes the door. We had three keyholes and a steel bar that would lock the door from the inside. The bar covered half of the door. Precautions were my father's obsession. We exit the building and enjoy our walk. After 15 minutes we realize the wind has

changed from warm summer wind to incoming storm wind. My mom makes the call to go back home as Benny already did all his duties so we all return. We open the building door, climb the five stairs to our door and attempt to open it and my father does the following. Unlocks the first three locks and then attempts to unlock the metal bar that holds the door locked. At that moment my father pauses, turns around at us with the most serious face I've ever seen on him and whispers us to call the police and ring the neighbor's door. My mom goes to the second apartment and the neighbor, who I'll call Ted, comes out asking my father what happened. My dad whispered to him

covering the see-through hole of the door, someone's in our house. He or they are holding the door. Please stay here with my family and I'll attempt to open it. I'll be back. After saying that I see my father rush all by himself around the building in the dark. I say dark because we didn't have a street light on the side of the apartment facing the block garden. My dad disappeared into the darkness. I go outside too not following him too much but only to hear if he's in trouble. He's my dad, don't judge me.

As soon as I get out I hear him shout, Hey you! Come back! Who do you think you are? I called the police. At the same time I hear him shout, I look at Ted who manages to open the door and enter the house. I go after them and enter my house. It no longer felt like my house. In just 15 minutes, while we were walking, the home invaders made a complete mess of our place. All our shelves and wardrobes were pulled out. Our clothes scattered all over the house.

Benny's dry food was all over the floor, indicating they must have tripped in his bowl, probably not knowing we owned a dog. But what scared me most was how organized they were. I say they because after seeing the disaster that was left behind, we knew it was impossible for just one person to hold the door, steal, and organize what they would want to take with them. I say organized because the thieves put in our living room all packed and ready what they wanted, but couldn't steal. On the couch they placed our laptops, one of our TVs, my father's collection of coins, our phones, chargers, wallets, and even my father's camera. He's a photographer and that

week he had to attend a wedding. They didn't have enough time to steal all of that so they just settled with some of my mom's jewelry and some pocket money. After seeing this and my silly child mind, I rushed to my room to check my piggy bank. I always saved up money from whatever chores I did. It wasn't much, but it was my work and savings and at the time I thought they stole it too. When I entered my room, I see the metal bars covering my windows are cut open and my window broken. This is how they entered, through my room. My room is the only room facing the side of the building and the one most secluded from view. Needless to say, I never felt safe in my own room in which I had to live for the next 10 years of my life until I moved in with my fiancé. The police arrive, they start throwing white dust,

I have no idea what that is still to this day, all over our house to find fingerprints. They take pictures, take our statements, analyze my room and window. They were unable to catch the home invaders but were able to tell us that this invasion was not the only one in our neighborhood. During that month, another four houses were broken into, one of them being the home of a cop, not related to the cops at our home. They told us that the invaders analyzed their victims, learned their schedule, even knew where their children's rooms were as they seemed to be entering the house through the children's windows. All the families affected by them had children.

They did not expect us to be back that soon and panicked. Hence, one of them was holding the door with his body so that the others could flee. The person after which my dad was shouting was probably the one holding the door and escaping last through my broken window. I don't know what could have happened if I didn't change my mind and give up on raiding for gears and PWI. I would probably have come face to face with these invaders. I'm happy I didn't and I hope to god I never meet them. Ever. My uncle is considered to be an explorer in my family. He loves to travel, so much that he'll venture to the strangest or most dangerous countries in order to fulfill his very long bucket list. So in 1991, after the Soviet Union fell and travel restrictions began to dissolve,

he jumped at the chance to go. He used all of the money he'd been saving, as well as some sophomore year college funds, to be able to buy the plane ticket, despite the disapproval of his mother. Knowing she couldn't stop him from going, she bought him a special pouch which was able to hold his passport, money, and other important documentation. The reason she liked this pouch so much is because it was supposed to be placed under the clothing, specifically below belt area of the individual's jeans. This made it so the person could hide important items to deter pickpocketing or overall theft. He disliked the pouch, insisting he would use his small backpack

with an assortment of travel items, saying it would be much better than a hidden pouch. So after much arguing, he hesitantly took the pouch with him. This becomes important later in the story. When he arrived at the Domo de Dovo Moscow airport, he noticed he was attracting some very disgruntled, mean glares from some of the people around him. He also noticed that anytime an official would check his passport, they would always look at him like he was crazy for visiting. After going through various customs and random checks, he finally was released into the city, making sure to store his passport in the pouch he so reluctantly took. After exploring Moscow for the rest of the day he finally made it to the small dainty

looking hotel, describing it as, if there were strong winds this place could have easily fallen over. After checking in he decided he wanted the savory taste of Russian vodka, so he sat at the small hotel bar asking for a drink in very bad Russian. As the bartender poured his vodka, a well-dressed man, one seat over, looked at my uncle up and down with curiosity and then laughed. Need to work on your Russian, mate. This man clearly had an Australian accent. My uncle looked at him with excitement and surprise. This man was the first person he's met that spoke perfect English and didn't give a nasty glare.

You're from Australia, I take it? The man looked at his drink. That's right. Bloody glad I am. I have to say, you got balls coming here. He chuckled. I don't like Americans very much. My uncle of course knew this. Russians and Americans did not get along quite well, especially after the Soviet Union fell, but that didn't stop my uncle from traveling to Russia. Do they glare at you? My uncle asked. The man looked at him and smiled. Not at all. Once they hear my accent, they go back to whatever they're doing. The man picked up his drink, swirling it a little, then asked, I'm assuming you've heard a Canadian accent before? Puzzled, my uncle responded with the affirmative. The man finished his drink with a gulp and set the glass cup on the table.

I highly suggest you start using a Canadian accent from now on. You just scream fresh meat with your American accent. The man got up from his seat and sighed. My name's Bryce, by the way. I'll be around. Hopefully we will meet again. Bryce then picked up his belongings and headed towards one of the elevators. My uncle thanked him for the advice and finished his drink as well.

While getting up, he noticed the bartender staring at him blankly. My uncle found this odd but shook it off since everyone was giving him looks. He headed for his room and went to bed. When he woke up, the first thing he noticed was the window to his room was cracked. So cracked that if he put a little pressure on the glass, it would have shattered. This freaked him out enough to take all of his stuff with him for the day, leaving nothing behind. My uncle finally ventured out for the day and wanted to visit a museum nearby. One of the hotel staff suggested for him to take a shortcut through an alleyway instead of walking the main city streets since it takes less time.

While walking he heard footsteps behind him but it didn't sound like it was just one person walking, it sounded like multiple. My uncle decided to discreetly look behind him, as he didn't want to be rude as a foreigner. He saw four men walking behind him, keeping a short distance. Three of the men were much bigger than him, but one of them was much smaller and looked familiar. The largest man was bald, the other large man was obtuse, the third largest wore a bright red hat, and the smallest, well, the only distinguishing feature was that he was small. Zin! One of them yelled at him in a very deep slurred voice. This startled my uncle as the voice sounded so hostile. However, he didn't understand what it meant so he continued to walk speeding up his pace. The man continued to scream this in a hostile manner, very slurred and

sometimes incomprehensible. My uncle realized that this man was most likely drunk and if he was drunk, the probability of all four of them being drunk was also very high. When making this conclusion, my uncle decided he needed to get out of that alleyway immediately as he did not want to speak with the group of large drunk men. Before he could look back again to see how far behind they were, he felt a strong painful grip on his shoulder, and before he knew it, he was thrown against the wall. Disoriented from the impact, he attempted to get back on his feet quickly in order to try to escape the situation. The largest man grabbed his shirt collar and lifted him up, pinning him on the wall. This man looked very angry and stunk of alcohol, similar to the other three men that surrounded him, the smaller one holding a large bottle of booze. When he looked at the smaller one, that's when it hit him. It was

the bartender from last night. The one gripping his shirt collar moved closer to his face and slurred, Look at me when I'm talking to you. Terrified, my uncle stared at him. The obtuse man looked my uncle up and down an inch closer. He smelled like burnt cigarettes mixed with a strong alcohol odor. I like your backpack, comrade, the man garbled. Where did you get it? Great, my uncle thought. I'm going to be robbed. The largest man tightened his grip and pushed him harder into the wall and screamed,

Answer him when he's talking to you. In the best Canadian accent my uncle could conjure up, he stammered, Oh, this, oh, I got it as a gift from my mom. He was shaking at this point. He was so scared. Canadian, are you? The man with the bright red hat asked. He leaned forward and sniffed my uncle. I'm surprised you don't smell like maple. All of them laughed at the joke. My uncle stayed silent, proceeding to look at the bartender for help. The bartender, who seemed to be the most drunk out of everyone, pointed at him and shouted,

I don't believe you. You're an American, aren't you? I know it, you liar. I heard you before. You're not a Canadian. I know you're American, you freaking liar. No, no. The obtuse slurred, looking at the bartender. His passport. Look at his passport. Then he looked at my uncle's backpack. The larger man holding him pulled him forward with tight grip. While doing so, the obtuse man ripped the backpack off my uncle's shoulders. Afterward, the large man threw him against the wall, harder than the first time. My uncle's head was throbbing at this point.

The men started to angrily search his bag, throwing his clothes and other necessities on the wet, icy concrete, ruining most of my uncle's belongings. Where is it? The man with the red hat roared. The passport! Where's the passport? My uncle continued to speak with a Canadian accent.

It should be in there, I swear. The bartender broke the bottle of alcohol on the wall, spraying the liquid everywhere. He held the sharp, broken end of the bottle close to my uncle, saying, Say you're an American. Say it. I know you're lying. Say it. My uncle just stared at the sharp edges of the bottle. What was he supposed to say? He stood there, frozen in fear. Before the bartender could scream any more absurdities, all of them heard someone scream.

Oi! The five of them, including my uncle, turned towards the owner of the voice. It was Bryce. The largest man stood up tall, clearly towering over Bryce. You don't know who you're messing with, comrade. Bryce laughed. All of them, except the largest man, stared at him with awe. Even my uncle was dumbfounded. Who would laugh at someone clearly more threatening? Bryce looked at the large man and said it. You're right, mate. I don't.

He pulled his coat back, revealing a gun. The larger man put his hands up and started to back up, the others following their leaders. You might find it in your best interest to leave. The four men just stood there frozen, all keeping their sights fixed on the gun. Bryce's facial expression changed as he looked at all four of them with a stone cold expression now all of them pivoted and quickly sped walked away the obtuse one still carrying the backpack once they were out of sight Bryce quickly ran over to my uncle and proceeded to pick up all of the items and put them in a pile he then held out his hand and lifted my uncle from the alcohol stained wall. So tell me, Bryce met my uncle's surprised stare. Really? Where's your passport?

My uncle shakily took out the small travel pouch his mother bought him, unzipped, and showed a small corner of his American passport. Ah, Bryce smiled and began to laugh. That thing may have just saved your life. I would say that I live in one of the most unsafe cities in the US, that being Chicago. Although the south side where I live has a lot of crime, I live in a community that consists of a lot of police officers and firemen, so I have the luxury of not being constantly concerned for my safety. From time to time people wander in from the surrounding less safe neighborhoods to rob or rough up some kids but it is far and few between. For reference, I live in a really small house that I rent. I'm a 21 year old female along with my two younger sisters and my mom live here alone. Occasionally I will have my boyfriend over but it is rare that

men enter our house and we have a dog. Around April my mom tells me that her and my sister saw a man walking up and down the block with a black hood up and I should be on the lookout. My mom grew up in one of the bad neighborhoods of Chicago and as a result she is often paranoid about dumb stuff so I just ignored it. The next day I pull up to the front of my house and I see a man in a black hood standing next to my neighbor's garbage cans. I can't see his face but he has a bigger build and around an average height. He had a bag with him and you can tell he was just trying to seem normal. As soon as I saw him I got a huge sinking feeling in my stomach and I felt nervous. Luckily my boyfriend was with me and he started to briskly walk away as we were exiting the car.

I tell my mom and she gets more freaked out. In this rush to leave, this man left the bag that he had with him. As I look inside, I could see a bunch of snacks, some half-eaten and some unopened. This creeped me out. What was this guy doing? Eating snacks and watching my family? Fast forward a couple of hours and it's dark now. My mom is thoroughly paranoid so she keeps looking out the window to make sure that this guy isn't creeping around anymore. At about 8 I hear her scream for my boyfriend and I to look out the window. We come running over and look out to see the black hood guy across the street staring directly at our house. He has his hands deep in his pockets and he is clearly looking

into the house. My mom calls 311, the non-emergency number to report it. As the cops pull up, the man walks fast down the alley. I figured that an innocent person would just stay and talk to police. The fact that he keeps hiding his face and running when people see him has now sufficiently scared me. As the night goes on we continue to see this man walking or staring into our house. We keep calling the police to report it and every time they show up he evades their questioning by walking or running away. This goes on until 2am and the police eventually tell us they'll keep circling. The next day we see the man walking around our house again and staring into it.

At some point the neighbors start to notice too and they call the police as well. After a week of this guy, he eventually stopped coming around. I'm so thankful for my neighbors who made him feel watched and therefore leave. Now I'm always worried when I come home late at night or that he may be following me. After all, the hood prevented me from seeing his face. For all I know, he might be following me in the public and I have no idea. All I can say is that he has definitely made me hyper aware of my surroundings. I am Indian and I have been living in the capital city of Delhi for 12 years.

In 2014 I had joined the University of Delhi. I was very happy and excited as I really wanted to join the university for a long time. When I had started my college there, there was this senior in my department who had started talking to me. Me being a naive 18 year old was very interested in talking to him even if my intuition was screaming that I should not. Within six months of meeting this guy he proposed to me. I was very excited and I said yes. I was on cloud nine. My parents were really against this person and would always tell me to stay away. Stupid me thought that my parents were just being paranoid. Soon the honeymoon period was over and I started realizing that he is a very controlling person and somehow he had managed to pry me away from my friends as he started bad-mouthing me behind my back which I found out

way later. He started forcing me to become physical with him and I would refuse point blank. He started becoming more and more angry with me as I was not giving him what he wanted. I started feeling suffocated in the relationship so I decided the best course of action was to break up with him and that is what I did and that did not go down well with him. Within a week of our breakup he contacted me again and sent me an edited picture of which I was completely naked and I was horrified. What he said later scared me even more. He said if I don't give him what he wanted he'll begin circulating all the pictures that he had edited among all the people of my department. I was scared. He said he wanted a physical relationship and wanted me to move out of

my parents' house. I was really scared and showed all the messages to my parents and they managed to contact his parents and told them to keep him away from me and I blocked him on all the social media platforms. I was really happy for some time. All these events had taken place in my first year of college. When my second year started, I realized he had said horrible things about me and most of my classmates were very hostile towards me. I really loved my course and the only thing I did was go to college and come back. I was miserable. Soon I saw that my Aksana's brother had started to follow me on my way home

on the bus that I took to go home as the route I took was exactly in the opposite direction of his houses. I ignored this occurrence once or twice thinking that he might be going the same route as me to meet someone but when he started doing this at regular intervals I got scared and told my dad about it. So the next day of college I got scared and told my dad about it. So the next day of college I was told to inform my dad when I left the college and he sent his driver to the bus stop from where I got my bus and confronted the guy about his intentions and fortunately the guy ran away. But he created a fake profile and got a new number and started contacting me again. And my parents were told and they were beyond angry.

They filed a case against him and his family was also incredibly angry at us. They would try and harass me on social media. Because of all the proof I had, he got a restraining order and had to sign an affidavit that he or any of his family members could not contact me directly or indirectly and that he would delete all the photos and could not talk about me, be it positive or negative. This incident affected me so badly that I had to be hospitalized for two months and had to take antidepressants and mood stabilizers for over a year. This incident happened in July of 2018. I was 15 at the time and my two cousins, brother and I, were tubing with our parents. This story isn't particularly scary, it's just weird and shocking to all of us. For the first few hours of the day, nothing really seemed to catch us off

guard. It wasn't until our last time tubing down the stream when we started to get a bad feeling about everything. My cousin, who I'll call Charlie, saw a man near the shore where we would get off. For some context, this guy was around 5'7 and he was wearing overalls and work boots. When I first saw this guy, both Charlie and I saw many red flags. When we were about 10 feet away from passing the man, he turned and looked at us. I told Charlie to get up and start heading upstream and we told our brothers to go with us. We were running up the river and carrying our heavy tubes, looking back at the old man inching closer and closer to us. As this fishing pole holding full was just about to catch up to us, I saw my mother in the distance as we continued running up the stream.

As soon as she saw this dumb man running behind us, she said, What are you doing running after my kids? He stumbled back and started to stutter. But just after my mom scolded him, he just took off upstream and we never saw him again. Everyone who witnessed this experience happened to all agree that the man chasing us

may have in fact been insane. Everyone, please remember to watch your surroundings. You never know how crazy such a normal person can be. I'm a 16 year old female and I'm new to Reddit as I only got it about 5 minutes before writing this. I currently live in a small town in West Yorkshire. I lived in Germany for the past 4 years when my father was a soldier in the army but since he has left we came back to my parents hometown. Living here is quiet, you get the occasional row between teenagers and the odd one or two drunk members that cause havoc in the street. Point being, barely anything happens here, that's why I didn't expect what happened to me at all. I was coming back from my now ex-boyfriend's house in one of the next small towns over which was about a 20 minute bus ride away.

Since there was no buses back from his town I had to get one all the way back to the bigger town over just to make it back on a different bus to my own hometown. Once I had made it back to my town I had missed the last bus back to my house and had to settle for a taxi. This wasn't a problem as the taxi base was located right next to the bus station. After making my way to the taxi base I was informed that I would have to wait at least 10 minutes for a taxi as they were busy. As I waited on the sofa they had in the building I tried distracting myself by listening to my music but overheard a man screaming waited on the sofa they had in the building I tried distracting myself by listening to my music but overheard a man screaming loudly on the phone. I assumed he was drunk and waited patiently for the woman to end the phone call. I asked her what was that all about and she gave me

an exhausted look and said it's this guy wanting a taxi home but he's really angry and very drunk and waiting at the chippy down the road. I didn't know how to respond so I asked who it was as we are a tight community and everybody knows everybody. She tells me it's this man who I'm going to refer to as Harry. I knew of Harry as he was a well-known troublemaker in the area and I told her this. I also told her that he lived across the street from my house. The woman realized this and asked me if I don't mind sharing a taxi with him. At first I was hesitant but if it would get me home faster than sure. I know this was a stupid mistake as I realize now. Harry, instead of waiting at the chippy, decides to come to the taxi base and right on time when the taxi pulls up.

I jump in the back wanting to go home after a long day and he climbs in the front in his drunken state. I thought to myself, here we go. As I stuck my earphones in to distract myself I am yet again disrupted by Harry screaming down the phone. He is shouting at what seems to be his girlfriend who was also waiting outside the taxi base for him in a grey mini. As he is swearing and screaming I look behind us and notice that the grey mini is tailgating the taxi. At this point, I start to worry and get nervous as I had no clue of the situation at hand or how to deal with it as I was no part of the incident that they had started for themselves. As we pull up to the shop outside my house, I pay for the taxi. Yeah, I know, so gentlemanly of me to pay, right? He steps out of the taxi and crosses the road.

At this point, who I assume to be his girlfriend or ex-girlfriend steps out of the mini. She shouts Harry's name in a very aggressive and angry tone. As I'm crossing the road to go to my house, she targets me. I, frozen in fear by this clearly drugged up or drunk woman screaming at me, slowly back up towards my house. I am nowhere near the front door and end up getting cornered between the front of my house and the sign that is used for the shop. This clearly insane woman, we'll call her Claire, comes running at me from the mini that had been screeched to a halt on the white lines in the middle of the road, afterwards screaming, Who are you? She comes across me, belting it down the street. All I can think of doing is protecting myself and my belongings.

On me I had a bag, my phone in my hand, at least ten pounds in cash and some makeup in my bag. While trying to protect my items and myself, she is coming at me and beating me in the back of the head and smashing my skull up against the wall of my house. I announce to this clearly crazy woman that I did not know Harry and that I was 16 years old. She heard me and carried on. This is when it gets scary. She starts hitting me so hard on the back of the head that my vision goes black. I start praying that someone will help me and stop this from happening. All the while,

she has my hair gripped. She swings her fists around into my face and is repeatedly hitting me in the eyes and nose. While I'm trying to protect my head with both my hands at this point, she again smashes my head against the wall, making me instantly go dizzy. Massive chunks of flesh are ripped out of my fingers and my knuckles on both hands. I was pouring blood. All my belongings fall out of my bag, which she notices. She bends down to claim some of my property is hers. This is when I fight back.

I grab her by the hair and decide to get her back. I had just been brutally beaten and scared and shocked. This woman deserves something back. As Claire bent down, I grabbed her by the hair hard enough to make all my acrylic nails pop off, ripping off my real nails along with them, and dig into the flesh on the palm of my hand. I give her one pull backwards and two punches to the back of the skull. I shout, give me my stuff back! And she then claims that she was picking up her glasses that she didn't have. All this time Harry and the guy driving the Mini did nothing to help. The taxi driver just sits there watching everything go down.

Later on I found out that Harry was recording this whole incident on his phone. Just after I had let go of Claire's hair my mother comes outside to come find me thinking that the taxi driver kept me in the car for my own safety. When my dad finds out, being an ex-soldier, he goes insane. Me being his daughter, he goes into psycho mode. He's shouting and screaming as I am. I was in so much shock that I couldn't breathe. I was violently shaking and nearly sick. I was covered in blood and I even had some of Claire's hair under my now raised nails. Tears were rolling down my face like I had an endless supply of water stored in them. Claire and Harry then have a fight and then Harry and the guy driving the mini have a fight too. Too much was going on and it didn't help that

my parents had to keep me awake until 2am to wait for the police to take a quick statement. Fast forward to the next day. All three people have been taken into police custody where they're only legally allowed to stay for 24 hours. Harry is released but has to attend court. The guy driving the Mini is released without charge as he did attack Harry back and Claire has been released without having to go to court and isn't allowed to come within a hundred meters of me or my house. I later found out that Claire had been responsible for breaking someone's jaw and collarbone not long before and also throwing herself down a flight of stairs to get herself out of trouble. Yeah, she's insane. I'm now left with permanent reminders of that night, left in many forms,

some being scars and mental traumas. I'm awaiting a court date soon and hopefully this woman and man will get put to justice, but for now, I hope I never see them again. This has by far been the most painful and scariest experience of my life and I hope it never happens again. I live in the UK and when I was younger my dad moved into this rented house which was kind of like a manor house that has been added on over the years. The oldest being from about the Tudor period and the bit that we were in was Victorian.

I remember the first time I looked around it. It was absolutely huge but it gave me a downright creepy vibe but I just brushed it off as a new house I wasn't familiar with. Now it's important to point out that I'm a strong believer in the paranormal. I'm kind of fascinated by it. The house was a very strange layout as the bathrooms had been added on at a later date so they were on a different level. Being upstairs there was a small set of stairs going into the bathroom. This upstairs bathroom would always for some reason just give me the complete creeps. I don't know why but I always avoided it. It's also important

to point out that I would stay with my dad on the weekends and stay with my mom during the week. Now that's over I can tell you what happened over the three years I was living there. As I said this place gave me weird vibes but I just rushed it off as a new place. For the first I want to say year everything was okay. I was getting used to the weird noises the house would make in the middle of the night that at first would scare the life out of me but you get used to those things eventually. Around this time I started getting even more creepy vibes from the place and I was never feeling comfortable there when I would visit. I would

have random panic attacks all the time with no explanation and no trigger. At the time my dad just brushed it off as me being in my early teens and dealing with all that fun teenager stuff. The creepiness of the place was getting worse and then the dreams started. At first these dreams would only occur on stormy nights, especially thunderstorms. The dreams would normally consist of time travel and normally going to hell, underworlds and alternate universes, and you would always get woken up with the roar of the thunder. It was terrifying as it kept happening more frequently even on calm nights.

I eventually brought it up to my dad and he said he kept having very vivid dreams but nothing too out of the ordinary. I thought this was weird as I heard before that spirits can work their way into dreams. This freaked me out but that was nothing. In my room above the fireplace there was these metal vents that would clatter in the wind which is perfectly normal and never bothered me until they started moving when there was no breeze at all, when it was completely still outside. This was very creepy but I just thought it was my imagination being overactive. For a good year this would keep happening and nothing else. I didn't like it but I could live with it until it got worse.

One weekend I brought my cats and my dads when my mom went on holiday. Now one important thing to note about my cats is they love people and they love to explore and climb everything. The entire weekend they were with me they spent the entire time either hiding under the stairs, sofa and hiding in the downstairs bathroom. Everything just got worse from there. One night I was lying in bed with the covers half over my face and I felt somebody brush the hair out of my face except I could feel nails, like quite long nails and nobody in my house has nails like that. I also would feel like somebody was sitting on top of me when I was in my bed. This used to happen quite a bit and every time it did I would have to hold back a panic attack. Every time you were in the house, especially if the light was dim, you would

have a feeling of constantly being watched and you would find yourself looking behind you obsessively, especially upstairs in the spare bedroom and in the upstairs bathroom. It's safe to say I didn't go in either of them very often, unless it was absolutely needed. if there was one corner of a room that wasn't lit up properly at night you would occasionally see a shadow and the feeling of being watched would get even worse i really gave up trying to sleep in that house when one morning at about one or two ish i was woken up by doors slamming very loudly too loud to be the neighbors it sounded like it was coming from the bathroom and then what i can describe as a moan or scream that definitely wasn't the kids next door. That's when I officially lost my mind and sanity. For another six months, the dreams, the weird noises, and the increasingly creepy vibes kept getting worse until we finally moved.

I was so happy to finally get out of that house. Whatever was in there, demonic or not, definitely didn't want me in there and I really dreaded to think about what would have happened if I was still there now. The whole experience has made me a lot more aware of what paranormal activity can do, whether it's just trying to get back to the real world or if it has more evil intentions. I was a college student at the time and I needed some place to live since my parents were in a different city. I found this average house with a really good price, almost too good to be true. I contacted the owner and we planned the time I was free to come and check it out. The house was really big,

every room was huge, even the bathroom was bigger than my parents bedroom. I told the owner that I liked the house and I want to rent it for the next month. He agreed but told me one thing. These were his words. About three months ago I had one man live here. The first time he came I had an uneasy feeling about him. I didn't want to sell it to him, didn't want to sell him the house but he paid double and I really needed the money so I accepted. A few weeks pass and I call him but he doesn't answer. I come to the house to check on him but he's nowhere to be seen. I come to the kitchen where I see a pool of blood. I quickly ran into the house and called the cops. They check it out but couldn't find out his location. I was shocked by his words. He understood if I didn't want to rent the house but I couldn't

find anything better so I did rent it at the end. Many months later I was expecting a delivery. I ordered a new big TV because the old one the house had was really bad. After I unpacked everything I didn't have the storage to put the boxes. The idea popped in my head that the house maybe had a basement. I looked everywhere but in the end I called the owner and asked him. He told me that the only storage was the old shack in the backyard. I knew about that but the shack was full. Later that day I was in my bedroom laying on my bed going through my gallery pictures when suddenly I see something on the ceiling. At first I thought it was a vent but when I brought a chair and looked closer I saw that

it was an attic. I opened it and it was pitch black so I used the light on my phone to see. I climbed in and after a short time of searching I saw a light switch. When I switched it the light turned on. The light was very bad. It barely lit up half the attic. I was beginning to climb back down when a black trash bag caught my eye. I went to the bag with my phone and tried to pick it up. It was unusually heavy for a trash bag. I gave up on the idea of picking it up and decided to open it. The moment I opened it, the smell of rotten flesh and every single thing you can possibly imagine being rotten hit me in the face. I shone my light to see the bag and see a woman, a dead woman, starting to decompose. I jumped back so much that I fell through the vent opening on my back.

I ran out of the house and called the cops. They began their investigation and asked me questions about the house. I called the owner and in a matter of minutes he arrived. When the police questioned me he told them the same story about the man he told me. Turns out that he didn't even know the house had an attic. Him and the police suspected it was the victim of the same man but lack of evidence restricted them to go any further. The owner of the house apologized to me for everything but I just couldn't bring myself to staying in a house that someone had died in. One week later I moved out to another apartment with my roommates and I was living there the rest of my college

years. They never caught the man and they were unable to identify the woman. I was finally off from work, and my little mini-vacation was starting. I had been keeping track of the weather, and made sure that the days I wanted to go on vacation would be great for some hiking and camping. I live in Altoona, Pennsylvania in the middle of the state. My role in life is to explore every state park in Pennsylvania. I decided that when I was a young'un, I would make it my life's goal to visit and write about every park I could travel to. I'm a young man and as long as I stayed healthy and strong, I should be able to do it.

There's over 111 state parks in Pennsylvania. 20 state forests, 1 national forest, 1 national memorial, 2 national historic sites, and 3 national historic parks. I've been to half of the state's forests and 30 of the state parks. I usually start at the parks on the outside of the state and work clockwise from Altoona, as the six o'clock position. But I have a friend who loves Blackmashannon State Park and she's always talking about how good the fishing is on the lake. She raves about the hiking and the trails and even though it's close to a highway, it's secluded enough to feel like you're in a world of your own, which is what I needed.

I work at a Wawa and I kind of hit the lottery for a decent amount of money. Not enough to retire, but enough to afford my condo, keeping up the HOA and go on vacation when I wanted to, which is what I'm doing right now. So here we are. I'm gonna head up to Mo'shannon and see what the fuss is all about. I woke up at about 5.30 and finished uploading the car. I got some breakfast from the job and headed up Highway 99 then cut over to Alternate 220, then onto Beaver Road as that would take me right into the middle of Black Mo'shannon, past the lake and to the camping grounds. Since the deer season was ending, the park's traffic would primarily be locals and the rare tourist. I got there by quarter to ten. The sun was high and the air was cooler than average for August.

It felt great, good enough for a hike. After setting up camp and securing the site with a few locks, I put on my hiking gear and decided to take a few of the off-brand trails heading north. I passed the bog near Route 504. The panorama was amazing as the sun glistened off the waters by the banks, which were covered in oak, cherry, and pine trees, trees that rose up the gentle slopes of hills. I took in the fresh scent and decided after the hike I'd do lunch then get into some fishing. I hadn't seen a soul up here yet outside of some cars on the road coming in and the park ranger who guided me to my camping lot. It was about 40 minutes into my hike when I hadn't come across anything odd. I had taken

pictures of some of the birds I saw and decided to make a mental note of the varieties I'd seen. There were warblers, teals, black ducks, Canadian geese, and other avian critters. As I crossed over a smaller bog path, I noticed a group of woodpeckers chasing a flying squirrel. Poor little critter. I said aloud to no one as I watched the aerial spat. Then a plane flew overhead reminding me that no matter how far I go, civilization was. Hmm, what's that? I noted as I heard some crunching in the grass. I noticed the chittering of the critters had moved on as they continued their conflict. I knew black bears were native to this area so I wanted to make sure that there was a good bit of distance between me and it just in case it decided to charge.

I followed the noise of the crunching up the hill and into a nearby clearing. Moving slowly is not to startle the bear. Heck, it might not even be a bear I thought but deer or something else. It was neither. It was just another hiker like myself. Well I guess she was a hiker but she didn't dress like one. It was a young black girl probably late 20s a few years older than myself I thought. She had on a tank top with some bike shorts and sneakers. It was kind of odd as it was unseasonably cool. It was probably around 50 degrees or so, maybe a little warmer in the sunlight. She was carrying only one of those small backpack purses. She was very carefree as she walked,

humming a tune and swinging the pack about as she played with the fauna. She walked to a grouping of stones and found a small tree stump and sat down. She gazed up at the sky and smiled. Man, she was cute I thought as she looked about. Her hair was short and styled, high cheeks, nice pouty lips with a fit athletic body, maybe only a few inches shorter than me. She pulled the pack to the front then looked inside. I guess to make sure she had what she needed here

Like keys or mace or something I thought it would be courteous to at least let her know I was out here So as not to startle her But just as I decided not to come across as a creeper Looking at a chick in the woods I felt the air temperature just drop I shook for a quick moment as a chill went down my spine. I said aloud, but not loud enough for her to hear me as I shivered. Must have been a breeze

or something, I said to myself, rubbing my arms. As I gathered myself, I noticed the sky was almost imperceptibly darker. I mean, the sun was still out, and the sky's mostly clear, but it was almost like looking at the world through barely tinted sunglasses, which I was not wearing. I started making my way to her, and then I noticed her left hand. She was holding up her index finger. It was pointed in my direction. Had she seen me? There was no way.

I was in the tree line, covered in shadow, making my way around the bushes. She probably heard me curse. What? I cried as the chill returned with no breeze at all. I looked around frightened for some reason, I didn't know why, but I was scared beyond belief. I looked towards the girl. I had to warn her, but warn her of what? Me being scared lifeless for no reason? Then I noticed her finger still up but pointing directly at me, then wagging at me. Like don't come here, stay put, stay where I was. Confused I decided to see what. Oh my god. I whispered to myself

as I looked at her. Behind her. What was that? I tried to scream but my voice died out as my eyes went wide with terror. She just sat there, not seeing the thing behind her. I tried to run but, like my voice, my legs didn't want to work. I could only watch in horror as the creature slithered much like a snake as it approached her. It rose behind her, its form like a dark, wispy, ripped, overly large and long coat. It was a cloak of floating darkness. The bottom and arms were just like shredded bedsheets draped over a corpse, as the only true feature on it was the bony deer-like antlers on its hooded and skeletal face. Moss, grass, and other detritus dangled loosely from its antlers. The skeletal face was human, but overly large in its mouth, a gaping pit of darkness,

as was its eyeless pits. A crack ran from its temple into the darkness of the hood. It reached for the girl as the pack dangled from her shoulder. No, it reached for the backpack. The shredded, handless hem of where its arm should be gingerly reached for it. I wet myself as I knew that thing would kill her and she'd never even know it. I guess it was a blessing to die swiftly, but if it had seen me, I know how I would die. Death under a cloudless sunny day with the sounds of the woods to muffle my death cries as the animals went about their day like this was normal. To my shock, the girl pulled the backpack over her shoulder and craned her head to look behind her. You remember how you got that crease on that bony face of yours, right? She said to it with little emotion.

Ah, yes. It said, raising its sleeved arm to its head. You, Abigail Mitchell of Philadelphia, assaulted me without provocation, I remember. You did try to suck the life from me, if I remember correctly. She said back to the thing as if they had some rivalry or something. Did you get the items per my request? The creature said as it floated to the front to face her as it towered over the sitting woman. The bottom of its smoke-like form swayed silently about a foot off the ground, but had it been touching the ground it would probably still

be at least ten feet tall. It glanced down at her. May I see it? To be sure, it is what I asked for. The demonic specter hissed in its airy breath. The girl looked to the backpack and reached inside. I could feel my legs quivering as I was both fascinated and terrified at the sight before me. My brain desperately tried to understand this whole thing. A human girl is having a conversation with some ghostly monstrosity. It's sunny and cloudless and the sounds of the forest went on as normal. I think I even heard another plane overhead as my nose took in the smell of my urine and my weak knees marinated in the stuff, too shaken to do anything else.

I watched on as the girl pulled something from the bag. It looked like a brass cup and a medallion. The creature hissed in pleasure as it rose above her, its arms fluttering like some bird before it settled down again. This is what you mean, the girl said, dangling the medallion and holding the brass cup before it. The creature shrunk towards the ground in an almost kneeling position. As it did so, the front of its ethereal body began to grow in a small circular pattern about the size of the medallion.

Do you also have the other thing? It said excitedly, its antlered head moving forward trying to look in the pack. She pulled it back and told it to. Take it easy, she told it annoyed at the thing's eagerness. How long has it been? She asked it as she pulled forth another cup and a small bottle or something. The creature rose up and back as the light in the medallion dimmed some. It looked as if it was in contemplation.

What human year is this now? It asked. 2019 of the common era, she told it. Three hundred seventy-four of your years since I lost that. It growled pointing to the medallion in the brass cup. Name your fee and let's be on with it. It stated, the eagerness overriding its common sense as its formless body shuddered in anticipation. I told you my fee when you made the request. That crack on the head knocked away some of your memory? She asked it, tapping her head. Are you serious? That was your fee? Not power or influence or money as you humans love so much.

Not adoration or some silly bargain. It said to her almost incredulously. A story. A story, she stated with a wide grin on her face. A story, I said to myself. Why something so small? Why not something of significance? The creature asked her. I too was curious about this. Because my job is to collect the history of as many things I can. I'm also a sucker for a good story. Stories are significant. I know somewhere in that spectral skull of yours you've seen and done some things. Just tell me one. She said, holding up a finger. You are very curious for a human, Abigail Mitchell of Philadelphia, it replied to her. How long have you been around? She asked the thing. Thousands of your years.

Why? Tell me a story of something... Eight hundred... No. One thousand years back. She stated as she placed her elbows on her knees and cupped her face like a kid at camp around a campfire. She even had the silliest grin on her face. Who was she? What was she? How could she sit around that thing like it was normal?

I hadn't realized it, but I found myself sitting also, on a dry patch of the ground, looking on intensely. I must be suffering from brain damage or something. Fear mixed with intrigue, mixed with heightened curiosity. I too waited for the story of the thing. Very well, curious one. The story I will tell you is of a really stupid boy and his equally stupid family. The creature began. I'm ashamed to say it, but it needs to be said. I screwed up on my job and a man died because of it.

Not just a man. A man I was being paid to protect. Usually it can be forgiven for making a mistake on my first job. However, when it's your first job protecting another man from outside dangers, one mistake can be the last. In retrospect, hindsight, whatever word you use, I wish I'd never agreed to taking the job. Just being a large built man with a license to carry

doesn't make you qualified to be a private security. This all being said, I took the job. The client losing his life is a direct result of my negligence. Maybe if I discuss what happened I can relieve myself of a small amount of this burden. However, I can assure you I know the guilt will never truly fade away. The job came out of nowhere. Mike, a close friend of mine, had been a bodyguard on and off for years. He made it clear the job was a one-time only deal. No other guys he knew were available on such short notice. His next client

was coming into town in the morning. Mike needed someone with a carry permit to back him up. He knew I had one, so I got the call. He assured me it wasn't a dangerous situation, but he liked to have another guy to watch his and the client's back. I was somewhat nervous initially, but the money I was offered was too good to pass up. We met up at his place later that night. He gave me a rough outline of what I was expected to do. Once it had been all laid out before me, it seemed simple enough. Although this would be his first time with this particular client, he assured me once

more it would be simple. After all, the guys with the real problems always had their own staff. Our client was a regular suit and tie in town for some business. Four hours of work and he'd be back on a plane home. The morning of the job, we met with a client at the airport. A third guy, Roger, was doing the driving for us that day. He's a retired SWAT officer who picked up the occasional driving job for Mike. He'd had a boatload of training and evasive maneuvers while he was in the army.

Plus, he could be a third gun in an emergency. He drove us to the client's first appointment and everything was going well. From what I could make out, the dude was a wholesale jeweler out of London. Stuff didn't really start falling apart until we were leaving the second place. As we exited the jeweler's store I noticed a sketchy looking, possibly Middle Eastern guy. He was standing in front of the place next door. When he noticed us leaving, he pulled a knife from his pocket and ran towards us. Before he could get anywhere near us I instinctively moved toward him.

He turned and ran, and I foolishly gave chase. I'd gotten somewhere around thirty yards and heard a barrage of gunshots behind me. I turned around just in time to see Mike go down. The client was already on the ground and wasn't moving. Roger was standing next to the car, shooting at two men running from the scene. By the time I'd drawn my pistol, the firefight had ended. It was clear to me I'd messed up. As Roger and I checked Mike and the client for signs of life, a weak few words came from Mike.

I hope you won't be offended if I don't ask for your help again. We had a brief chuckle, but we both knew this wasn't a laughing matter. Roger confirmed that the client was in fact dead. I rode to the hospital with Mike, and Roger stayed behind with the cops. This big mess made no sense. I knew I could trust Mike. He said the client indicated no current danger to his life. We were supposed to be only there to prevent robberies. We'd both seen the guy with a load of stones on him, so no flags went up. Regardless, considering the number of guys in on the hit, I had a strong feeling we didn't get the whole story.

I'd been waiting for news on Mike for about half an hour when Roger finally showed. The cops were right behind him. Now it was my turn. When they were done with me, they wanted to talk to Mike, but he was still in surgery. Two hours later, we got the good news. He was going to make it.

But he'd be in the hospital for the next week at the least. For the next nine days, I stayed at his side. It was the least I could do. The following morning we had our first discussion since the shooting. You do realize the guy with the blade was a decoy, right? Became pretty obvious once I heard you all yell at me to come back. Listen, don't feel guilty. It's not your fault. I've fallen for dumber things than that. We continued our talk for a while until Mike fell asleep.

No matter what he said, though, I'd always feel bad. A man lost his life, after all. The detective showed up later that day and pumped him for any new info, but Mike had none. Mike was released eight days later. Neither of us heard anything new until Roger called Mike five days later with some inside information he'd gotten from one of his pals. The client had been far from honest with us. He had hired us because he was involved in a deal with some men in which he screwed them out of $100,000. They had made it known if he was to return to the States, he'd be whacked. If Mike would have known this beforehand, he wouldn't have taken the job. That's likely why the dirtbag kept it quiet.

Somehow this bit of info had made it past the background check. Nonetheless, even a crook doesn't deserve to be sprayed with bullets on a public street. We were only hearing it from their side. It could have all been a huge misunderstanding. After my anger cooled, it became obvious to me that I was just deflecting my feelings onto the client. Thief or not, I was responsible for the safety of the man. Not only had my mistake gotten him killed, a very good friend of mine almost did too. When Mike's back in fighting shape I'm sure he'll return to security work, albeit in a slightly more careful manner.

I'm just glad he's still kicking. I hope he gets someone in the future far more competent than myself. When it comes to me, I think I'll stick to construction. It appears to be a whole lot safer. Although I have lived a normal big city type of life and experienced my share of violence, I had done my best to avoid the dangers inherent in the world of hip-hop. Especially the way things are these days, it seems every middle class kid in America is doing their best to show how gangsta they are. Unfortunately, rather than doing this through their rhymes, it's done with guns.

A trait once only expressed by the hardest of inner-city rappers has now spread as far as those surrounding them, namely those tasked with the job of protecting the artist from violence, their bodyguards. I don't know from experience or anything, but I would assume these guys would be required to have some sort of training with firearms and other important qualifications. From what I saw the other night, however, they'll let any fool from off the corner do security for rap artists these days. Much to my dismay, last week I was roped into escorting my brother to an album-releasing party, a hip-hop one. Even though he's 22 years old, my mom insists that I be there to watch his back in case everything broke into chaos. Sometimes I believe that women are psychic, because chaos certainly did break loose that night.

I'll get to that, but first I should say that I know nothing about modern music. The last album I bought was Fallen by Evanescence. I'd never been a rap fan and going to this party is my idea of torture. But I love my brother and I would take a bullet for him if required. Therefore, at about eight that night, we drove to the club it was being held in. I'll admit, I got a good laugh at my brother's expense. He was beyond excited. I hadn't seen him this pumped since we saw the first Iron Man movie. We grabbed a drink and stood around until the festivities began.

Finally, after an hour wait, the artists managed to show up and the party started. I'll try to be nice, in case anyone reading this figures out who I'm talking about. When I said this was my idea of torture, I was shooting a little high. What came out of those speakers defies reason. I asked my brother what kind of music we were hearing. He kindly informed me it was something called mumble rap. My god, I thought I'd heard it all. Despite my revulsion, I held my tongue.

I didn't want to ruin it for my brother. Someone else would do it for me. The album was about 30 minutes in when I noticed a small scuffle in the area around the artist. The small scuffle quickly grew into a very loud and active argument. The track that was currently playing was completely drowned out. I would have been thankful if it wasn't for what happened next. One side of the argument, I'm not sure which, fired a shot. That's when the release party completely went to chaos. Bullets went flying. No matter the target, I specifically remember seeing the rapper's bodyguards, three of them, not counting his entourage, shooting wildly into the air.

They weren't the only ones shooting, though. Even the DJ got into the mix. They weren't the only ones shooting though. Even the DJ got into the mix. I saw him popping shots off at one of the guys who I believe started the whole frenzy in the first place. People were running right and left, attempting to get away. Unluckily for a few, they got hit. The second it all went off, I searched frantically for my brother. I found him pretty quick and grabbing him by the arm we dodged to and fro until we finally made it out. When all was said and done one bodyguard was injured but not badly and three members of the crowd had at least one shot each.

Miraculously none of them were seriously hurt either. My brother and I were freaked out beyond belief but kept the night's hijinks from our mom. She did eventually find out a few days later anyway of course after it popped up on the news. I just told her the news was blowing the whole thing out of proportion and she let it go. From what I can tell this shook my brother up a lot. He's been far quieter than usual and the thumping bass coming from his room has currently stopped. My theory is that since he's seen rap-related violence first-hand, the whole lifestyle seems much less cool to him than it once did. I did confront him the next morning and asked if he was doing okay. He claimed he was, but I plan to keep an eye out on him until he

goes back to being my regular, everyday annoying little brother. I've refrained from speaking out about anything surrounding my case until now because of advice from my lawyer. However, now that my trial has reached its conclusion, I'm free to tell my side of the story. I can assure you from the start that I acted against the plaintiff because I felt my client's life was in danger. No matter what he claimed, Cannon's life had been littered with violent incidents. The judge not allowing his past to be brought up during the trial was ridiculous to me. He crippled another man, for God's sakes.

I guess the concept of an eye for an eye applies to this story more than most. We seem to truly get what we deserve. Even as I write these words, let it be known I never intended to cripple him. Honestly, if he would have left my client alone, he'd still be walking the streets today. Since I'm well aware some of you reading this may not have the fondest idea of what I'm even writing about, I'll include a brief few paragraphs that explain exactly what occurred. When I received the call to my bodyguard for Mr. Butler, I was in between clients. Under normal circumstances, I would have declined the job, but I was way behind on my bills. People like him are magnets

for conflict, and trying to protect them alone is a nightmare. He's already been sucker-punched and milkshaked at this point. I repeatedly tried to convince him to shell out the cash for at least one more body, but he was too cheap. He most likely wouldn't have contacted me, but being attacked twice in a week seemed to have shook a few dollars loose from his wallet. Although I disagree with most of his views, I've always hated some folks attempting to silence those they don't see eye to eye with, not to mention the ones willing to kill to make things happen. So, with a boatload of reservations, I hopped on a plane to California. I'd written all of this and realized there may be some reading this that may not know who Ian Butler is. When it comes to my story, his identity doesn't really matter. To be brief, I'll say that he is a popular media personality with what some of the public eye would say is extreme beliefs.

Because of these views, there are some members of our society willing to do anything they can to shut him up. A few are willing to go as far as ending him to achieve that goal. Hence the reasoning behind his hiring of me, to act as a shield between the whack jobs and himself. One of those whack jobs was named Danny Alexander Cannon. The initial part of my job was to familiarize myself with Butler's enemies. Many of them had sent him multiple threatening emails and letters. Cannon was among this group, and something about his letters stood out to me as concerning. His threats weren't limited to letters. At many of Butler's public appearances, he would be in the crowd shouting threats at my client. Of course, the cops said

that they were unable to do anything unless he threatened Butler physically. It seemed the laws always protect the criminals at the cost of the victims, although he wasn't the only one of his detractors to act out this way. He would soon move to the front of the line in terms of those that posed a clear and present danger. I had spotted him several times myself parked across the street from Butler's home. Usually when an individual makes the leap to surveilling of their enemy's homes and businesses, any threat they have made in the past should be taken as valid danger. Odds are they are compiling information on the target's daily movements in an effort to discover

the best possible time for them to attack. This was just what Cannon had in mind. That day had been more chaotic than most. Butler had a morning meeting and a book signing later that day on the second level of the mall. This is where Cannon decided to make his move. I was standing behind the table while he signed and the people attending were enthusiastic and cool. The usual picketers must have missed the announcement. We made it through the appearance and were on our way out of the mall when it all went down. A group of fans approached us outside the store. There were roughly ten men and women surrounding us. Then, out of nowhere,

Cannon burst through the crowd and tackled Butler. They fell to the ground and Cannon punched him in the gut, or so I thought at the time. When Cannon raised his hand to strike downward, I realized he was holding a knife, a knife with blood all over it. He had moved so fast, it took me a moment to push my way through the crowd. I reached down and put a rear naked choke on him and lifted him up from Cannon's body. He began slashing at my arm and fighting me. At one point, I lost my balance and began falling back until I hit the handrail. I let go of Cannon at the last second and caught myself

on the rail before I went over. Unfortunately for him, Cannon continued over onto the floor below. He'd fallen about forty feet. It was enough to break his back and put him in a chair for the rest of his life. Butler's stab wound was painful, but it didn't kill him. A few days in the hospital and a few weeks to heal was enough for him. Cannon was convicted for attempted murder, amongst other things. He'd ended up with a sentence of twelve to twenty years. After the trial, I assumed it was all over, but you know what they say about assuming. A few months after his conviction, I was notified Cannon was suing me.

This brings us back to the present. I'm happy to say I've been found not responsible for his injury, but I still find myself wishing that I just ended him. At the time of me writing this, I'm still working for Butler. I can happily announce that after the attack, he was finally convinced to hire a second guy to protect him. Although protecting the guy is still far from easy, having another set of eyes watching for threats has given me some semblance of peace, if not for the safety of my client, perhaps more for my own. Before I begin, I want to make it clear that I, at no time, will name any of the persons

involved in the occurrences of this story. At present, the environment in Mexico is dangerous for all living there. However, those in the upper class, especially politicians, are constantly at risk of being kidnapped or worse. Writing about anyone or anything to do with the cartels can get you whacked. Therefore, when reading this story, it would be most beneficial to take it as a work of fiction, whether you may know from personal experience or not. So, with that out of the way, I'll begin. Fresh out of the army, I followed the path many of my brothers had before me into personal security.

Some may call this gig bodyguarding, and for all appearances, it is. To be direct, I served as a barrier between the crazies of the outside world and the guy paying me. On most days, the job borders on boring. At rare times, though, it can be a monstrous mix of exhilaration and fear. I had one such day a few years ago while working as part of a security team for a prominent Mexican politician. I knew when I took the gig the odds were high I would be shot. Or shot at, at least. The client's position in society and political stance almost guaranteed some form of cartel contact. I didn't have long to wait for it to happen. Within a month, two separate teams made attempts on my client. The first struck me as more of a test of our team's weak points. The second, though, was a full-on attack. I'd always heard many of the cartel soldiers were former Mexican spec-op guys.

The way the attack was undertaken seems to prove it. Too bad for them, they weren't American military. They may have succeeded in their work and lived to fight another day. It was less than two weeks after the first attack. I was in the last SUV holding the client. We usually ran two or more Yukons spread out, much like the way we did our convoys in Iraq. We were in the process of driving him to his office where the gunfire began. The Yukons were obviously armored and because they were unsure of which SUV held our client, they fired on all of them at the same time. I wasn't particularly concerned at the moment. Protocol was to continue moving until we reached our destination.

We were doing just that when the SUV in front of the one I was in was struck with some sort of explosive, probably a rocket-propelled grenade, and flipped onto its side. Our driver swerved quickly around the SUV and kept going. We had prepared for this possibility, but I wasn't scared any less when it happened. If the shooters thought that was going to stop us, they were very wrong.

They had the Iraq insurgents to blame. We'd learn real quick not to stop, regardless of the circumstances. The guys in that Yukon were likely dead anyway. If they weren't, it was better for us to continue and draw fire away from them. We were down to two vehicles now. If these guys were smart, they'd have a roadblock somewhere ahead. I was losing it a little bit. I didn't savor the idea of being blown up by an RPG. A black full-size truck was behind us and closing fast. When they got close enough for me to make out individual people, I was overjoyed not to see a guy holding an RPG in his shoulder. The shooting resumed. At this point, the office was less than a mile away. Their roadblock had to be coming up soon, but as the office building came into sight, no roadblock appeared. Odds are, they were counting on us stopping when they

blew up our middle Yukon. I was pleased to be underestimated for once in my life. There were armed security officers inside the building. The guy driving the lead SUV had called ahead to warn them. As we pulled into the parking lot, they were already trading shots with the truck chasing us. The driver of my Yukon and I stayed behind while the other two guards escorted the client into the building. This was the first time I was able to see our assailants clearly. One guy was already dead. The remaining four kept up a withering rate of fire. Between the four guys in the lead Yukon, the two of us, and the security force guys,

they were vastly outnumbered. It wasn't long before we managed to neutralize the threat. Other than a leg wound on one of the security guys, we emerged unscathed. Since we were confident our client was safe, we took a handful of the security guards with us and went back to check on our guys in the middle Yukon. My suspicions were proved correct. All four of them were dead. I guess we didn't come away unscathed after all, and far from it. Although I tried to put up a strong facade, the loss hit closer to home than usual. One of the guys had served with me in Iraq and we'd gotten very close. When something like this happens, you realize even in situations in which you were surrounded by the dead, the death of a friend can still hurt you so much.

Cleaning into my late twenties, I loved fighting more than anything. The bigger the better, I always said. I was an average weight and height, but dudes still treated me like some little punk. More often than not, I showed them the foolishness of their prejudice. I'll be honest, I took a beating once in a while, but more often than most, I came out on top. It wasn't long before my skill with my fists started catching folks' attention. I was asked to work the door at 17 and kept that job for five years while I went to college. A Bachelor of Arts didn't allow me many job opportunities, so after school I took a job as a bodyguard for a homeboy of mine. He was an up-and-coming rapper with a lot of haters.

Many of these punks underestimated me because of my size, since I was much smaller than the rest of the guys he had watching his back. I was the one guy they would try to take out so that they could get to my homeboy. One looker said I was crazy because I was laughing as I beat up individuals that just minutes before were talking a ton of trash. Now things continued this way until my twenty-seventh year when I came to blows with the biggest, toughest dude I'd ever come across in my life.

My boy in his set, me included, had just come back from a tour of the Northeast clubs. Things were about to blow up for him. At least four big record labels had hinted they wanted to sign him. I guess this made my friend get arrogant and he had said one or two things that would draw a bunch of heat his way. The last three cities on the tour kept me busy laying punks out. One of the other bodyguards was shot at the last night. We knew it was just a matter of time until something big was going to go down and it did after we got back home. We decided it would be a good way to blow off some steam

by going to a local club in our hood where everyone knew us. This place seemed to be the safest place for us to have a little fun. Our usual booth was set up for us, and a bottle of champagne was brought over. The next hour went off fine. Then, the biggest dude I'd ever seen walked up to us with another guy. I didn't notice the other dude at first. I was shocked by the size of this man. He shocked me out of my stupor as soon as he began talking trash to the other bodyguard beside me. He tried to diffuse

the problem. I generally let him try to cool off whoever was approaching us. If he couldn't, I was the first one to start throwing hands. The minute he pushed the other bodyguard aside like a feather, I knew it was on. Trying to move him was like pushing a skyscraper. I decided to scrap the niceties and punch him as hard as possible in the kidneys. Not once, but twice. This is when I first knew I was in trouble. Up to this point he'd been focusing on my boy, not me, but the second I punched him, he removed the gloves. If I'd actually hurt him, I couldn't tell. He rocked my world with two quick punches and I was out. When I woke up, I was being wheeled away by two paramedics. I felt like I'd been hit by a convoy of trucks and could only see through my left eye. The end result was me with two broken ribs, a severe concussion in the right eye that was barely staying in its socket.

Once I was able to form coherent thought, I asked my visitors, my boy and the other two bodyguards, what happened to me. They said on his third swing I folded like a book, but he kept kicking me until Rob, the other bodyguard standing there, put him down with a stun gun in the back. Luckily for us all, the cop showed up before he put himself back together. They put two pairs of cuffs on him just to be safe. He must have been as impressed by his size as we were. It was the first and only time I'd ever been knocked out. I knew once that had happened,

my days of fighting were over. Everyone knows once you lose your chin, you can never get it. It took a while before I was back to normal, and it wasn't until a year later before I could sneeze without fear of my eye popping out. You can probably guess I never went back to bodyguarding. I can also proudly say that that was my last fight. I haven't had more than a calm discussion with another man in ten years since. When I look back at the man I was back then, I can't help but cringe. I'm disappointed it took me almost being beat to death and having to live the rest of my life with a jacked up eye to wake me up, but it did.

I was just told by my dad a story of his young life before he met my mom. It would seem he's never told anyone about this part of his life until today. When he was really young, about 22, he'd formed a gambling addiction. He'd started betting on games every once in a while his first year of college. However, it wasn't long before he was dropping big money. The only people that would handle such big amounts were the mobbed up guys. They didn't mind if you owed them money because of something called the vig, usually known as interest. By his senior year, my dad owed over $10,000 to these bookies. This was because by this time he had taken to gambling on card games. Naturally, since these games were illegal in his town, the mob guys were usually the ones gambling on card games. Naturally, since these games were illegal in his town,

the mob guys were usually the ones who hosted the games. Up to then, he had been able to pay back what he owed, but then he'd just turn around and bet again. He often won, but lost more often. During this whole time, his parents had not known anything about his gambling. He would often get loans for small amounts from them, but always had a satisfying answer for why he needed them. Considering he was a starving college student, they had no problems with giving him the money. As his graduation grew closer, my dad lost big on a card game and accrued another $5,000 on his debt. Even though the bookies had been patient about being repaid in the past,

$15,000 was too much to let slide. He had been pressured several times to pay at least part of the debt, but now he was dead broke and couldn't pay a dime. Since he felt the amount was far too high for him to borrow from his parents, he took to hiding out from the bookies. His addictions made hiding out almost impossible. Soon he was found while trying to make a bet with another bookie. Although he thought he could stall the bookie as he had so many times before, he was fed up with my dad's bowl and took him for a ride. He found himself in a deserted farmhouse outside town. He was convinced this was the end for him.

No one spoke to him until the bookie himself showed up. That was when the scary part started. One of the bookie's bodyguards tied him to a chair and began punching him repeatedly. At first, just in the body. It still hurt, but nothing was compared to when the bodyguard put on a set of brass knuckles and punched him across the face. He said the pain was so bad he fainted. Despite it only being a few strikes, he could tell a few teeth were loose.

When he woke up, the bookie stepped forward and told him he's had enough chances. He felt my father had taken advantage of his kindness and the kindness was over. When he finished, another bodyguard entered the room with a revolver in his hand. My dad said he saw the gun. He knew he was about to die. The bodyguard shoved the barrel of the pistol into his mouth. When dad told this part, I could see tears beginning to form in his eyes. All these years later, it was like he was still there. Then the bodyguard pulled back the hammer of the gun and pulled the trigger. Dad said he heard a click.

Even though the gun had not gone off, he realized that he had peed his pants. He feared this had been a mistake and the guy was about to pull the trigger again, but he let out a sinister laugh, took the gun from Dad's mouth and walked out of the room. He thought this was some type of psychological torture tactic they did before killing someone, a way for them to get off. However, a moment later the first bodyguard entered the room and untied him from the chair. Dad said he was still unsure of what was happening until the bookie walked back into the room and told him he was going to give him one more week to come up with the money.

If he did not, he would be forced to write it off. If he was going to be forced to do that, Dad would have to repay him with his life. The routine he had just suffered would happen again, but the next time, the gun would go bang when the trigger was pulled. As soon as they dropped him off, Dad knew the clock had started. But where would he get the money? He could barely put one foot in front of the other. His body was killing him, from head to toe.

He was sure he had a concussion and at least a few severely bruised ribs. Two days was the most he could take to heal. It wasn't nearly enough, but he had to come up with fifteen grand somehow, and soon. He pulled together almost a thousand by pawning everything he owned. It was nowhere close to enough. By chance, his parents had given him a brand new car for a graduation gift. He could sell it and just make what he needed, but now, how would he explain it to his parents? Not to mention, how would he get around? His old car was sold for scrap. He knew he had no choice but to let it go, but selling it would mean his parents discovering his problem. The next few days were spent turning things over in his mind. His next to last day, he made the choice that would change his life forever.

That morning he left the car lot with just enough. He knew that there was no turning back now. The way was only forward. The bookie was pleased to take the money, but then did something no bookie has done in history. He made it clear that regardless of who it was with, if he ever heard of Dad gambling again, it would mean a ride to the farmhouse. What that bookie didn't realize that morning as my dad walked away was that he'd made dad's decision all the easier. Dad had come to the conclusion that prior to that night he was going to ask his parents for help and that's just what

he did. They certainly weren't happy when they first heard about the car but understood why he had done that. The day after graduation dad went into a 90-day rehab program. A few relapses occurred in the following year, but he hasn't even as much as bought a lottery ticket in the last 21 years. Now that I know his story, it makes sense why he would get crabby every year around the time of the Super Bowl and why he forbade my brother and I from ever buying playing cards. Why would he tell me this story now, after all these years, he might ask. It seems I may be following in his footsteps.

He found a hundred dollars worth of scratch-offs in my trash can after I had asked him for a loan. My guess is he wanted me to see where that path could lead to. No matter the reason, I've definitely got the hint. I've only recently uncovered a serious problem taking place in the world of entertainment. In the past few years, there have been a rash of assaults by bodyguards upon women involved in doing business with certain personalities in the music and film world. I am well aware of the old days when groupies would trade their services with roadies and other backstage crew in order to get access to the band itself, but this...

this is something far different and more sinister. Multiple times this year I've been contacted by women hoping to hire myself to compile evidence against their staff, and more specifically, bodyguards of several celebrities. These men have, under false circumstances, led women hoping to gain audiences for legitimate business purposes with these celebrities to private places and taken advantage of them. To add insult to injury, they often have these women ejected from said places under the premise of them being women of the night, looking for a customer, so to speak. After the third victim contacted me, I agreed to take the case on the terms we would combine the complaints together.

I believe if the authorities recognize this as a widespread problem, they and the media will take it far more seriously. Fortunately, they all agreed and I began my work to gather the facts of every case. My hopes at the time, and still are, more victims will come forward. Even if it may sound ghoulish more victims mean more evidence each case not being connected to another is very uncommon therefore every time an attack is committed by the same man the other women's claims are easier for the general public to believe just how terrible and widespread this problem has become. I'm including a brief synopsis, describing the awful experiences a few claimants suffered at the hands of these men. Keep in mind, no names will be used in this report. Despite coming forward, the victims deserve their anonymity

until the time comes for any charges to be filed, if they are filed. Also, be clear that although this paper only includes the claims of two women, I at present represent over 20 victims. Claimant number one, in the summer of 1998 I was a representative of a small East Coast record label which was only two years old at that point. We were hoping to build our name up on up-and-coming rap artists. After having several back-and-forth talks with one particular artist and his management, I was invited to join them at their suite in New York City. On a Monday afternoon, I visited the suite.

I stopped by a bodyguard I assumed to be employed by the artist in a small room outside of the main suite. The bodyguard informed me he would notify his employer and return to let me know if he was available to talk. He returned a few minutes later and told me to wait in a small breakfast area at the end of the hall. He said his boss would join me briefly. It did seem to be a strange request at the time, but I was new to my job and unsure of the usual areas in which artists did business at this particular hotel. I did as I asked and sat at the table in the room and waited.

Ten or so minutes later I was joined in the room by the bodyguard, but without the artist. I was confused about what was occurring until he began speaking to me using crude and suggestive language. Despite my assurances that I wasn't interested in what he wanted, he cornered me into a tiny washroom of some type. This was the point at which he forced to self-warn me. A brief moment later when he was done he told me his boss was not interested in doing business with a company that would send some hoe to his hotel room to trap him into signing a contract. He also told me that if I told anyone about what had happened, I would not be believed. It would be my word against his, and if he had to, he'd cap me.

This was when he showed me a large, shiny gun hidden under his coat. Of course, I was terrified and said nothing. When my boss asked me how the meeting turned out, I simply told him that the artist had changed his mind. All of these years, there still isn't a day when I don't flash back to that terrible day and become sickened. Although I'm still very afraid of what that man may do to me, the bravery of all these women has given me the strength to face him and hold him accountable for his actions. Claimant number two. By 2015, I had been a successful costume designer for many of the most successful pop artists for the good part of seven years. The night of my assault, I was doing last-minute repairs to

a costume. The defendant made one of his well known comments in passing about my backside. This was far from the first time he had made remarks about my body. Ever since I began doing work for that specific artist, this bodyguard has done his best to get me to hook up with him. Although he did say he wanted to go on a date with me, his actions and words made me believe otherwise. As per usual, I told him I was never going to go anywhere with him. When the show began, I went to the dressing area to clean up.

I was not aware that I was alone in the room, but it appears he did. While I worked, at some point I heard the door lock behind me. When I turned to see what happened, I saw the bodyguard standing against the door, smiling. I guess he had followed me into the room. Not that he had me to himself, he forced me to the floor. Despite me doing my best to fight him off, I was no match for his 300 plus pound frame. After it was over, he left the room. I stayed in the room and cried until the show ended and one of the female dancers came into the room. She saw that I was upset and asked me what was wrong.

When I told her, she warned me not to say anything to anyone else because I would be blacklisted from working with that artist ever again. She told me a story of how that bodyguard had assaulted another girl, this time another dancer. When she told the artist what had happened to her instead of being helped, she was fired for being a lying troublemaker. It turns out that man was family of the singer and he believed the bodyguard to be an angel That artist was my only source of income at the time so I kept my mouth shut It turned out to not do me any good It appears the bodyguard spread around the story that I was more of a groupie than a costume designer Over time this story spread through the entertainment community and I ended up unable to find work. It's time for the public to hear the truth of how these things are being handled in the business.

I demand my day in court. Now that the readers have a very good idea of my client's claims, I want to encourage any other victims of this type of assault to contact me. If you chose to hire me, I will begin to work on your case right away. Despite what some reading this may think, I'm not publishing this to gain fame or notoriety or money. My only aim is to make the public aware of this terrifying epidemic and to assist my clients in any way possible, to find the justice they so richly deserve. Thank you for your time.

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