The Lets Read Podcast - 89: Episode 079 | Search & Rescue Stories | 22 True Scary Horror Stories

Episode Date: January 12, 2021

Welcome to the seventy-ninth 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 Search & Rescue, Run In With A Gang & The Creepy New Guy... 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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Find a Toyo Tread Experts dealer near you at treadexperts.ca slash locations. From tires to auto repair, we're always there. TreadExperts.ca My name is Rob Powell. For the past few years, I've held the position of Deputy Team Leader at the Brecon Mountain Rescue Team here in Wales. The BMRT is an essential emergency service for rural Wales, staffed entirely by volunteers and funded entirely by donations from the National Lottery and members of the public. Our work is not just restricted to mountain or wilderness search and rescue for climbers and hill walkers. Our skills are also deployed by the Welsh police to search for vulnerable or missing persons,

on assignments where we can employ our specialist medical and rescue techniques. I've seen some pretty wild things during my time in the rescue team, some of which have been more distressing or disturbing than I'd care to admit. But there's only been one incident in my entire career that myself or my colleagues have not been able to fully explain. This is the story of that incident. Mountain rescue teams can only be called on the authority of the police. A call is normally initiated by the local force in response to a 999 call or the report of a missing person. The team can be and is called out at any time of day or night, under any conditions,

even on New Year's Day and Christmas Day. The relevant police personnel will initially alert the rescue team by means of a pager message. A little outdated, I know, but it reflects the slimmer-than-slim budget we're forced to work with year in and year out. Once the volunteers receive their I'll respond message, the ball gets rolling. A team leader or deputy team leader will then discuss the details of the incident with the coordinating police officers and decide on appropriate rendezvous points and if any additional assets need to be deployed.

This can include additional teams, tracker dogs or even helicopter support if the situation calls for one to be deployed. So I'm sitting in the Drover's Arms pub with a few mates, having just finished watching one of their younger brothers represent their high school in a rugby sevens match. Their team won, so spirits are high. We've just finished some dinner and I'm about to get stuck into my first pint of the evening when my beeper goes off. I won't lie, I was a bit annoyed. I'd really been looking forward to that pint and were explicitly told to expect things like that. Such is the life of a mountain rescue volunteer.

Anyways, I let the lads know that I had to leave, put my coat on and began the 10 minute walk up to a small set of offices that serve as the BMRT headquarters. It's early on a Sunday night, most calls seem to happen around holidays and weekends and the place is empty. So I unlock the doors, turn on all the lights and walk down to my office to phone the police liaisons officer to get all the necessary details. As I'm talking to the officer in question, my phone starts lighting up with text messages from various other team members telling me they're on their way. Everything was coming together nicely and the situation seemed like the usual basic search and rescue job. A couple of hikers went up into the hills on Saturday intending to camp overnight before heading back down on Sunday afternoon.

According to the person who called it in, the hikers hadn't returned on schedule, nor were they answering any of their phones, so they called us. Now on more than one occasion we've gotten calls from members of the public reporting missing people who weren't actually missing at all. Sometimes groups are slowed down by a dodgy ankle or an upset tummy and just so happen to be out of range of the nearest phone. I get why someone might panic, and it's always better to be safe than sorry. That's why the BMRT exists in the first place. So it always, always helps when the person making the call knows a little bit about the missing group's intended route, so we can retrace or follow it and potentially find them nice and quickly. If we can focus our search, we don't need helicopter support, which saves us a huge amount of money. I know that sounds callous, but we really do live and die on our funding,

so it's essential we keep the purse strings tight. So I'm going through all of the core details with the liaison officer, determining the last group's route, most likely started in Merthyr Tydfil, and advanced north in the direction of Brecon Town Center. A pretty common route for hill hikers. We go through all the usual stuff, just like normal, then move on to the miscellaneous details that can often aid a search. These can include any medical conditions that might bring the missing persons into difficulty, age ranges, and things of that nature.

You'd be amazed at how tiny, seemingly insignificant details can help with a search, so it's extremely important we compile as much information as possible, as quickly as possible. Only when I pressed the liaison's officer for more information regarding the emergency call itself, she became awfully cagey. Very little in the way of detailed information could be passed along regarding the missing group, the only significant detail being that the woman who'd reported them missing was absolutely distraught when she did so. The dispatcher had noted that no matter what she said or did, she couldn't seem to reassure

the caller that their loved ones would be found. The caller seemed convinced that the group of hikers was gone, and never coming back. Honestly, it's stuff like this that kept me in the BMRT for so long. Being the hero that people so desperately need at what for many is the lowest point of their lives thus far. Less than an hour after the initial beeper messages, myself and four additional volunteers had converged on the BRMTHQ ready to begin our search. Our route would take us over 16 miles of hills and mountains,

roughly 5 hours of solid walking, but it was likely we'd find the missing group of hikers in a fraction of that time. At least, that's what we told ourselves initially. We did find something relatively quickly, after only 45 minutes worth of hiking up gently sloping trails, but it didn't fill us with confidence. In fact, it did the very opposite. We found a tent. An empty, abandoned tent. Being a BRMT volunteer sometimes means you're basically a detective. You use small pieces of a puzzle to build up a larger picture of an overall situation.

What we had before us was an empty two-man tent, but we were looking for a total of four missing hikers. What was clear was that whoever had set this tent up had been easily able to make it down into Brecken to report an emergency. Only they hadn't. They'd apparently gone back up the trail, but why they'd do such a thing escaped us completely. But what was obvious is that they'd done so without their hiking boots. This was the first really worrying sign. This happened to me in the middle of March,

not the coldest month on the year, but one which brings strong winds to central Wales. Windchill can lower ambient temperature by almost half and tend to be the cause of most cases of hypothermia we encounter. A hiker can look outside, see a sunny day and assume fine weather, but once they're up a mountain, the wind can drop the temperature into single digits and turn a seemingly benign situation into a deadly one. But it wasn't just the hiking boots that had been left being either. A fair amount of cold weather clothing had been left behind in the tent, along with what appeared to be a significant amount of food and water.

It was at that point that any hope of getting through this rescue without having to call in helicopter support went right out of the window. Whoever was lost out there needed help, quickly. So we called it in, and within minutes, a search and rescue helicopter had taken off from Neville Hall Hospital in Abergavenny with the intention of flying the length of our proposed route. Our eye in the sky was on its way. It was full dark, no stars by the time we made the call, and shortly afterward we began to see red and white flashing lights moving westward in the sky ahead of us. The helicopter's pilot and I exchanged greetings as they tuned into our radio frequency,

and I kept in touch with them as best as possible as we advanced along our route. What's more, it didn't take long before the co-pilot spotted something unusual just about a mile or so ahead of us. According to the helicopter's crew, they had spotted a person running along one of the mountain trails in the opposite direction we were heading. They had tracked the individual's movements for a minute or two before losing sight of them around a set of standing stones. There are over 30 standing stones in the Beacon's National Park.

Some of them are many centuries old and wreathed in myth. It isn't known exactly how many of the surviving standing stones are prehistoric. Some appear to be memorial stones and others may well have had more than one function either as boundary markers, way marks on ancient trails, signposts, or even rubbing stones for livestock. But whatever their purpose was intended to be, we had our next rendezvous point, one that we would have to reach quickly

if we hoped to find our missing persons in good health. It took about 45 minutes of hard hill climbing before we reached the standing stones. After a minute or two of combing the area with only our personal torches for light, one of my team members called me over to one of the standing stones. Behind it, set into a little hillock that obscured it from view, was a small opening in the earth. I say small, it was just about big enough for a fully grown adult to climb inside, and what was clear was that it would be the perfect place for someone stuck on a mountain

to take shelter from the biting wind and rain. I stuck my torch inside the opening and peered inside, only then seeing just how deep the passageway seemed to go. Wales used to be a hub for the British coal mining industry, and the country is now littered with disused mining pits and shafts, both ancient and modern. Knowing this full well, the underground passage didn't strike me as too unusual at first, and I actually thought that the missing hikers lucky that they might have come across something like this to shelter themselves. I called out down the opening, checking to see if anyone had slipped down the tunnel and gotten themselves stuck whilst trying to take shelter,

but received no reply. I then called over one of the other team members who happened to be carrying the majority of our climbing ropes. We harnessed him up, staked climbing pegs into the earth just outside the entrance, and began to lower him into the opening to check for signs of life. We lowered him down so far into the earth that I began to worry about the prospect of him getting stuck himself, but thankfully we didn't have to lower him any further before he had found something. He called out for us to pull him up, alerting us that he had found an item of clothing that possibly belonged to one of our missing hikers.

So we did just that. We pulled him back up, took the item of clothing from him and lowered him back down to continue looking. As he did so, I took a quick look at the jumper he'd brought up and was struck by something unusual about it. It looked old, really old. Clothing exposed to the elements for long periods can end up looking pretty rough, but not that rough.

It appeared as if it had been stuck down that hole in the earth for a long, long time. We didn't find anything else down that hole, or on the rest of the mountain. We stayed up there until about three in the morning, long after our helicopter support had to withdraw due to dwindling fuel, but we didn't find a single thing. No more clothes, no signs of life, and no bodies. The more it became clear that we weren't going to find anything, the more I thought about how the distressed caller seemed convinced that the hikers were gone. She had no way of knowing that whatsoever, yet somehow, she was right. And that really didn't sit well with me at all.

Throughout the next week, two more search parties took to the hills in hopes of finding a trace of our missing hikers. Both came back empty handed. I expected reports of the missing hikers to appear in local news publications, only they didn't. When I tried to find out why, I was turned away by most police sources until one let slip that a judge at the High Court of England and Wales, had placed a publication ban on the incident, meaning an order prohibiting publication under Section 11 of the Contempt of Court Act of 1981 was in effect, keeping all news of the incident out of the newspapers. But that's not what really bothers me about this whole thing. I mean, it's been confounding, sure, but it's another peculiar detail surrounding the case that keeps me up at night. The name stitched into the jumper we found down that hole in the earth was Robert Williams.

I came to find out that this didn't match any of the names we'd been given regarding our missing hikers. In fact, Robert Williams had been missing from the nearby town of Neith since March of 2002, 17 years before our missing hikers were reported. Who was it that our helicopter support had spotted before they disappeared among the standing stones? Was it one of our missing hikers? Or was it in fact the long-lost Robert? Regardless, I can't help but think I'd find the answers to these questions at the bottom of that tunnel, hidden among the standing stones.

Sunrise on Saturday, September 23, 1972. An experienced climber by the name of Neil Olson is leading an ascent of a difficult section of the 24th pitch of the Nose Route of El Capitan. Sometimes known as El Cap, El Capitan is a vertical rock formation in Yosemite National Park, located on the north side of Yosemite Valley near its western end. The granite monolith is about 3,000 feet from base to summit along its tallest face, and is a popular objective for rock climbers. The aforementioned nose route is one of the original technical climbing routes up El Capitan. Once considered impossible to climb, El Capitan is now the standard for big wall climbing. Just as the group pass Camp 5, a set of ledges about 900 feet below the top of the cliff,

a horrifically unfortunate accident occurs. Somehow Olsen pulls a 125 pound boulder loose from a wedging just above him, and he watches in terror as the huge rock begins to fall in his direction. His life flashes before his eyes as he tries to dodge it, but the heavy stone structure glances off his plastic helmet, still hard enough to stun him. The boulder then falls back and over him before smashing into his right leg and breaking it in several places. Olsen is rendered completely immobile and in agonizing pain, terrified that he might bleed to death as a result of numerous compound fractures to his leg.

By 7.30 that very same morning, Yosemite search and rescue officer Pete Thompson was helping to organize one of the most terrifyingly demanding rescue attempts in the history of North American mountaineering. Pete had assembled an A-team of six local climbers in his office, their mission being to develop an initial rescue plan, estimate equipment needs, and identify other technical climbers they'd wish to take with them. The idea was to lower one of the rescue teams from the summit over 900 feet down to the

severely wounded Neil Olsen, who would no doubt be overjoyed to see them. Then Olsen and his rescuer would then be lowered to waiting medical staff on the valley floor almost 2000 feet below. At the time, only one other long lowering rescue even remotely similar to this one had ever been performed, in Grand Teton National Park in August of 1967, just over five years previously. In total, 18 brave, selfless men and one woman would be flown to the top of El Cap that day. The team's task was made even harder as a result of a disastrous incident earlier that summer, one that almost crippled their ability to mount any serious rescue attempt. Just seven weeks before, shortly after midnight on the 1st of August 1972, a drunken 17-year-old

reprobate had set fire to the thousands of tons of stacked hay in the California state government's horse barn. The barn and stables were set alight and burned to the ground, as were another seven older wooden structures in the area and what was described as a manic episode of serial arson. One of these highly flammable civilian construction corps-era buildings happened to be holding the valley's search and rescue equipment cache. Hundreds of climbing ropes, webbing, pitons, bolts, carabiners, sleeping bags, rain gear, and other such vital equipment all went up

in smoke. Thompson knew that they were short on the right sorts of equipment to pull off a rescue of this size and complexity. To this day, a now long retired Pete Thompson is not exactly sure how the park ended up with some of what it got that day. The most interesting were the large rolls of one half inch rope. Tubbs Cordage, a yachting and sailing line manufacturing company in the San Diego area, had generously sent two 4,000 foot long rolls and three 1,200 foot long rolls of gold line, each tightly wound around a wooden spindle. Although plenty strong, the rope was not intended to take the kind of abuse it would be subjected to, and its use proved an almost fatal mistake to those who would later use it in an attempt to save lives. The ropes were driven up by local police departments to

nearby El Toro Marine Air Station. They were then flown to El Capitan Meadow in two large twin-rotor CH-46 helicopters, sometimes called Chinooks by civilians. Other retail outdoor companies in the Bay Area, such as the Ski Hut in the North Face, sent actual solid climbing rope, as well as a seemingly endless supply of colored nylon webbing, hundreds of carabiners, over a hundred bolts, dozens of pitons, piton hammers, water bottles, dried food, and other long accessory lines and cords. These purchases were all picked up by the Bay Area Mountain Rescue Unit and transported by the California Highway Patrol. Before they returned to their home base at El Toro that evening, a team from the local

Marine Corps base flew even more vital equipment and manpower to the staging point at the summit of El Capitan. There was a pile of equipment on the peak that night that had to be sorted and then placed in the right spot for the next morning. Rescuers worked tirelessly through the night to sift and sort through the mess of gear, determining which would prove the most useful in their rescue attempt. During the height of the stretcher lowering later in the day, several hundred people stood along the road and in the meadow at the base of El Cap, most with their binoculars pointed toward the

light brown cliff, morbidly observing the ensuing rescue attempt. Six of the Camp 4 search and rescue site climbers rappelled down to Camp 5 that first afternoon. Up top, the climbers knotted together enough ropes to create two 3,000-foot lengths of cordage. One rope made a directional change at the victim's tiny ledge far below. The other ran straight from the final lip of El Capitan to Olsen's litter, attended by Camp 4 superstar Jim Bridwell. Although it took more than 36 hours to fully orchestrate, once underway, the rescue attempt took just 90 minutes for the pair to be lowered down the remaining 1,800 feet of sheer cliff face. Luckily, the entire thing went off without so much as a hitch. The five still on the ledge,

as well as Olsen's partner, elected to come down later that night after dark when energy and focus had been recuperated. Algarza, the park's chief electrician, built a huge light bank and illuminated almost the entire face of the great cliff, just one small example of the gargantuan amount of work and effort that went into rescuing Neil Olsen. Neil's leg healed and despite the consequential injuries incurred from the accident, he continued to climb for the next four decades. But he never, ever forgot the horrors of what he had to endure on El Capitan that day. Nor did he forget the brave and valiant efforts of those who risked their own lives to ensure his own survival.

Gene Hambleton was born on November 16th, 1918 in Rossville, Illinois. Inspired by stories of combat flyers during World War I, his childhood dream was to serve as a pilot in America's armed forces. But by the time he qualified as a combat pilot at the U.S. Army Air Force's training wing, World War II was almost over, and Hamilton did not see any significant combat action. After the German and Japanese surrenders of 1945, Hamilton was released from active service. However, he retained an active reserve commission, which meant that as the 1950s rolled around and America commenced a brand new series of combat actions against communist insurgencies,

Hamilton was recalled to active service, this time by the U.S. Air Force. During his service in the Korean War, Hamilton flew a total of 43 sorties as navigator in a B-29 superfortress. Then, during the 1960s, Hamilton worked on various USAF ballistic missile projects such as the PGM-19 Jupiter, Titan I ICBM, and Titan II ICBM, a vital part of the USA's nuclear deterrent as it moved into the age of atomic warfare. After his involvement in the missile projects,

he commanded the 571st Strategic Missile Squadron at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base in Tucson, Arizona from 1965 to 1971. He also served as the deputy chief of operations for his squadron's parent unit, the Strategic Air Command's 390th Strategic Missile Wing at Davis Month in AFB, Arizona. After the commencement of the Vietnam conflict, Hamilton switched from the Strategic Air Command to the Tactical Air Command and was assigned to the 42nd Tactical Electronic Warfare Squadron in Koret, Thailand as a navigator. The 42nd Tactical Electronic Warfare Squadron was equipped with the EB-66CD destroyer aircraft that flew radar and communications, jamming missions to disrupt enemy defenses and early warning capabilities.

Not the kind of role that Hambleton had envisaged for himself as a youth, but it was a vital strategic contribution nonetheless. During his 63rd mission on April 2nd, 1972, Hamilton was a navigator aboard an EB-66C gathering signals intelligence, including identifying enemy anti-aircraft radar installations to enable effective jamming. The aircraft was helping escort a cell of three B-52 bombers tasked with attacking entrance passes to the Ho Chi Minh Trail, a vital logistical route that supplied the Vietnamese communist guerrillas with all of their weapons, ammunition, and equipment they needed to continue their struggle. The B-52s would use their huge payloads of highly explosive 2,000-pound bombs to obliterate the terrain and deny its use to the enemy. However, while flying at about 30,000 feet over Quang Tri, just south of the demilitarized zone that separated South Vietnam from its northern counterpart, the aircraft's emergency alarms began to wail. This meant only one thing. The aircraft was firmly in the sights of an enemy anti-air

weapon station which was preparing to lock and fire with a heat-seeking explosive projectile. The aircraft's pilot began evasive maneuvers, even going so far as to fire off its own electronic countermeasures, which were in the form of heat radiating flares designed to distract and confuse an enemy missile into diverting from its intended target. The aircraft occupants felt the plane lurch and twist in the air, trying its hardest to avoid the missile strike, but to no avail. In one horrifying moment, an explosion rocked the airframe as a Soviet-built SA-2 Guideline surface-to-air missile slammed into the plane. The initial explosion killed a handful of the crew instantly

as red-hot shrapnel ripped through the aircraft's interior, puncturing flesh and severing arteries. Hambleton was the only member of the six-man crew who found himself able to eject as the aircraft began plummeting into the jungle below. But this was the least of his problems. Hambleton had found himself right in the middle of the North Vietnamese Easter Offensive and landed in the midst of tens of thousands of North Vietnamese soldiers. What followed was the largest, longest, and most complex search and rescue operation during the entire Vietnam War. Upon safely landing his parachute, Hamilton found himself concealed by a low fog bank as he landed in a dry rice paddy unseen by the NVA troops.

From his hiding place, he was astonished at the huge number of North Vietnamese Army troops, equipment, and heavy weapons in the area, with a handful of NVA infantry platoons bivouacked just 100 meters away. By a stroke of luck, Hambleton's URC-64 rescue radio had not been damaged during the missile strike or his descent, and his colleagues back in Thailand were able to pinpoint his location to just two kilometers north of the Kamlo Bridge, which happened to be heavily defended by U.S. Marines. These coordinates were then quickly passed along to an HC-130 search and rescue aircraft

operating just south of Quang Tri. Recovering Hamilton quickly was essential, as the odds of recovering downed airmen dropped below 20% if the aircrew member was on the ground after four hours. But their efforts would be severely hampered by the huge number of troops and large quantity of anti-aircraft fire in the area, some of it supporting the NVA's efforts to capture and protect the Kamlo Bridge near Hamilton's position. What's more, at about the same time that Hamilton was shot down,

commandos blew up the key bridge over the Kuvier River east of Hambleton's position. The NVA were subsequently forced to reroute thousands of troops, dozens of tanks and other equipment west, immediately in front of Hambleton's position. Their valiant attempt to slow the NVA advance had put Hambleton in a seriously dangerous position. But perhaps what U.S. military intelligence found most terrifying about the prospect of Hamilton's capture was his intelligence value as a POW. Hamilton had more than 20 years of military service under his belt, and due to the majority

of that being in signals and intelligence, Hamilton was one of the most knowledgeable missile and electronic countermeasures experts in the entire Vietnamese area of operations. 1972 was right at the end of the Vietnam War and as a result, very few Americans remained on the ground. The NVA made it a point to track particularly valuable personnel, even in surrounding foreign countries such as Thailand. The North Vietnamese were also probably supported by the Russian KGB, who by decrypting American message traffic likely knew exactly who had parachuted into their midst. This ability was most definitely enhanced by the then unknown American spy, John Anthony Walker, who had given the Soviets a radio cipher card and other high-value intelligence.

Hamilton's capture would be a terrific blow to American air power around the world and a huge prize for the North Vietnamese and indirectly, the Soviets. But Hamilton was hardly unprepared for such a disaster. He had received water survival training at Turkey Run, Florida, in addition to escape and evasion training and survival basics at the Pacific Air Command Jungle Survival School in the Philippines. Despite the shrapnel wounds from his aircraft exploding, a ripped finger, and four compressed vertebrae from the force of the ejection, Hamilton decided that with only nine months to go until his retirement, he was going to survive and return

home. But before he could do that, Hamilton had to relay the coordinates of the North Vietnamese around him. This must have satisfied any desire for revenge rather well, as Hamilton watched in secret as bombs and missiles began to rain down around him, all over the positions of the North Vietnamese. But such munitions are hardly 100% accurate, and there's no doubt that as Hamilton watched the ordnance explode all around him, he prayed that none would stray from their target and land directly on his hiding place. Time and time again, attempts to locate and rescue Gene Hamilton resulted in yet more casualties and destroyed aircraft. Five aircraft had been shot down and another 16 seriously damaged,

while an additional ten service members had been killed or captured in their attempts to rescue their comrade. On the 8th of April, General Creighton Abrams, who would go on to have a tank named after him, ordered that no further combat search and rescue would be attempted, but that given Hambleton's top secret clearance and knowledge of missiles and countermeasure technology, that every effort should be made to bring him home alive. And so, a covert land-based rescue operation was suggested instead. In Saigon, Navy SEAL Lieutenant Thomas R. Norris,

one of just three SEAL officers and nine enlisted men remaining in Vietnam, was waiting for orders when the call came in for a commando operation to get Hambleton out. Norris was immediately dispatched to lead an operation to rescue Hambleton. Meanwhile, the U.S. rescuers knew that the North Vietnamese were monitoring radio communications and understood English. However, Hambleton's rescuers learned that he was one of the best golfers in the entire United States Air Force and that he retained a detailed memory of the golf courses he had played. Improvising a code using a series of specific golf course holes to guide him through the minefield sown to protect him they radioed him you're going to play 18 holes and you're going to get in the

swanny and make like esther williams and charlie the tuna the round starts on number one at tucson national hamilton was initially confused and actually asked the radio operator, what have you been smoking? But he soon broke the code, realizing that they were feeding him information on the distance and direction they wanted him to travel. Number one at Tucson National is 408 yards running southeast. The reference to Charlie the tuna was an allusion to the water course he'd encounter if he followed direction correctly. However, to save time and speed up his rescue, Hamilton chose to pass through the abandoned village that concealed the guns that shot down some of his would-be

rescuers. The village had been heavily bombed as retaliation and the likelihood that there were any surviving North Vietnamese soldiers in the area were slim to none. But to Hamilton's absolute horror, he advanced into the smoking ruins of the village to discover that it had been reoccupied by NVA soldiers. Hamilton crawled through mud, brush, and smoldering wreckage, staying out of sight of the enemy's soldiers for as long as possible. But soon his luck ran out. He tried lying face down in the mud, mimicking a dead body in the hopes that a nearby patrolling sentry would mistake him for a dead NVA soldier.

But it was not to be. The soldier began prodding Hamilton with his bayonet, his suspicions raised by the unusual uniform worn by that particular corpse. Hamilton winced in pain, unable to ignore the agonizing stabs, and the NVA soldier turned to scream warnings to his comrades. Yet Hamilton was quick. He leapt up from his hiding place, taking out the Air Force survival knife that was standard issue to all combat pilots at the time.

As the soldier took a gasp of breath into his lungs, intending to release it as a terrified warning scream, Hamilton jabbed the sharp end of his knife into the man's throat from behind, sawing and cutting until the soldier's screams were drowned out by the blood that flowed through his windpipe. As the body lay at his feet and his veins coursed with adrenaline, Hamilton had no time to rest or recoup. He would have to go on, or suffer the same fate as that poor dead soldier, dead by his own hand. By the 11th of April, nine days after he was first shot down, Gene Hamilton was too weak to move on any further.

The rescue team on the ground, which had been reduced by constant NVA harassment from a dozen individuals to just two, knew they would have to act fast. The remaining rescuers, an American Navy SEAL and a Vietnamese commando, commandeered a traditional Vietnamese river fishing boat known as a sampan, intending to be discreet, a mobile method of reaching the downed pilot. But before they departed, each confessed to each other that they may not survive such a desperate, daring attempt. Disguised as Vietnamese civilians, they rowed quietly upriver, but even in the pitch dark and dense fog, they could see large numbers of North Vietnamese soldiers and tanks on the shoreline. Stopping to check his map at one point, the sole U.S. Navy SEAL suddenly realized that two NVA soldiers were sitting about 10 meters away.

However, they were asleep. Traveling upriver in the Sampan, they broke out of the heavy fog and found themselves about 4 kilometers from their starting point under the Kamlo Bridge. They had passed Hambleton's position more than thirty minutes ago. Turning around, they worked their way south before putting ashore and began to search for Hambleton. They finally found him sitting in a clump of bushes, alive but partly delirious and extremely weakened, having eaten only four small ears of corn in twelve days and having lost

forty-five pounds since his plane was shot down. Sunrise was coming, and although the seal thought it best to wait until dark to return downriver, Hambleton needed to be evacuated immediately. Despite the risk, the seal and his Viet counterpart hid Hambleton in the bottom of the sampan, covered him with bamboo, and started downriver. Landing on a riverbank back in friendly territory, they were met by some South Vietnamese soldiers who assisted in getting the wounded Hambleton to safety. There, an M113 armored personnel carrier carried Hambleton and his rescuers back to brigade headquarters in Dong Ha. He was shortly afterward evacuated to the hospital at Clark Air Force Base in the Philippines where he recuperated for a month. The rescue of Gene Hamilton was a watershed event for the military and led them to find a new approach to high threat search and rescue. They recognized that

if a search and rescue mission was predestined to fail, it should not be attempted, and other options such as special operations, divisionary tactics, and other creative approaches tailored to the situation had to be considered. Recognizing the need for an aircraft that could deliver better close air support, the Air Force accepted the Navy's A-7 Corsair. The military also improved the night capability of helicopters and area denial munitions. During the Vietnam War, search and rescue forces saved 3,883 lives at the cost of 71 rescuers and 45 aircraft. May their contribution never be forgotten.

I'm Cole Michaels and I live here in Coquitlam, a city of the lower mainland of British Columbia, Canada. I work for the Coquitlam Search and Rescue, a volunteer search and rescue association based here in BC. Our primary area of operations is just shy of 2,000 square kilometers and includes some of the most rugged and inaccessible terrain in the southwest region of the province of British Columbia. The team also provides assistance to residents during natural disasters such as floods and earthquakes, but my work isn't at the glamorous end of the spectrum, loading up into helicopters and winching wounded walkers off of mountain trails. I'm more at home in my office cubicle than I am in the belly of a rescue chopper, and much more comfortable in jeans and a polo than a climbing harness and safety helmet.

You see, for the past few years, myself and a handful of other IT graduates have been working on a publicly accessible database that compiles information of British Columbia's missing persons. We built a database with dozens of names compiled from the memoirs of SAR volunteers throughout the province. So far it dates back to 2002, when many files started going electronic. Delving further into the past will be difficult,

with paper records gathering dust on the desks of other volunteer members, but it's something we find extremely fulfilling. Every missing person profile we complete is a little ray of hope for a family that would do anything to gain a little closure, and each one is a personal victory for my small but dedicated team. Having said that, there was one case in particular that I'd like to discuss today, one that left me increasingly disturbed the more I studied it. This is the story of Mackie Basil's disappearance. Immaculate Mackie Basil was born on December 8th, 1985. The 8th of December is also the date of the

Roman Catholic feast of the Immaculate Conception, which is how Mackie's parents decided on her name. Although we've been unable to find out why, Mackie's parents, Samuel Basil and Patricia Joseph abandoned her to British Columbia's foster care system when she was young, along with her sisters Ida and Crystal. She was known to be an introvert who rarely partied and was not known to drink or do drugs. She was also very selective with who she spent time with and often preferred to stay at home cleaning, decorating, completing tasks, being online, talking with her sisters, or spending time with her son, Jameson, who was just five years old at the time of her disappearance.

The testimonies of those close to her, referencing Mackie's preference to quiet nights in as opposed to drunken nights out, leads us to our first major conundrum. Because on the night she was last seen, Mackie was apparently attending a house party on the Tachi Reserve, an enclave of the Tlazdan tribe of First Nations people, of which Mackie was a member. She was driven up to the reserve by a cousin of hers named Keith, which is again unusual given that Mackie was apparently averse to going anywhere without her own wheels, and if she did, it was often with her son in tow, along with some extra clothes, a makeup bag, and a bag of spare diapers for her young son. This, along with the fact that the house party was only a 20-minute walk from her own home,

led us to believe that Mackie had intended to walk home, and for whatever reason, had made the decision to drink alcohol that night. It was also June 13th of 2013 at the time of the house party, and summers in British Columbia can be much more temperate than people imagine, therefore ruling out the possibility that Mackie was caught in bad weather. The next thing that we know for certain is that the police then named Mackie's cousin and his friend Victor as suspects in the disappearance. Both were arrested and subjected to polygraph tests to determine if there were any inconsistencies in their story. At the time, given that they were the last two people to see Mackie alive,

it was assumed to be given that they were responsible for any foul play that may have occurred. But the Royal Canadian Mounted Police reported to the Basil family that both men were cooperative and that even interviews with forensic psychologists had gone very well, essentially eliminating Keith and Victor as suspects. However, what became evident during these interviews is that Victor and Keith didn't just give Mackie a ride to the house party at the Tachi Reserve, they actually gave her a ride back too. Somehow, Mackie had gotten out of the car during a ride home that should have taken 4-5 minutes, maybe even less. During interviews, Victor and Keith had claimed that their truck became stuck

in a patch of mud, but it was high summer at the time and recent weather had been fair. Obviously, this answer did not satisfy police investigators, hence why they were subjected to numerous interviews and lie detection tests. But afterwards, they were happy enough to release the men from custody. Our team had reached out to Victor and Keith in order to ask them to shed a little more light on the events of that evening, both aggressively declined. We may never know the reason that Mackie got out of her cousin's truck that evening, but we're certain she did. Forensic examination of the truck she was present in found absolutely

no traces of blood or anything else which may lead us to believe that they had killed her. What's clear is that Mackie was now alone, in the middle of the night, on a lonely woodland road in the middle of British Columbia. If the RCMP had effectively ruled out foul play as the reason she disappeared, this leaves us with two serious theories. Accident or animal attack. Although there are numerous dangerous wild animals that are known to live in that area, the theory of an animal attack is brought into question due to the lack of evidence of an attack found by the searchers involved in the thorough ground and air search. There was no confirmed recovery of any of the items that the young mother had when she went missing,

nor was there any discovery of blood or other remains confirmed to be hers. If she went missing due to an accident or misadventure, then it is also reasonable to presume that she would have walked to where she had met her demise. That would have been well within the range of the search party who were looking for her remains, which were never found. For all intents and purposes, a young woman went to a house party one night and then dropped off the face of the earth. Missing people always leave something of a trail behind, one that 99% of the time leads us to locate them to be dead or alive. But somehow, Mackie did not. It really is as if though she just melted into the ether. It should also be noted that Mackie's cousin, Bonnie Marie Joseph,

went missing on the exact same stretch of road just six years previously in September of 2007. This stretch of road happens to be known as the Highway of Tears, a 725-kilometer corridor of Highway 16 between Prince George and Prince Rupert, British Columbia, which has been the location of many murders and disappearances beginning in 1970. What sets Mackey's disappearance apart is that most of those murders and disappearances have been solved relatively easily, while Mackey's case shows absolutely no sign of being solved anytime soon. I used to be a cop. When I say that most people picture some highway patrolman with a pair

of aviator sunglasses and a salt and pepper mustache. But that wasn't me, not by a long shot. Sure, I spent a little time on the beat. Every new cop has to chew a little gum before they can advance, but advance I did. Right onto the police helicopter's pilot's course, and eventually into the Drug Enforcement Agency's Aviation Division. Based out of Fort Wallace Alliance Airport down in Texas, the DEA's Office of Aviation Operation is home to only the most elite of police pilots. There are only about 120 of us at any one time, manning and maintaining only about 100 airplanes, helicopters, and recently,

more and more unmanned aerial vehicles, or as civilians call them, drones. I flew 53 missions for the DEA, most of them during the mid to late 80s and early 90s during the DEA's Colombian campaign, but there is only one of those missions that I think about every single day, one that will haunt me right up until the day I die. I suppose the whole thing started with Tranquilandia. Literally translated from the Spanish as Quiet Village, Tranquilandia is a small rural village located about 160 miles south from the town of San Jose del Guavier. The village came to our attention when a US diplomatic attache had innocently asked for a study on Colombian chemical imports.

What they discovered led us to the sleepy little jungle village, where we discovered not just a cocaine lab, but a veritable cocaine factory. The factory is fully equipped with living quarters for more than 100 people, several storage rooms for chemicals and supplies, and workshops for automobiles and airplanes. With this efficient production line, traffickers were synthesizing 20 tons of cocaine a month, putting 12 million in the coffers of the Medellin cartel in only two years. Authorities seized more than 10 tons of cocaine and cocaine based on Tranquilandia and found more labs and similar compounds in the surrounding jungle.

The police destroyed drugs and material conservatively estimated to be worth 1.2 billion, but this discovery was only the beginning. We had uncovered an entire network of cocaine production and smuggling, one that would take many months to completely dismantle. It's during this operation phase that I flew the mission that changed my life forever. One night, I was woken up by a member of our team who informed me that an emergency mission was being planned down in the briefing room. The team leader had handpicked me as the lead pilot given that I had somewhat of a speciality for flying in low light conditions, but I had to drag myself to the briefing room

to get any actual info. It was to be a search and rescue operation, probably the most high-pressure, high-risk mission a helicopter pilot can ever be assigned to. And high-risk it was. A small group of Colombian Honglas Special Force soldiers, advised by an attachment of US-born DEA agents, had been ambushed and routed by a group of cartel or cartel-aligned gunmen. One was already KIA, but another was on the run with his emergency location beacon pinging every few seconds. We were tasked with the unenviable job of tracking the beacon to the agent's location, then getting him out of dodge. I immediately set about preparing my chopper for takeoff. Myself and my co-pilot checked our fuel gauges, tested for metal fatigue as best we could, and studied maps that charted the emergency beacon's

course. Missions like that normally meant an accompaniment of Colombian law enforcement or special forces guys, but when we were just about ready to depart, a group of guys who I'd never seen before rolled up to the helipad and introduced themselves. I use the term introduced themselves very loosely because they didn't, not really. They were our special forces guys, Americans, and they didn't use regular names or call signs, and they didn't even really look like soldiers either. All had thick facial hair, no markings on their uniforms, and they even carried a few unconventional sidearms that suited the jungle environment. They looked more like the bad guys we were fighting than anything else.

We lifted off the helipad in almost complete darkness once the special forces team had piled into the belly of the beast, flying southwest for about an hour or two until a silver of pale blue daylight had started to creep onto the distant horizon. Suddenly the SF team's radio chatter went into overdrive and their team leader demanded I land in a nearby clearing. Obviously I obliged, bringing the chopper down among long grass as the special forces soldiers piled out of the chopper and sprinted towards the tree line. Only then did I see what they were talking about. It was a body, slumped against a tree, with one arm weakly waving in our direction in the dim morning light.

Even from like a hundred meters away, I could see that their face, arms, and uniform were caked in dry blood. What little skin was exposed was so pale it was almost ghostly. I watched transfixed as the SF guys reached the tree line and began to drag the wounded agent onto their shoulders. But suddenly they dropped the guy. So hard I snapped at them over the radio to be more freaking careful. They couldn't hear me, but that didn't

matter, but once again it appeared that they'd seen something that I hadn't, because all of a sudden they began hurtling back towards the waiting chopper, a look of terror on their faces. Just as I was about to ask them what was going on, I was blinded by a bright flash in the middle of the clearing. By the time I could see again, the special forces guys were back to the chopper, screaming at us to take off and get out of there. When I looked up, I saw the right side of the chopper's windshield was covered in blood and gore. I was confused, but none of us had time to think, as right at that very moment a light show of muzzle flashes erupted in the tree line around us.

The chopper rattled and shook as gunfire ripped through the airframe. The crack and whiz of bullets could be heard even over the roar of its engines. I turned to my co-pilot for a second and saw he had a hand clamped tightly around his throat. Blood squirted out from between his fingers as he struggled for breath. I turned to the SF guys in the back to ask if any could give my copilot first aid, but they were occupied with their own casualty. One of their team's legs was missing above the knee and the remaining three were fighting to properly tie a tourniquet

as the chopper lurched forward after takeoff. There was nothing I could do but try my hardest to get us back to base safely, and I'm not quite sure how I did it, only that I somehow did. Just not in time to save the lives of my co-pilot and the special forces soldier wounded in what turned out to be a cartel ambush. As it turns out, the cartel-aligned gunmen had shot and killed both of our DEA agents in the initial ambush on the Colombian patrol. Then, they'd packed one of the bodies with remotely detonated explosives, activated the emergency beacon, then simply waited for us to show up. As for the waving motion the body seemed to be making,

I asked one of the SF guys what the deal was a few days later. He told me the cartel had strung up the guy's arm with wire, then tugged on it slowly as he flew overhead, making it look like the guy was alive. That's the thing I can't get ever out of my mind. The sight of that dead man, waving up at us, inviting us to join him. If it's a flat or a squeal, a wobble or peel, your tread's worn down or you need a new wheel,

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19 plus to wager Ontario only. Please gamble responsibly. If you have questions or concerns about gambling or someone close to you, please contact Connex Ontario at 1-866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. Ben MGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with iGaming Ontario. To be continued... mother and I came ridiculously close to a brutal end. I'm going to choose to be less explicit in what was actually said. At this point I was 15 and had just got done with the summer of being homeless and had moved into a shady little apartment with my aunt in the heart of York City, Pennsylvania. My mother was still with the man who had beaten me badly and had caused us to be

homeless. They had broken up but that wouldn't last even two weeks. But anyway my mother had actually come down to York City to spend the weekend with me because they were temporarily broken up so she didn't need his permission. It was bike night on a Friday or Saturday night and my mother and I both have a love for Harleys. She'd had dated a lot of bikers over the years so even I had an ample experience on a bike by that point. But we had walked from my aunt's apartment to where the bike night was being held to get out and have some fun. My mother and I get lots of attention from the rowdy bikers and the like but we had no trouble overall and had a great time. For a moment, it had felt like old times with her, when I could have called her my closest friend.

We probably began heading home a little after ten, and it was going to take close to a half an hour walk to get back to my aunt's place. York City wasn't very safe to walk during the day, much less at night. We avoided the streets with royal names like King and Queen. If you were on those roads at night, you were liable to get shot. But our precautions were not enough. We had made it maybe half a mile up the road from the event. If you look behind you, you could still see the lights in the tents, even lightly hear the music still going on. We were quietly talking when from a dark alleyway a man stepped out. He was maybe 5'8", thin but muscular, Hispanic and covered in tattoos with a bandana on his head to tie it all together. Look at you lovely ladies, he said as he steps

out of the dark. I was a little buzzed, as was my mother, so despite all I'd been through, I had been mildly amused, probably because I found it funny he was hitting on my mother and I at the same time. But before either of us could respond, another three men came out of the alleyway, and when I turned around, there was another two men behind us. The leader, who had originally stepped out, pulled out a blade and took a step closer. You know, I'd never been with a mother and a daughter before. To which he smiled wickedly. I stiffened as he stood inches in front of me and took the hand without the blade and stroked my hair, then roughly grabbed a fistful of it and bent my head back as he licked up my neck. This is what you two are, isn't it?

My mother remained silent, as did I. I could feel the blade then pressed against my breast and he laughed as I let out a choked noise of terror. I quickly nod, then looking straight ahead but through him like he wasn't there. Silent tears stream down my face. He wraps his arm around me and whispers, Being brave won't save you, girl. Then he takes a step back, pointing the knife inches from my face as he says, Get on your knees, you're going to be both me and my boy's toys for the night, if you know what's good for you. I didn't move,

just continued to silently cry, oblivious to the world around me. My mind was genuinely not processing the situation or what was about to happen. I look over at my mom and she's crying too and she grabs my hand. I can see another man fondling her also holding a knife. You two better listen. You two wanted this. You wouldn't be out here looking like this if you didn't want this to happen. Save the tears, you'll need them. And who knows, if you behave, you might even like it. With that, he slaps me across the face with the back of his hand and I crumple to the ground as my mom begins slowly lowering herself to her knees with her hands up in the air. It's then that from behind me I hear a loud smash and swearing.

The rest goes in slow motion. I look up to see a group of bikers, at least fifteen of them. The smashing noise I had heard was one of them smashing a bottle against the man's head who was standing behind me. The biker quickly overtakes the six men and are genuinely beating them worse than anything I've ever seen. Like taking their bodies and slamming their heads into the brick wall repeatedly and stomping on them unhesitantly. I'm swiftly dragged to the side and a biker with a long grey beard and wearing glasses, even though it's night, asks me if I'm okay. In the madness I had lost sight of my mom and I say no, sobbing like a child, and he points to my right where she had been pulled out no more than 10 feet from me. A female biker is talking to her.

I let out a gasp of relief and the man quickly asks me if I can walk. I nod, unable to make words and he quickly picks me up to my feet and grabs me by the shoulders. Listen to me. You need to get out of here. Just run home and don't turn around no matter what. I can't stop crying but I actually quickly grab the man and hug him whispering a thank you that I'm not even sure he heard. Go. You're okay now. And I nod and stumble over to my mother. I take one last glance at the fight and at this point all I can see is the group of bikers standing around in a circle. My mom is crying the worst I've ever seen her and we just run. We make it another 200 feet when the gunshots ring out. I freeze and turn but my mom pulls on me and just shakes her head.

It's only another minute when two cop cars go whizzing by us with their lights on. I don't remember the rest of the trip home at all. We were just suddenly there and I couldn't cry anymore. My mom and I didn't say a word about it, never even talked about it again. We both got violently drunk that night. My aunt stayed upstairs, probably high as a kite anyways. I lay in the shower with a bottle of vodka in my hand. I was covered in bruises, had bits of glass in my hair and some that had cut my face, neck, and hands from the bottle being smashed so close behind me. But otherwise otherwise I was physically okay. To think what could have happened made me even sicker. I haven't even had my first kiss yet and the thought of what was about to happen,

of the fact that I was going to die that night, left me numb. I genuinely owe my life to a group of bikers who I will never be able to thank. I hope none of them got into trouble, though in my heart I believe they ended up ending the lives of six of those men who had surrounded us that night. Obviously with having just been homeless I still didn't have a cell phone. We had no cable or any computer in the apartment so I was never able to confirm what happened. It's only with typing this now that I consider for the first time looking it up to see if I could find anything on it but I don't want to be reminded. I don't ever want to see the gang's face again even if they're dead.

I definitely don't want to see the biker gang who saved my mother and I as there might have been serious negative repercussions for doing so. So to the biker gang who saved our lives, thank you from the bottom of my heart. And to everyone else out there, please stay safe. This happened when I was 11 years old. I know it was right around then because I was with my little brother in the $2 theater seeing the new Avatar movie that had come out just a few months earlier in 2010. It was in the middle of this little shopping area surrounded by stores. My mom had dropped me off with my little brother, who had only just turned four at the time. I think my twin Cass had gone to a friend's birthday party sleepover which is why I was allowed to take Jay. My mother was supposed to

only be in one of the stores immediately around the little theater but evidently she didn't anticipate how long the movie was going to be and I definitely didn't have a phone back then so she had no way of contacting me or I her. Anyway I leave the theater carrying Jay though he could walk if he wanted to. The two dollar theater was never super busy so there was only another six people or so who were leaving the theater the same time as us. As soon as we stepped out of the theater I noticed my mother's falling apart red minivan was nowhere in sight. This immediately made me uncomfortable but I wasn't super surprised. At first we sat on the

bench right outside the theater waiting while Jay kept talking about how cool the blue people were with their flying dinosaurs and how he wanted one. But after over half an hour of waiting, a worried employee came out and asked if we were okay and if we needed her to call someone. My mother didn't have a cell phone either so that was unhelpful but I knew better than to act like I needed help. I shoot Jay a look to keep quiet and he obeys. If she called the police my mother would be livid. She always told us that if we thought growing up with her was bad wait until we were put into foster care and split apart or she'd just say if we ever left her she'd end her own life which I fully believe so I just smiled politely and told the woman that our mom would be there

any minute to pick us up. I knew we couldn't just stay and sit there now, so I told Jay we needed to start walking home, which looking back wasn't my best idea. The theater was almost half an hour's drive from my house. It would take me well past dark to get home by myself, and even longer still having to carry my chunky four-year-old especially with how small I was for my age. But I had Jay to look after and I was super protective of him so I was on high alert as soon as we began walking. We crossed the street on the crosswalk and began making the long trip towards our house down the sidewalk with Jay on the inner side of me so if anything happened

he wouldn't be hit by a car. He waddled alongside me for a while but we didn't even make it completely out of eyesight of the shopping center when a small black car pulled over and a middle-aged man with thinning hair and dark eyes smiled and waved at me like he knew me. Hello there, he replies cheerfully, and I back up, still ridiculously shy and mumbled a polite hi back. What is a precious young lady like you doing out here? Is that your son? Now keep in mind, I'm like 11 years old and looked even younger than that. I was still completely a skinny child in appearance and definitely did not look old enough to be Jay's mother by any stretch of the imagination. I laughed awkwardly. No, this is my little brother. We're just headed home, thank you.

With that, I pick up Jay, who had taken to hiding behind me and began walking again. But he didn't drive off. He slowly continues to pull up next to me, following my pace. Come on, let me give you a ride. It's too hot here for you to be walking with your brother. We can stop for ice cream too to cool you down. My treat. He smiles again widely and I just shake my head. I can't. My mom will probably pick us up on the way. She should be here any minute, really. But thank you again.

I was trying to be polite as possible to get him to go away, but he continued to creep by. Though I still didn't see him as a threat at all. Just a nuisance. I suddenly look around and can't help but notice how unpopulated the area is. Oh, your mom? I know her. She's actually the one who called me and told me to pick you two up and take you home. And with that, my fear finally kicked in. My mother was the epitome of irresponsible, but she would never send a stranger to pick us up like this. Jay remained uncharacteristically quiet, turning his head away from the man and beginning to cry, tugging on my sleeve without saying anything. And I don't know why I decided to say something so stupid but I did.

Listen mister, you were already asked if my brother was my son so you obviously don't know my mom please leave us alone we're fine and that's when the huge smile instantly disappears from his face get in the car he says in a deadly serious tone all gone. I instinctually take a step back, my mouth drops open but no words escape. Then he raises his voice. I said now young lady, get in the car! And before I can even respond or decide what to do, there's a loud blaring car horn that takes both of our attention. I never thought I'd be so excited to see my mom's ratty minivan. I had been so entranced in fear with this conversation that I hadn't even noticed my mother pull up behind him still blaring her horn. She looks so angry.

I stick up my middle finger to the guy and run to my mom's car. She stops blaring the horn in time for me to hear tires squeal as he hits the gas and drives away like an insane man. I turn to Jay and he's followed my lead, flipping off the man as he drives away. I begin to cry and smile at Jay, giving him a high five for being so brave. I shakily walk into my mom's van and buckle Jay into his seat, feeling like I'm about to vomit as the adrenaline finally takes control. My mother yells at me the entire way home, telling me how stupid I was to try to walk home and that I should have just waited for her. I sob and ask where she was and she says that the movie was so long she decided to drive down the street to go grocery shopping at Walmart. I try to explain what the man was saying thinking it might have made her

less mad at me but she snubs it telling me he was just a concerned adult who saw two kids on the side of the road and was trying to help. It wasn't until I was near 15 when the story got brought up again and my mom who was drinking immediately got a guilty smile in her face and actually admitted that she knew that I had been telling the truth, that the man had clearly been up to no good. She explained it's why she blasted the horn at him, so he wouldn't try to do anything, and that, given the way he flew out of there, is incriminating enough. She continued, claiming that she didn't tell me because she didn't want me to grow up being overly paranoid and thinking I was all that. Which is ironic, given all the situations and stories to come, so... Gee, thanks mom. Way to save the day and still manage to be a pretty crummy mother. Before I start, I want to clarify and explain a few things in case that changes anything or allows for anything to make more sense.

First off, I would, at this point in my life, consider myself goth. And at the time, I was just beginning to transition into that lifestyle. At this point in life, I'm used to the stares or comments, but at the time, as I had been dressing alternatively, but in a way that was more pulled back, I wasn't used to stares as often. The day this story took place, I had been wearing the generic goth platform buckle boots which to the general public stands out a lot. Another thing I would consider important is that this specific mall and region of my state in general is known for human trafficking. The mall itself has a large arcade that's part of a large company and so it has later closing times since it is independently run. I bring this up because there is an entrance from

the mall but there is also a separate entrance from the parking lot for when the mall is closed. I was at this arcade with my sister and cousin which isn't necessarily relevant aside from the fact that I'm older than them and felt like it was my responsibility to protect both of them as well as myself and we were in the back by a cluster of Japanese claw machines. My cousin had been playing this game where you won the prize by rolling a mini version of the toy into a cup with a stupid claw that made the process long and daunting. She had been inching it along and my sister decided to get ice cream as my cousin had been playing for at least 10 minutes. The way the claw

machines are set up there are aisles created by the machines with one at the end of the aisle that kind of acts as a bookend. The machine my cousin was playing happened to be one of the end machines and I was watching her until I saw a man emerge out of the aisle next to us. He seemingly came out of nowhere and I was immediately unsettled by his demeanor. I am in no way saying this to be judgmental and I only mention it because I wanted to give the man the benefit of the doubt because he possibly came from a culture with different social rules. The man was either of Indian or Spanish descent and had the widest, emptiest eyes that I've ever seen in my life. I immediately felt threatened because I tend

to be paranoid but I tried to brush it off as the man accidentally staring at me since I do look a bit odd. However, I couldn't shake my initial feeling of dread and stole glances at the man every once in a while. Eventually, I maintained eye contact with the man as his gaze never left me and he began to move closer to us. After about a minute of slow walking, we were less than a foot apart and I could feel him breathing as he walked around us tightly in a very territorial and intimidating way. I kept my eyes locked on him and pulled out my phone, only breaking eye contact to pretend to dial a number and absentmindedly

telling my cousin that John probably wonders where we are, so I'm going to let him know we're at the arcade. Upon hearing the mention of a man's name, the man broke eye contact and quickly scurried away to the prize shop across the way from the machine. I desperately wanted to leave, though technically nothing had happened aside from my personal space being broken though as I mentioned above at that point I had hoped that it was a cultural difference. My cousin was unnerved but for whatever reason she continued to play the game. I felt trapped because I didn't want to leave my cousin alone but I felt the need to get my sister. I ended up staying with

my cousin since I hadn't seen the man leave the store. Eventually my cousin won the game and went to get an employee to retrieve the prize from the glass case. I was alone for a minute but she came back telling me that someone would be there soon. Somewhere in between this the man came out of the store and I just wanted to get my sister as the ordeal had taken at least 20 minutes at this point the man was inches away from us again and was doing the territorial stare as he circled us i was so intimidated and i remember just standing there shaking as he wordlessly stared at us i shakily told my cousin that i was going to get my sister and walk through her and the man

barely missing brushing up against him and walked into the aisle of the claw machines he had originally come from he quickly began to shuffle toward me and every ounce of courage left my body thinking on my feet I mumbled a quick never mind and came back to my cousin. The next few minutes were agonizing as the man lingered around us. Though I was taller than him and really should have been the intimidating one I felt so trapped and responsible for everyone around me. I didn't want to move to have him follow me but I also just wanted my sister back so we could get out. As if it were a movie, the employee, a 20-something man that was much less intimidating than I, walked up to us to open the machine and give my cousin her prize. Immediately, the man walked down the aisle and I didn't see him again.

I pushed back the urge to tell the employee the predicament. I stopped myself because I didn't want the man to blow me off and think that I was being silly. My sister ended up coming back and we quickly shuffled out. I ended up telling an employee that I had been chatting with at a store earlier and she said that we should tell security at the arcade. We went back and ultimately they blew me off and it really upset me because this place despite having a bar and bowling alley, was full of kids, and I felt genuinely concerned. As this comes to a close, I'd like to add that the reason I talked about the door at the beginning of this post is because the machine that we were at was relatively close to the door, and we were alone, so the man would have had an easy time dragging us to the parking lot entrance if he needed to.

I ended up having a breakdown about it that night even though nothing really happened. I just felt so inexplicably horrified and full of dread that I can't even begin to explain. So yesterday, I was walking back home after hanging out with some friends. Before anyone asked, I was completely sober and in my right mind. I've never been afraid to walk alone in the dark. I'm quite tall and intimidating looking from a distance and I always bring a pocket knife when I know I'll be walking in the dark. I was walking past some woods on the way back to my house and I heard my mother's voice call, Gabriel, help, from inside the woods.

I immediately recognized her voice and turned to look into the woods. She kept calling my name over and over. I couldn't see anything. It was far too dark to see through the trees. Mom? I called back heading towards the woods. She sounded like she was in trouble and scared. I assumed that she had gone for a run like she did every night and somehow got lost in the woods. Then I realized it couldn't be her. She had texted me only 10 minutes before asking me to come home soon to watch my little sister so she could go on a run. I stopped dead in my tracks and called my mom, the voice in the woods still calling my name and getting more frantic by the second. She picked up and I immediately asked her if she was in the woods. She said no.

She was back home with my little sister. I swear to God, as soon as she had said she was back home, her voice stopped calling my name from inside the woods. I was overcome with a wave of dread and fear that I had never felt before. Something in the woods was trying to lure me in using my mother's voice and it knew my full name, not just my nickname, which made things even scarier because the only person who calls me Gabriel is my mom. I immediately turned and ran faster than I ever ran before back home. When I got back home my legs felt like jello and my lungs burnt. I opened the door and there was my mom sitting on the couch with my sister. I would think this was some sort of prank but my mom isn't one for pranks and even if she was there's no way she could have gotten home

before me without me seeing her. This happened a year and a half ago. I'm a 31-year-old petite female at 5'2 who looks much younger. To set the backstory, I am a self-employed sub-postmaster of a post office. Here in Scotland, the post offices are privatized and separate from the Royal Mail Delivery Service so this is my own business which I had taken over and subsequently relocated to my pre-existing shop. The reason for the move is another interesting story involving a year of lies, harassment and vindictive ulterior motives which I will reserve for another time.

I was over a year into running the post office when I was getting ready to head out of town for the weekend for the first time since taking over. Preparing my staff on the Wednesday night I ran over a few safety procedures. I told her that it wouldn't happen but if anybody came in threatening to rob the place she was to let them have it, put her own safety first, money isn't worth your life etc etc. I told her about the panic buttons but reiterated that as far as I was aware nobody has attempted this in the 60 odd years that the post office has been located on my street and it probably will never happen. The next day was my last day before going away. Another colleague that worked beside me had Thursdays off so I was working alone. Everything going as normal. At one point a young lad in shorts and t-shirts stuck his head in the door and asked if I had a cash machine.

I informed him he could withdraw cash at the counter. He replied, okay, I'll be in in a minute, I just need to grab my card. No red flags. This happened regularly. He might have left his wallet in his car or maybe he lives really close. Ten minutes later and after serving other customers, I was back alone when a figure came in wearing a tracksuit bottoms, a pullover jacket with hood up and scarf pulled up over his face. As previously stated, a lad had come in with shorts and t-shirt. This outfit before me was abnormal for a warm end of summer weather. He asked if he could speak to a manager. I am the manager, I replied. What? Nobody's through the back? Nobody else I can speak to? All right, here we go. The irony. I pulled the door behind me shut and stepped backwards. The lad said to not press any buttons as he scanned the room for a camera and simply said,

I need money, as he shifted his jacket revealing a knife tucked in his waistband. It's funny how fight or flight overrules logic. I also now know that in a situation that results in the fight or flight response my scrappy Scottish attitude overrules my aforementioned petite stature. I stepped forward towards the panic buttons but wanting to maintain the upper hand and keep them to my advantage I said in the most sincerely threatening grow growling, and menacing voice possible. First of all, I have panic buttons. Second of all, you better get out, right now.

This startled him. He looked around, glanced out the window, and bolted. So much for, let them have the money, don't put yourself in danger, money isn't worth your life spiel. I had recognized his build and voice as the shorts and t-shirt lad that had been in previously. As I had seen his face then, I was able to identify him from both a photo and video lineup. He was caught within hours and after a court appearance, all he gained for his attempted armed robbery was a bruised ego and a jail sentence. I worked at a small old hospital for a couple of years. Four floors,

only two floors being used in a small ER. I was a med-surg RN working 7 p.m. to 7 a.m. Med-surg meant we had patients who had just had or needed to have surgery and also patients who were just sick. Most of the patients were elderly and just sick with things like pneumonia, anemia, acute kidney failure, etc. etc. When older folks get sick, they tend to get confused and might do or say things that they normally wouldn't. But this, whatever this was, was not cool. This was mortifying and I'm the only one who heard it. We joke that because the hospital was so old that it was creepy and specifically on the right wing of our unit and obviously at night. Guess who got assigned the right wing that night?

So I got bedtime meds ready for the old folks down there and started walking down the hall with my med cart and charts for each patient. I had received report from the previous day's RN that room 214 was a woman, we'll call her Kathy, who was only 55 and inferred pneumonia, completely alert and oriented. I gave the patients down there their meds one by one and, yeah, I'm tired and mildly annoyed that it takes room 216 over 10 minutes to swallow a plethora of pills, one by one, and then proceeded to pull out his IV that was delivering his antibiotics. But I digress. So needless to say it took me a little longer to get to room 214. She didn't seem upset, just tired. I did my assessment and she was in fact oriented to day, time, name and location. I say goodnight after hanging another bag of fluids.

I'm hanging out in the hall with my computer documenting my assessments and I hear something that shook me. It sounded like whispering. But I heard more than one person doing it. I cock my head up and hear better. I mean, it is night shift and I'm tired so I'm making sure I actually heard this. I follow the noise to the outside of Kathy's room and there seems to be a full blown whispery conversation going on with multiple people. I couldn't make out what the different voices were saying but it sounded like chanting of some sort. I had to make sure I was legitimately hearing

these whispers that seemed like they were coming from different people and try to make some sense of it. I walked slowly past her door which was slightly cracked open. Hoping to hear things more clearly, the whisper chanting sound only got louder and were still unintelligible. Kathy who had been tucked in bed and dozing off when I saw her less than seven minutes ago was now sitting straight up on the side of her bed looking away from me at the wall. Doesn't that sound pretty scary? Well Kathy was unable to lift herself out of bed without assistance during my assessment. Kathy was having labored breathing when I assessed her. Now Kathy has pulled her

nasal cannula out of her nose, the plastic thing that goes around your face and has two spouts that go up your nose to give you extra oxygen, sat up in bed in less than seven minutes without struggle, and then she stood up, still looking away. She turned and walked to the bathroom, still without seeing me. Because she was labeled a fall risk, she shouldn't be out of bed alone. I saw her profile and her lips were not moving, but the whispers grew louder. I panicked, but kept my cool. I briskly walked to the nurse's station and asked if a nursing assistant could please help Kathy with the restroom. I normally would do it myself but I was rather busy and Kathy was doing quite well

on her own. I was sweating, freaking out and getting further behind on my charting. The nursing aide helping Kathy didn't report anything unusual when I asked how she was doing. I promise, I swear I heard those voices. They were loud. They were unsettling to say the least. I requested the left wing as often as possible after that and eventually went on to work at a larger hospital. Not many strange things happen to me. I am fascinated with sleep and dreams and how each affect our minds. However, what I experienced was not a dream. I don't exactly know what it was.

The story isn't filled with action or anything like that. It's just a mysterious occurrence that I don't know how to explain. I have a really bad sleep schedule. I'm usually wide awake at night and more tired during the day. It was about 1pm. I was in my bed, getting a bit drowsy. I was trying to battle falling asleep. I don't really know how to describe what happened next, but the video I was watching suddenly stopped emitting sound.

I was really confused and didn't seek to do anything about it but I did decide to get up and get some food. I was walking downstairs, got food and ate it. You may think that has no importance but it will make sense to why this is notable. I felt myself eating and swallowing food. I then went upstairs and went to the bathroom. Again, I felt myself go to the bathroom. I felt it leaving my body. Of course, in a normal story, details like this don't matter. However, in this story, it does. I finally returned back to my bed to browse on my phone, still not emitting sound.

I'm on Instagram, looking at a few posts, this will be important later on. I finally put my phone down and just start thinking about random thoughts, nothing important. It felt like 40-50 minutes of just thoughts. Suddenly, like a flash, I was under my blanket. My phone continued playing with the video left off, now emitting sounds. I was almost paralyzed with fear. What just happened? I was back where I was, still 1pm, it still felt like an entire hour had passed but my clock had not moved a minute.

This is where me eating and going to the bathroom comes to play. I swear I ate. I swear I walked downstairs. I felt every step push against me. I felt the food being eaten and swallowed. I felt everything. I know I did. I remember going back up the stairs. I felt that. I felt myself going to the bathroom. It felt the same as when I normally do it. There was no difference. What happened? I felt the comfort of my bed. I remember myself thinking. If it was a dream, time would have passed and I wouldn't have felt anything. It wasn't a lucid dream because again time would have passed and I don't think I would have felt anything. I also have never had a lucid dream in my life.

I lived out an entire hour of my life that never existed. I went downstairs to see if the snack I had was still there. We only had one of those snacks I had left so if I did actually eat it in the real world it would be gone. I opened up the pantry and believe it or not the snack was still there. I didn't eat it. I felt myself eat it. How could that be possible? I felt every bite. Every time I swallowed I felt it all. There was no way that I didn't eat that snack. Of course I couldn't prove if I went to the bathroom or not, and that vision I flushed, so if I did actually go to the bathroom in real life, I couldn't see it.

I assumed that I didn't actually go to the bathroom in the real world and that I didn't eat in the real world. However, there was still one thing left, the post I saw on Instagram. I checked Instagram, mostly to calm my nerves. However, this just made the entire situation even more creepy. I was browsing Instagram and I recognized every single post I saw. They were all in the same order and the same post as I saw in my vision. There was no way that my brain could have made up those actual Instagram posts. No way at all. I don't know how that happened. I have no other choice but to believe that I traveled to another dimension.

I actually believe that. I'm not a superstitious person or religious. Never in my life have I felt as if though I'm cursed or that other dimensions even exist. But this is the only conclusion I could come up with. You may think I was sleepwalking the entire time, but that just doesn't make sense. I have no history of sleepwalking and it was too real to be a figment of my imagination. All I'm saying, sleepwalking is ruled out. It was all too real. Of course it wasn't a dream or a lucid dream. I have some theories onto why I think I traveled to this other dimension. The reason I felt all those things was because I actually did them somewhere else. I guess I somehow teleported.

And I guess in that dimension phones don't emit noise. I went downstairs in that dimension. I ate. I went to the bathroom. I browsed Instagram and laid on my bed to think. All of that actually happened in that dimension. I still remember it happening as memories as if though they were actually real. Which I guess they were real in a literal sense. I don't really know what to make of it. Why would a random video teleport me to

another dimension? What's the significance of me going there? What's the point? It has no effect on my life besides the constant thinking about it. The real creepy part of this entire incident was the Instagram posts. The exact order of posting, the exact same pictures and videos I saw in my vision. There is no way my brain can make something like that up so accurately. Even if I did have a dream and somehow opened Instagram in real life and saw those posts I wouldn't have saw it when I awoke. Once you see a post on Instagram you won't see it again if you close out of the app or refresh. I saw the same post twice which is basically

impossible. Of course the Instagram posts are not definitive proof that I traveled to another dimension but it was something. I don't know what else it could be. I have no health problems. I don't do drugs. Nothing was wrong with me at that moment. My mental state is fine. I'm not insane or schizophrenic. I don't know what happened. Not many strange things have happened in my life but when they they do, they're bad. Some strange things do happen, but those are stories for other times. I'll ask for answers or maybe someone to present another theory, possibly a more believable one to tell my friends and family.

I was skeptic for all those things paranormal or alien, but this, I just can't explain it. You can't know how it felt unless it was you in my shoes. No one can. My dad and myself used to be close but we became distant after he left me at about the age of six at Anasta. Two years later on my eighth birthday the police, well who we thought were police, showed up at my party and told us that my dad had ended his life. I was sad and I grieved but life moves on and so did I. Not saying I didn't miss him because of course I did but I had to stay strong anyway I was around the age of 10 or 11 when this happened and I was always on my playstation with my noise cancelling headphones if not on my phone with headphones on and bear in mind my chair was

parallel to my window which always had blinds on also someone had been writing stuff, terrible names on our car windows and I told my mom that I knew it was his handwriting but she ignored it and said I was just being paranoid. When that wasn't enough he scratched the car and made little dents by kicking it. Now we ended up getting a new car after a hit and run happened and the same happened to that car so obviously this person was watching because we asked all of our neighbors but their cars were fine. This day I was on my playstation but I went downstairs to get food or something and when I came back up before putting my headphones on I peeped through the window, quite usually a paranoid person, and saw my dad walking up and

down staring at my house with his hands halfway in his pockets. That's how I knew it was him and that's how he walked and it looks just like him. This couldn't have just been a coincidence because he lived 120 miles away and knew no one in that area. I immediately ran downstairs and said to my mom, Mom, mom, he's outside, he's out there. My mom looked through the dining room window to see him staring at the bedroom window pacing up and down. My mom called my brother and he called my sister before opening up the door, made sure I was out of sight and shouted my dad's name and asked him what he thinks he was doing. He continued across the street and walked down a road

where he was still visible from my window. Then my brother's sister and brother-in-law arrived and they all went out. My sister and my mom in a car and my brothers by foot. They didn't find him even after searching for a good 3-4 hours. Everything kind of went back to normal until I saw this woman pacing up and down staring at my house. I didn't mention this to my mom for some reason. My mom had asked me to go to the shop so I looked out the window and the woman was gone. I thought this was the end of that but when I left my house she instantly appeared and this happened time and time after where she would just appear, have this creepy smile, something out of a horror movie. One day I had left the house at around 10am and got back at around 6-7pm. She was there when I left so I left a camera recording on my bedroom window which showed that she had been there all day. She even

sat outside my door and tried to unlock it. She even knocked on my neighbor's door and said that she was locked out and asked if she could climb over the back fence to get in. Our neighbors know us, she said no and I started receiving a number of phone calls and when I picked up they were just breathing. Since then not much has happened but I'll update if anything does. But I think my dad is stalking me and I'm pretty sure he's paying others to do it too. I'm really bad at telling stories but I'll try to make sense. This happened over three weeks ago. I live in downtown LA. I like to shop at Burlington that's in Broadway Street. Usually I shop in the mornings but I decided to go in the afternoon I'd say around maybe 4 p.m. I was there trying on some clothes and I see a group of guys walking my way trying on shoes. Now I like to smile at people, you know, to show kindness. Before I got

their attention I heard them speaking in Russian. I'm half Russian, half Mexican, so I understand Russia. Usually people get confused since I'm quite tan and have brown hair and gray eyes. They assume I'm either Middle Eastern or Egyptian. I like to smile at people to show kindness so I smiled at one of the guys. We'll call him guy number one. They smiled back. I'm only 18 and I won't lie I was quite attractive to the guy who smiled back at me. We kept staring back at each other until they left. I spent some 30 more minutes there before heading out until the guy number one approached me and said hey how are you me being young and finding this guy attractive i decided to make conversation with him also he had a thick russian accent right there at that moment i decided to tell him i understand russian

and speak russian but he spoke over me and this was out of the conversation. Guy number one says, Hey, I saw you at the store a while ago and my friends think you're very beautiful and we just wanted to talk to you. Oh, uh, hi. Yep, I noticed you three at the store while I was getting ready to try on some clothes. Yeah, well me and my friends wanted to wait for you to tell you if you wanted to go out for some drinks. Wanna come? I didn't know either to say yes or no, so I said yes since I wanted to keep talking to this guy. I forgot to mention it was very dark outside at this point.

There weren't many people out. When we walked to the guy's car, he had a black car with black tinted windows. I looked at the guys. He helped me get into the car and he sat very close to the two guys in the front. He began speaking Russian to the guy who sat next to me. I pretended not to understand what they were saying and ignored by putting my headphones in, pretending to listen to music when I heard, What exactly are we going to do to her after we drop her off somewhere?

My body felt as if though my own soul left right away. I didn't understand exactly what he meant by somewhere. Then guy number three said, I think we should do what we really want to do. At this point, I wanted to cry, but I held back my tears until guy number one said, Me and my friends actually feel like going out to eat somewhere far away. I'm sure you're okay with that, yeah? I quietly responded,

Um, I don't think it's a good idea. I think I'd rather just go home. Guy number one responds, You aren't going anywhere. What kind of stupid idiot would get inside a car with three guys? They all started laughing at me and I ended up crying. They drove off and the guy next to me took my phone away, throwing it outside the window. I tried kicking the windows, but he got on top of me.

At that moment, I prayed to stay alive. I thought my life was over. I thought about everyone I loved. It was a terrible feeling. It makes it really hard to tell this story. Shortly after, I heard sirens behind us. It was the police. Thank God it was two police cars,

and guy number three started to panic and gave up, pulling over. They were all told to get out of the car and if anyone else was in there to come out as well. They saw me, with my hands up I ran to the cops as they ended up getting arrested. Turns out someone from the store had recognized them from before in relation to previous petty theft and followed us to the car reporting the make and model thank god for the previous track record and the intelligent To many of you, this may not seem horrifying or even close to making a mouse squeak. But when you live through a panic for two years, from someone who has messed you up physically, mentally, and socially, then you'll know how truly horrifying it is when one simple friendship can become insane. It was my freshman year of college.

This was my year, I had thought, to be a part of something meaningful. Clubs, sports, new fond friendships. But that's when I ended up having a class with him, Alex, also a freshman. Alex was, in the very beginning, a funny, honest, sweet guy who I found myself drawn to. Not romantically, but friendship-wise, for I was the same. We clicked instantly. Jokes were always made and I suddenly found myself ditching classes with him, being rude to teachers, even cutting a lot of other friendships. Keep in mind, before I met him I was never like this, but here's the reason why. Alex, down the line when he got comfortable, began to show his true colors.

He'd fill my head up with lies, about how my friends didn't like me and how they held secret talks behind my back, how they always left me out of the group and that in all reality I only had him. That was a giant red flag but I didn't care, I felt like he was the only one I had. Skip half the first year and he gets a lot worse, with being a fake gay, always grabbing me wherever he can and pulling me away from whatever I was busy with. This had left bruises. He also began ridiculing me whenever he could. You're a bad friend, he'd always say.

You don't care about anything but yourself. Cry like the baby you are. You mean nothing to no one. And after his vent, he'd crawl back apologizing and stupid me would accept him. But my breaking point was when he gave me a class visit. Bear with me, here's the layout of my old school. There's three wings. I was in the far right and he was in the far left.

I had suddenly received a text and it had all gone like this. Look Alex, I think we really need to spend a day for myself. Why, I thought you were my friend, am I annoying? No, I just need to get some space, please. Look up. And when I did, he walked into my class and it hit me. How he could get from one wing to the other in five minutes tops beats me, but that's when I had to break the ties. I cried and began developing a fear of Alex. I had learned his classes and which ways he'd take to avoid him. I had run to class even if there was no hurry and even though I thought it all stopped, he always found ways to contact me, through his friends, through applications, anything. It's been years

since all of that had happened but my mom still sees me around and I hope I never run into him again. Alex, you put a strain on my heart. I've lost close tight-knit bonds and what did it cost? May the next poor soul who has to deal with you do a better job than I did. variety of terrains. Until May 31st, save up to $100 in rebates on select Toyo tires. Find a Toyo Tread Experts dealer near you at treadexperts.ca slash locations. From tires to auto repair, we're always there. TreadExperts.ca. I was reading a story that reminded me of an event from over 20 years ago. In the second half of 1998, I had taken a job as a security guard at a plant that made locks. Being a kid, I usually worked one of three shifts.

4 p.m. to 12 a.m., 7.30 p.m. to 3.30 a.m., or 12 a.m. to 8 a.m. The 7.30 to 3.30 shift was for extra coverage, so there were always two of us there for 7.30 to midnight. It was a routine, boring job for the most part. We did our rounds, logged anything out of the ordinary and watched a tiny monitor displaying the CCTV feed. Things went by in an almost painfully normal manner for six months. I worked, saved, bought a car, and planned a move. By late March of 1999, I served my notice and prepared to head cross-country. A new hire was brought in to fill my spot, a soft-spoken man named Calvin. As part of his training, Calvin spent some time working at all hours. At night he was a shadow, working with myself and the other night guard, getting a feel

for the plant's nocturnal routines. Most nights he worked with myself and Amira, a female guard who was around my age, I was 18 at the time. Calvin, who was about a decade older, was quiet and polite, though something seemed to be missing There's a spark that genuinely nice people seem to have and he didn't possess it Whenever he went on rounds with me, he'd ask questions about the job and make small talk I noticed that he was a little odd, laughing at odd times and changing his tone mid-sentence At the time I chalked it up to him being awkward. That wouldn't last. One night near the end of his first week he went on rounds with Amira.

When they returned to the office I knew something was wrong. Normally talkative she would barely say a word. Not sure what had occurred. I waited until Calvin had gone to the restroom to ask. During their trip everything had been normal until they reached the brass mill, a portion of the plant that shut down at 6pm. There were usually no employees there after that time and no lights. They were making their way to a checkpoint on a landing atop a flight of stairs when the mood shifted. She told me that she turned around only to find that he was right on her startled she backed against the grating at the end of the landing and he leaned in towards her his face nearly touching hers he flirted in a low voice and when she mentioned his wedding band

he said it would be over soon from then on i did the rounds taking calvin with me each time the night ended without further incident and i left a note for our supervisor detailing what had occurred. The next night came and went with no Calvin. I did the rounds while Amira stayed in the locked office. Same thing the night after. Then on my second to last shift, I come in to find her freaking out. She found out why Calvin hadn't been at work he had been arrested for murdering his wife she had been dismembered and burned parts of her body placed in a pond less than a mile from where we worked that night and the next

amira called the jail just to make sure that they were still holding him. Based on the time frame, he had killed his wife months before he started the job. This happened to me when I was 11 years old. I'm a female for reference, and for a very long time I felt so ashamed and even guilty of the whole situation. My mother and her former partner invited friends to our apartment from time to time. They'd sit together, had some drinks, listening to music, and had a good funny time. Many of these friends also had children children so I was friends with them. When the adults had their party time we had our pajama party. I was usually the oldest of all the kids. I remember having a good relationship with all the adults. I had no good relationship to my

mother, even my relationship to her partner was better so to me it was really special. They respected me, listened to me, the women talked to me about women's things and I always felt like I was taken seriously. Sometimes when we as a group of kids wanted to play catch me or hide and seek they took their time to do so. My mother never played with me, ever. There was one couple that separated because of cheating. I overheard some drama the adults were talking about. I was friends with the daughter, since she was in my age range. My mother and her partner were still friends with the mother and the father, despite their issues. One evening, the father, Peter, visited us. Peter sat together with my mother and her partner, chat a little until they got drunk. No other kids but maybe other adults I might not remember. At some point, I don't know how we got

there, I ended up playing hide and seek with them. Peter was so friendly and chatty he encouraged me to learn an instrument and I opened up to him. Sometimes I feel so ashamed and sick because of my naivety. It was getting late. I had to go to bed. My mother was tired. Her partner was tired and Peter decided to sleep in our living room on the couch. Nothing unusual. Then I woke up in the middle of the night because someone was constantly talking to me. Peter sneaked into my bed under my blanket and talked quietly while stroking my hair. He said he would get me a keyboard so I could learn playing it. I was horrified. I knew that it was not okay but I was too afraid to call my mother or her partner.

I knew that they were drunk too and I thought this was my fault alone. I said to Peter that he has to leave my bed in my room. I begged him to leave me alone. I convinced him to leave and he went back to the living room. I thought it was done, but nope. Later I woke up again when I felt his hand under my blanket, again. I stood up, told him to leave. Please stop this, let me let me sleep I said it was already early in the morning the sun was rising again I kept friendly and somehow I made Peter leave my room again this time I took the key from our bathroom that fits into every lock and locked my room from the inside to keep him away he tried again to get in but now I was safe but not safe for my own guilt.

I wanted to talk about this with my mother but I couldn't. Nowadays I would shake my younger self to open up about this. It's not okay. This was not my fault. I was still a little girl but back then I couldn't. I just felt sick to my stomach. Nothing serious happened. He didn't hurt me physically so I believed it wouldn't make sense to talk about it. I now know there was no reason for guilt and shame. It's not easy to explain this feeling. I could be because of all the warnings I heard as a little girl. Don't go with foreign men, don't take their chocolate, run away immediately. I really thought it was all my fault because I was too nice to Peter. Peter never visited us again and I also haven't seen him when I visited his daughter.

Years later when I was a teenager I told my mother about that night and she got furious. She said I should have told her. She was so angry with Peter but then my mother is not a very reasonable woman. A few years back when she discovered Facebook she became friends with him again. I couldn't believe it. Don't you remember what I told you about him? I asked her but she didn't seem to care. I hope so much his daughter was always safe and secure. I recently moved into a new flat about three weeks ago and I'm sharing it with my sister. The only person we know properly is a single mom who lives in the apartment next door to us. Ever since we moved in she's been

giving us advice and helping us out with things. We don't know anyone else properly yet from what we've seen of our other neighbors. They're mostly couples in their 30s and 40s or older guys who live alone. We're probably the youngest ones here. We're both females. I'm 18 and my sister is only 16. Today I was out with friends and then later on I went to the gym. After this I went to get my sister so we could go out for some food. We got in around 10 p.m. Me and my sister got into our pajamas and were just sitting around watching TV when our buzzer rang. I jumped up to answer it and it turned out to be our neighbor, the single mom. I asked her what was up and she said that our dad's asking for us downstairs. Straight away my stomach dropped and

I immediately asked her if she's sure he said he was our dad. The reason I asked her was just to make sure that's what she actually said but she replied that yeah he said he was our dad. The reason I asked her was just to make sure that's what she actually said. But she replied that yeah, he said he was our dad and was asking for us. The neighbor asked me if she could let him up to our flat but I told her no. I wanted to shout out to my sister but I didn't want to worry her right away. I asked the neighbor to not let him come up yet and I heard her repeat this to him. I couldn't hear anything for a few moments after this and I started to get really worried. At this point my sister comes up to me and asks who it is.

I just called out to my neighbor a few times. It must have only been about 5 minutes but it honestly felt like ages when she didn't reply. I was actually about to tell my sister to call triple zero because I was starting to panic and didn't know what to do. Then she came back on and told me that he was gone. She then came up to our flat and explained what went down. She said that she was walking back to her flat after finishing work and saw a man by the buzzers. At first she assumed that he was just someone who lived there until he noticed her walking up. He asked for us by name and if she could let him up to our flat. She asked him who he was and he told her that he was our dad. Now obviously she buzzed

us and told us first as our neighbor doesn't know us that well so she doesn't know what our dad looks like. She said that because we were young she didn't want to buzz in a strange man up to our flat. She said that her motherly instincts kicked in when she heard my hesitation to let him up to the flat. Apparently after you heard me say that he got really pushy with her and started trying to move her out of the way. He kept on saying to her it's, I'm their dad, let me in, I'm not going to do anything. She started arguing with him and asking him to tell her his name but he refused to tell her. She told him that if she didn't feel comfortable letting

him in there's no way he's getting in. His reaction was to call her terrible names and then to get into a car and drive away. Now this is the reason why I hesitated. We haven't spoken to our dad since I was 16. We even considered getting a restraining order from him at one point. He's not our biological father but we were legally adopted by him when I was 9. He was both emotionally and physically abusive to our mom and had started to do the same to me. It got to the point where we had to leave him in the middle of the night. After this he became very controlling and would secretly follow us and record me and my sister. He has a criminal record as well and I believe he was convicted of manslaughter in the 80s.

I have no idea of the backstory behind that and I honestly don't want to know. Like I said we haven't heard from him since so as soon as I heard her say the word dad I almost had a panic attack. I asked her to describe him and she said that because it was dark out she couldn't really see him. We ended up staying with her because me and my sister were really shaken up. I don't know whether to call the police or not. I don't know if it's him or not as it could easily have been someone else. I appreciate any advice. This might not seem too bad compared to many others, but a man has followed me around the

store five times now. For background, I can only really go to the store late at night at around nine or ten due to my job. I know it isn't safe, but I always carry a taser or pepper spray on me for things just like this. I'm also only five feet tall and pretty petite. He's probably at least 6 feet tall and over half my size. It started sometime last year. A man walked up to me while I was in the self-checkout and started asking me typical questions like asking if I had a boyfriend, telling me he noticed me walking around and needed to tell me I was pretty, things like that. I lied and said I had a boyfriend just for my own safety and took the compliment. I didn't think anything weird of it. Until it happened again and again. Every time he used the same exact script in the same exact order and always finds me in the very

closed off spaces. The first three times he never even had anything in his hands to buy. The second time I was sitting on the floor of the makeup aisle totally vulnerable he said the same thing as the first time and I politely told him I still do have a boyfriend but thank you that was that I just thought of it as a coincidence the third time it happened I was in the very corner of the store by the vegetables with nobody near me. He says the same exact thing as the first two times so I finally had to tell him. You've come up to me three times now. Every single time you've talked to me I've told you no. Listen I need you to leave me alone.

Don't come up to me again. The fourth time it happened we passed each other and he realized it was me, so he circled around and followed me into the medicine aisle and pretended to look at the bottles. Every time I took a step to the side, he would too. At that point, as soon as I saw him, I called up a friend so I would have somebody that could hear what was happening and to try to scare him off. I turned the corner and I could hear him calling out for me so I started walking faster. Believe it or not I ended up running into a police officer in uniform and even though he was busy and I felt bad for interrupting I asked him for help.

The officer walked me to the self-checkout when the man actually had the nerve to pick the counter right next to me. The officer walked me out to my car and I could see the guy watching me in the parking lot. This last interaction just happened a couple of minutes ago. I was looking for something for dinner and walked out of the frozen food across to the makeup. Guess who walked past me at the same time? We crossed paths and I kept walking and checked over my shoulder. He was still watching me. I freaked out and hid in the makeup aisle and poked my head out and sure enough he was looking up and down the aisles to see where I went. I texted my mom and a friend solely because I didn't

know what to do. When I saw him turn I went to find a manager but I could hear his keys following me. The manager walked me to check out and once again he picked the counter next to mine. The manager walked me out and he trailed behind me and watched me get into my car. I did a couple of circles to make sure nobody was following me and drove home. Am I being stupid and overreacting? It's happened five times now. After the third time it happened I reported him to a different manager and overreacting? It's happened five times now. After the third time it happened, I reported him to a different manager and he told me if he's ever in the store again, he'll be removed and banned. But that one wasn't here tonight.

Where do I go from here? The officer that helped me even told me that unfortunately he couldn't do more than walk me out. I know I shouldn't go so late, but it's the only time that I can. If it's a flat or a squeal, a wobble or peel, your tread's worn down or you need a new wheel, wherever you go, you can get it from

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TreadExperts.ca This story happened slightly over 20 years ago back when I was 16. During this time I lived with my mom and stepdad in a remote area 70 miles west of Las Vegas, Nevada. I had gone out to visit my friends being allowed to drive myself for the first time ever. Had a lovely time watching a movie and getting food together until it was time for me to head home. The curfew I was given was 10pm with the caveat that if I was running late for any reason to find a payphone and call. The night wrapped around me and my old 71 Chevy pickup as there were no street lights or houses for most of my way home. As I pulled up to

the first of two stop signs I could see an older sedan, old cars are still pretty common in that area, stopped with its hazards on. I pulled up behind it and waited as a man, 30 to 40, started walking towards me from the driver's side. Even at this point I didn't have any alarm bells going off. Being in the middle of the Mojave Desert providing assistance to stranded people was common. People rapidly get into severe problems there by not having enough water when a vehicle breaks down or not realizing that it's a freaking desert and people die wandering delirious away from the highway trying to find help. Anyhow, I rolled down my window and as he came abreast of my door I could smell the liquor on him.

I could see another man in the passenger seat. As this was before anyone I knew had cell phones and the nearest payphone was a good ten minutes drive ahead, I didn't have a way to call the cops on a drunk driver immediately. The man explained that his car stalled and asked if I could help them out. I asked if his car was a stick shift, which it was, so I asked if he was familiar with push starting it. He said yes. So I agreed to, as gently as I could, push their car with my truck while they turned the engine over. For anyone that isn't familiar, this is a way to start a manual car that is having battery or starter issues specifically to get it somewhere to work on it. I knew my truck would be fine and I didn't feel like it would be wise to get out and

try to push their car physically. Push starting the car worked without a hitch but here's where things go south. They get back out and thank me, then invite me to hang out and have some fun with them. I decline. They pull off to the side of the road and I continue on my way only for them to start following me. So here I am. It's 9.50. I'm running late because I stopped to help them. Admittedly I haven't given myself much leeway from leaving my friends.

These drunk creeper old guys have started to follow me on a road without any man-made light except for car headlights and I'm at least 10 minutes from a payphone. I think to myself maybe I'm being paranoid so I turn down a road that I know gave me a couple of turn offs to either head back to town or loop around to the gas station with a payphone. The car follows behind me. I'm thinking oh god. I take another turn that only leads to a couple of houses at the end of the road and they turn behind me. I take another turn to loop around back to the gas station and they follow again so at least I know that they are following me and not

just heading home. At this my heart is pounding. I decided to try something to lose them. I pull to the side of the road. I see them pull up behind me. I wait as the driver gets out of the car and begins walking towards me. His companion also gets out and starts walking towards me. I wait until they almost get to the tailgate then floor it. My wheels dig into the rocks and dirt is flying like a cloud behind me. With the leadway I head towards the gas station. The gas station is deserted but the payphone is showered in the light from the gas pumps. I call home and explain what had happened and why I was running late. My stepdad asked if the gas station worker could be seen and I let him know that I couldn't see him behind the counter, he was probably in the back. I wasn't in trouble but I was asked to hurry home. To begin, this started when I was 14. I'm a female. I'm 21 now. I just transferred to a

new high school in the middle of the school year as a freshman with my twin sister. I was enrolled into a Spanish 2 class where I met Tony and that's where the obsession began. But when I started my class and I met Tony, I instantly thought he was attractive. He was tall, brown hair and beautiful eyes for a guy and was also a year my senior. But I did notice he was extremely shy and kind of awkward but I made up excuses to talk to him, asking him about the homework and other meaningless small talk. He took to me and asked if I wanted to walk around during lunch and talk and I happily agreed. He was obviously not very confident and didn't

know how to initiate conversations so I did most of the talking, even when as far as asking him for his phone number. After a few days of texting and talking I can tell he doesn't have any friends and he is kind of negative and has a pessimistic view towards life. It was rather draining and disappointing. Things he would say were kind of upsetting or I guess just unusual for me. He would text me fantasizing about being a superhero, kind of like roleplay, in which I was the damsel in distress and he was my savior, and text me somewhat similar to those choose your own adventure always ending in the damsel and the hero kissing and being together. He had an obsession with Ghostface from the Scream movies.

Overall he was a nice guy but different from what I was expecting or attracted to. Time passes. Valentine's Day is coming up. We're talking practically every day so he asked me to be his valentine. I agree somewhat reluctantly. So it's valentine's day. He walks up to me and gives me a pack of Hershey's kisses and some Twizzlers. I don't like Twizzlers so I handed them back to him, gave him a kiss on the cheek and went to my class. Yes I know that was kind of rude but I was honestly losing interest in him at that point and I told him before I didn't like red vines

or any candy like that. During the day I received more gifts, flowers and candy from other friends and I see Tony and I can tell he's extremely upset by this but he doesn't say anything. He texts me later in the day saying how stupid he felt and how he was outdone by everybody else. I didn't respond. Over the next few weeks I gradually talked to him less and less. Class is awkward and I can tell he wants to say something to me but never does. I later learned from my twin sister that he asks her every single day about me. If I'm talking to someone else. If I like him. How to win me over. Confiding in her that he has never even talked to a girl before

and at first I think it's sweet but I still no longer had a romantic interest in him. We would talk at school sometimes, he would bring me homemade cookies, walk me to the train station, still text and try to call me in the evenings after school but I was talking to someone new who eventually became my boyfriend for the rest of after school, but I was talking to someone new who eventually became my boyfriend for the rest of high school. His name was Brandon. When I started dating Brandon, I knew that Tony was absolutely devastated. He then started telling people around school that I was his first kiss. I was confused because I didn't know a kiss on the cheek counted as a first kiss, but to each their own. It was somewhat upsetting

because people were getting the impression that we dated or that I played him which was not the case at all. I would still talk to Tony as a friend. He was in the same grade and classes as my new boyfriend and he would always tell me how he thought Brandon didn't like him and that he felt like Brandon knew about us. I told Tony there was nothing to know about us because we weren't anything but friends and Brandon was totally chill, a non-confrontational stoner type, not in his nature to stir up drama over nothing and definitely not the jealous type. The school year was coming to an end and Tony comes running up to me after the last day of school and hands me this and I kid you not a 60 or 70 page notebook explaining all the ways he's in love with me

and how everybody at the school thinks poorly of me and how he can treat me better blah blah blah. I read it once show my twin and she tells me how weird and uncomfortable it makes her we both agree on that. I stash it away and don't speak of it to anybody. I act like nothing happened and I still talk to him as a friend occasionally. I worked a lot in high school in my free time and spent a lot of time with my boyfriend and friends and didn't think much about Tony. Time goes on, we eventually stop talking. I see him around school and he never really is with anybody else. He's usually always alone which I don't find strange anymore considering how awkward and quiet

he can be. Fast forward another year. I'm a junior. Tony and Brandon are both seniors getting ready to graduate. Tony texts me out of the blue one day and tells me he's written a book and it would mean the world to him if I could be the first to read it and give him feedback. And being the person I am, I agree. So he comes up to me at school the next day and hands me this fat notebook and tells me to take my time reading it and to give him honest feedback when I was finished. I read this story in four class periods, it was around 300 pages long. Anyway, the story takes place in a Game of Thrones era and setting. The three main characters are Eric, Tony, Alva, me, and Isaac, Brandon. For the sake of confusion, I'll be referring to the characters by our names. The only reason I know the characters were us and not

fictional was simply by the way he had described them, literally identical to our physical appearances. To continue, Tony was the son of the king or whatever, the rest of us mere peasants. But Tony was always in love with me, but I was with Brandon. It was the annual time where our kingdom would go to battle with another for honor and glory, gladiator style. Tony thought it would be a wonderful time to prove himself and volunteered. The night before our kingdom traveled to where the battle would take place, my character went to Tony in the middle of the night to express her love and fear and they ended up sleeping together. Very graphically, mind you. It was truly disturbing. The next day after they

had arrived at the place of battle my character went to his room again where the same graphic encounter occurred again and during Brandon came looking for my character in which we were caught. My character told Tony I didn't really love him and ran after Brandon to apologize for being a harlot. Tony was devastated and ultimately let his opponent end his life in battle because he couldn't handle the loss of the love of his life. Our kingdom goes back home and in the middle of the night Brandon sneaks through the window and ends my life. Slits my throat. The end. As you can imagine I was absolutely horrified and creeped out. I threw the book away and never told Tony what I thought about it. He must have known because he never asked for it back.

Tony and Brandon both graduate. Life goes on. Tony didn't try to reach out to me for a few years until I was around 20. He messaged me on Instagram in the middle of the night. Show me your feet. Submit to daddy. I always look at your feet at school and would fantasize about them. Along with links to a few foot websites. I promptly blocked him. The next day he messaged me on another account. A foot and bondage account he ran. He asked me why I blocked him. I blocked him again. Earlier last year on my new account he messaged me basically calling me all sorts of names and how he wishes I would die. And how he hated everyone we went to school with and hoped they all would die. And how he fantasized on how he would end my life for all the pain I caused him. I genuinely was afraid but didn't know how to handle the situation. Was it really a threat?

I don't know. I later learned that he worked at a diner down the street from my apartment that I avoided at all costs. I've since moved and I haven't heard from Tony since but multiple girls I went to high school with told me he was obsessed with me and would constantly talk about them to me and how he would message them the same disgusting things while he was on a drunken stupor. This happened a few hours ago. I don't even know why I'm posting this. Maybe because I only started to properly think about it just now and can't stop thinking about something that he had said to me. I wasn't even paying much attention to it at the moment, all I wanted was for him to finally be on his way and let us do the same. I had just hopped on a bus to go to a local fast food chain with my best friend.

When we got to the bus we noticed two empty seats and decided to sit there, since we were tired and didn't really want to stand up for the whole ride. They were facing two other seats though and one of the seats was taken by an older man. He looked pretty rough and reeked of alcohol. I thought nothing of it, since he wasn't bothering us or anything. Then he asked me something and the conversation goes as follows. Does this bus take me to the shopping center? Yeah, just get off at the last stop. Okay.

Then he mumbled something to himself. Will you tell me what time it is? It's 4 or 5 p.m. Okay, thanks. I thought that it would be the end of it. I've had other people ask me similar things in the past. Again, nothing weird about it. He seemed pretty drunk, perhaps high on something else too, though I couldn't tell that much. Then he started going on about not having daughters and that he's a single man and that he'd love to find himself a nice lady.

I wished him luck with that and told him that he'd eventually find one. He said his name was Pat and that he was 49 years old. He seemed to be pretty stunned when he found out my age. He asked if I had a boyfriend and I said yes. He replied with an oh and then went on. He kept muttering and muttering saying how he wants to have friends and how lonely he is. 50% of the time I couldn't even make out what he was saying because it was just constant muttering. We got off the bus and I figured he'd just be on his way. He instead followed us and kept asking where the tram stop was, as he wasn't local. Since it was going to be on our way anyways I figured we'd just walk him towards it and that would be the end of it. When we started getting closer to it he told us that

he actually knows where it is, that he's been here quite a bit actually. He kept going on about wanting friends again and kept telling me what a lovely lady I am and that he'd love to be my friend and asked me if I would visit him. He looked so much like my previous girlfriend when I was 27. I started to get uncomfortable, but we were almost at the fast food chain, and I thought that would finally be it. I did feel bad for him though, because obviously he didn't seem to be in the best situation. Then, when we were almost there, he muttered to himself himself or perhaps me again. I couldn't really tell at this point. I've been in prison for 20 years, kept in isolation for so long.

Oh I've been so lonely. At that moment I was too stressed out to actually listen to what he was saying. All I wanted was for him to leave. He kept following us around the fast food chain interrupting me and at one point I got so frustrated that I slapped my forehead. I finally got my order and now we just kept waiting for my friend to get hers. He kept ignoring my best friend the entire time like she wasn't even there. He seemed so fixated on me. I kept telling him multiple times that we were in a hurry and that we'd have to go. Finally he told me his address and kept pressuring me to write it down. I did just so he'd leave faster. Turns out that he actually lived in the

city but in a nursing home since he was sick or something. He also went on about not having a cell phone or anything which is why he was so eager for me to write his address down. Aslan for Pat, you're there so I'll know I have visitors. You know you're the first female I've talked to be friends. Will you be my friend? Sure, we can be friends. Perhaps I'll visit sometime. We're in a hurry though, so I'll see you around. 20 years since I've seen or talked to a female. It's so awful. Such loneliness. It felt as if though he wasn't even paying attention to what I was saying or just didn't care. But then he finally did seem to leave for a bit. My best friend looked at the door and said in disbelief that he wasn't even gone, that he was still standing behind the door.

Then he re-entered the fast food chain and walked up to me again. He took out his cigarettes and showed it to me, telling me how he'd like to share them with someone and asked if I wanted some. I refused and told him that we really needed to go, because at this point I was getting a bit angry. He then smirked at me and kept touching his pocket. I also got some vodka here in my pocket. And then he just kept oddly smiling at me and looking at me in the eyes. My best friend finally got her order too. An employee noticed the situation and stepped in, lightly pushing him away and asking if he could leave already. The employee asked us if we needed security but I told him it was fine for now since he seemed to be leaving again. When Pat walked out the door

we bolted out of the other exit. There were two doors and didn't see him again. When I got home I decided to google the address out of curiosity. Apparently it's a facility for people with special psych needs. That's when I remembered what he had said. That was the first female he's talked to in 20 years and that he's been in prison for over 20. Maybe I shouldn't have been so nice but I did feel bad for him at the moment. I didn't want to be stuck up and just tell him to buzz off even though my best friend told me that's what I should have done from the start. I don't do well in such situations,

and it was just overall really uncomfortable. Pat, I hope you'll find your way, and if you really were in prison, I hope you're a different person now, and have moved forward. Hey friends, thanks for listening. Be sure to subscribe and click that notification bell Thank you. featured on the next video. And join my Discord to interact with me and other listeners directly. And if you want to support me even more, grab early access to all future narrations for just $1 a month on Patreon, and maybe even pick up some Let's Read merch on Spreadshirt, and check out the Let's Read podcast, where you can hear all these stories in long compilations,

forms, and save huge on data. Located anywhere you listen to podcasts links in the bio thank you so much friends and I'll see you again soon