The Lets Read Podcast - 91: Episode 081 | St. Patrick's Day & Hitchhiker Stories | 29 True Scary Horror Stories

Episode Date: February 9, 2021

Welcome to the eighty-first 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 St. Patrick's Day, Hitchhikers & Armed Robbers.  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 Update Description

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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 For many of us, Irish folklore conjures up images of fairies, giants, and leprechauns with their huge pots of gold, just wanting to be discovered by those adventurous enough to search for the end of a rainbow. Many such tales and legends were passed from generations to generations, in the very same way we were taught to celebrate important moments such as marriages, deaths, birthdays, and holidays, or even the way we hand down skills such as making weaved baskets or saint bridget's crosses all of the above can be considered as a part of irish folklore

as it is the study and appreciation of how our ancestors lived but the irish are also fond of tales that aren't nearly so full of magic and mystery, and there are many tales from Irish folklore designed to send a chill up the spine, instead of putting a smile on the face. So today, in celebration of the Festival of St. Patrick, I present to you a handful of traditional Irish ghost stories, as haunting today is when they were first told around campfires on the Emerald Isle. The Haunted Manor House near the Slaney On the lush green banks of the River Slaney stands an old manor house called the Boondharig.

The family that occupied the manor house in days gone by have long since deserted it, leaving only echoes of the joy and sadness once experienced on the ancient hallowed grounds. And for many a year the hall and pleasure grounds of the palatial residence remained deathly quiet. Yet more than one observant returner from the fairs or markets of the nearby town of Enniscorty, with vision affected by strong whiskey, were afterwards heard to horrifyingly recall that as they passed the gates, they could see coach after coach whip round the circular walk, drive up to the hall door, where the occupants would gracefully enter the main hall wearing antiquated luxurious clothing.

Through the candlelit first floor windows, bright figures of men and women would be seen flitting to and fro, but not a single sound could be heard from horses' hooves or coach wheels, nor the dancer or musicians. He was not witnessing a ball of the living, but a dance of the dead. At long last, the Boonharig manor house was leased to a wealthy farmer from the province of Munster, who, hearing the spectral rumors far too late, made the best of a ghostly situation. The farmer hired a priest from the southern city of Kark to perform a mass in the once-celebrated ballroom. When it was done, neither lord nor lady nor musician ever troubled the house again. However, the ghostly visitants had still the privilege of the gravel drive and the semicircle before the hall door on which to perform their eternal ritual of longing for life. A servant girl, employed by the estate's new owner, declared that one night, while off her guard against ghostly tricks, was surprised to

see a coach and horses arrive at the manor's front gate. Rushing to perform her duties, she opened the gates to welcome a stately coach onto the ground, assuming it was a similarly wealthy companion of her employer. Yet when she did so, she felt a shiver run through her as she noticed the strange attire of the coachman. He wore old-fashioned clothing, a frilly lace shirt and tri-cornered hat, and made not a sound as he guided his nag down the gravel path. The servant girl made to call out to the driver but was silenced when he turned, smiled, and showed his face was a little more than a skull, dead flesh barely clinging to old bones. She rushed around to the back entrance in a terrible fright,

desperate to warn her employer of the approaching danger. But by the time she did, there was no sign of the coach or its spectral driver, and the servant girl was left to suffer with the frightful image, seeing it in her dreams, every time she slept for many a night to come. The Woman in White Patrick O'Gill, son of County Kildare, was driving his cart toward Old Dublin City with a load of country produce. Patrick had made a comfy seat for himself on the wagon and had plenty of hay beneath him to make his journey a pleasant one. He was happily occupied with thinking of nothing in particular, all while keeping an eye on his lumbering oxen who steadily labored along hedge-framed country lanes. Patrick found himself at a crossroads near Boreen,

when he was surprised by the sudden appearance of a woman dressed in long white clothes, crossing the fence and wandering into the road. The woman approached the horse and walked with him a while, close by his neck. Patrick pulled the beast's head to the opposite side for fear he might tread on her feet or long robes, but she still kept as close to him as before. It was only when Patrick thought he could see the lower part of the horse's foreleg through her dress that he realized that the situation had become a grave one. He found his eyes were glued to the shape of the being before him,

for he was frozen in terror while his whole frame covered with cold perspiration born solely from raw fear. In his horror, he was unable to decide on a course of action, but his steed upon sensing something deeply wrong in the air around it reared up and plodded on at an increased speed. At the center of the crossroads of Boreen is a patch of green turf, and when they came to its edge, the white figure stood still, yet a portion of the cart seemed to pass right through her without disturbance. Patrick O'Gill, observing this, drew the beast at once to the other side, crying in a voice that quaked with fear. By your leave, ma'am, he said, hoping a polite disposition might still the being's vengeful spirit. And so on went horse and car, the edges of the load preventing him from seeing the white form.

Having advanced two or three yards, he looked back to see a mangled body on the road behind him. The beautiful woman, whose long flowing dress has been as white as freshly fallen snow, was now a mess of black and crimson, with blood and dirt plastering her prostrate form. But there was no pained expression on her face, no cries of agony on her lips. She simply looked on towards the terrified Patrick, smiled, and waved the horrified farmer onward. Terrified as he was, he never again took his cart

by the way of the Berean crossroads, having no desire for another encounter with a woman in white. The Haunted House on Bride Street Mr. Molan, who owned and operated the grocers on Dublin's Bride Street, was left a widower. His dearly departed wife had left him the charge of several young children, and Mr. Mullen worked tirelessly to ensure they held on to the quality of life they were accustomed to. But in the months after their mother's death, footsteps began to be heard

upstairs, chiefly near to the nursery and always in the middle of the night as the family slept. Great alarm and fright prevailed among the children until the family maid appealed to the master of the house to bring in a man of the church to cleanse the home. Mr. Mullen pooh-poohed their fears yet the maid suspected from his own careworn looks that he also had received disagreeable visits from his late wife. The poor children began to lose the natural cheer of youth and often had looks of fear in their eyes, especially towards night. Little wonder, for steps were constantly heard pacing across the nursery and sometimes, they would awaken to the low sound of breathing and sighing from someone standing beside their beds.

But one particular dark night when the maid was following Mr. Mullen upstairs from the cellar, she distinctly saw a small man with a red cap on, following closely behind her master upon the stairs and holding him by the skirts of his coat. This was the only appearance, and it was the more remarkable as all were of opinion that it was the spirit of the mother who was showing her anxiety for her daughters from beyond the grave. One evening, the housemaid was sitting at the kitchen table, occupied with drying and drawing out laces and frills. Mr. Mullen was sitting on the other side of the room, smoking his pipe and reading over the daily news.

The housemaid found herself slowly becoming aware of the presence of her late mistress, pacing close by her in the direction of the fire, and could distinguish the words said in a whisper. Master, she said, did you hear that? What, you fool, he replied impatiently My mistress's ghost passing by me and whispering It's all imagination, he spoke in a vexed tone Don't encourage the children in these nonsensical whims That night the eldest daughter who commonly seemed in more terror than her sisters was sleeping next to the housemaid A habit she had developed since the ghostly visitations began

She was all at once awakened and became conscious of some awful presence With a cold perspiration bursting out all over her, she tried to scream, but her voice caught in her throat. In this state, she received three severe slaps on the shoulders causing her to pass out from fright. The father, hearing in the morning what had happened, made up his mind to abandon the house as soon as he could and in a few weeks was settled in Dorset Street, as far across the city as they could afford. The persecution or warning or whatever it was didn't follow the family to their new residence and the afflicted home remained abandoned for many, many years.

The Ghost of Wicklow County Lord Kilkevin, whose seat lay in County Wicklow, was an extremely unpleasant master while above ground and afterwards afterwards, caused considerable annoyance to his surviving friends and relatives. Not a night passed by without unnatural, frightening noises being heard throughout the manor. Doors being flung open, keys heard turning in locks, plates and dishes hurled down from the dresser on the kitchen floor, tables overturned, and chairs flung about, yet in the morning nothing would be found out of its place.

When their nerves were frayed and their sanity tested, the family moved on to another manor house, many miles from the site of their haunted one, but the steward, an old coachman, and a few hangers-on remained behind. Though none suffered more from the ghostly, ghastly visits of the late master than the coachman, and before long the night came when he would not get a moment's rest. If he attempted to take a nap in the main hall's gray chair, he would hear voices whispering dreadful things into his ear or sometimes he might be awakened in the night to find large purple bruises on his arms and legs. However there was one peculiarity in his visitations. The departed lord never made himself visible to more than one person in a company and though he often adopted the appearance of a black dog or

a raven, the individual singled out always knew the old lord under his disguises. The wives, sons, and daughters of the neighboring farmers once took it upon themselves to have a ball in the big house, for which they readily got permission. All was as merry as music and drink, and an assemblage of young men and women could make it when, in the height of the festivity, the old gentleman took it into his head to become visible in a hideous shape of a huge butchered hog. A woman by the name of Miss Fitzgerald shrieked out and fainted, and the universal mirth and jollity came to an abrupt conclusion. When she was brought to herself and related what occurred, there was a general

dispersion and that was the last attempt at a ball in the big house. The Ghost of the Gregg A lady in the neighborhood of Dublin's old town, much celebrated for her many charities, died, and great sorrow was felt for her loss. Many masses were celebrated and many prayers offered up for the repose of her soul, and there was a moral certainty of her salvation among her acquaintances. Yet one evening after the family had retired to rest, a servant girl in the house, a great favorite with her late mistress, was sitting beside the fire, enjoying the dreamy comfort of a hard-worked person after the day's fatigues, and just before the utter forgetfulness of sleep. Her mind was wandering to her late loved mistress when she was startled by a sensation in her instep, as if it were trodden upon. Bad manners to you for a dog, she said, suspecting the collie of the house to be the offender, but to her great terror when she looked down and around

the hearth, she saw no living thing. Who's that? she cried out with the teeth chattering in her head. It is I, came the ghostly reply, and an image of the dead lady appeared before her as if as a mist. Oh, mistress darling, she said. What is disturbing you? Can I do anything for you? There is something, said the spirit, and that is why I have appeared to you. Every hour of the day, someone in my family and friends are mourning me. They speak of my goodness, and it is that which is tormenting me in the other world. All my charities were done only for the pleasure of having myself spoken well of, and they are now prolonging my punishment. The only real good I ever did was to give, once,

half a crown to a poor scholar that was studying to be a priest and charging him to say nothing about it. That was the only good act that followed me into the other world. Now you must tell my husband and my children to speak well of my past life no more, or I will haunt you night after night. The next moment the spirit had vanished into thin air, and the poor girl fainted the moment it did

so. When she recovered, she hastened into her settled bed and covered herself up, head and all, and cried and sobbed till morning. everyone wondered the next day to see such a troubled countenance but she went through her business one way or another though she could not make up her mind to tell her master what she had seen and heard she dreaded the quiet hour of rest and and well she might for the displeased lady visited her again at the same hour and reproached her for her neglect. Three times she endured the dreaded visits before she made the required revelation, and after that, no more was spoken of the kind lady of the old town, for she was not made comfortable in heaven, only tormented by the

fallen one below. I've been working in bars and pubs since I left school. I was only supposed to be a year at most, earning a wage while I figured out just what I wanted to do with my life. But before I knew it, just one year became two, then three once I had secured a position as supervisor in a local pub. Being a bartender is hard, but it is never boring. Busy shifts generally means lots of laughs and lots of tips, so as much as you get mobbed on the weekends, it never feels too overwhelming, especially when your favorite regular buys you Jaeger shots when the boss isn't looking. However, there is one date on the calendar that every bartender all over the world has come to dread. That date is March 17th, St. Patrick's Day. Now where I live, St. Patrick's Day means everyone, and I mean everyone, no matter their background or identity, suddenly pretends they're Irish.

From the Kiss Me I'm Irish shirts that sell by the truckload, to the fake ginger beads and four-leaf clover hats that plaster the bar's floor once the night is over, St. Paddy's Day always seems to bring out the wilder side of the local population. This is only exacerbated by the number of actual Irish people who get a ferry over for a few days to celebrate the holiday among foreigners. Those guys don't mess around. We open the pub at 10 in the morning to start serving breakfast and lunch, and there is always a bevy of Irishmen waiting outside, having already sank a few pints in hotel bars before they arrive.

This really does add a feeling of chaos to the proceedings, and I'm not sure if it's the English sense of competition, but people genuinely do try to outdrink the Irish on their own national holiday. A foolish endeavor if ever there was one. This can lead to some pretty horrendous working conditions and sometimes the number of times you end up mopping up vomit ticks over into the double digits. Gross I know but manageable. What wasn't manageable for me anyway was a visit our pub received from a man a few Paddy's Days ago, one that I don't think I'll ever forget.

So one of the things that strikes you about the Paddy's Day crowd is how they're all basically wearing the same thing. I previously mentioned all the tacky souvenir-type items revelers can get their hands on, but maybe not the ridiculous proliferation of said items. Companies like Guinness, in a bid to sell as much of the black stuff as they possibly can, flood entire cities with merchandise that is often given to drinkers for free. So picture a scene where 99 people out of 100 have green branded Guinness t-shirts on. Most are wearing those dumb leprechaun hats, those ginger beards, and some are even wearing extremely creepy looking leprechaun masks. Starting to get the

picture here? Everyone looks alike, which can make bartending particularly difficult, not to mention how difficult it is to remember who's ordered what drink. So at one point I'm pulling up pints when this one fella in a mask steps up. I ask him what he's after and he says something unintelligible through his leprechaun mask. Now I'm sick to the back teeth of asking people to take their masks off so I can make out their orders so I may have been a bit rude when I asked him to take off that daft mask. He just shakes his head, asks me to lean closer, then orders a pint of Guinness in a distinctly English accent. Something you need to know about Guinness in particular, you don't just pour a pint of Guinness and whack it down in front of

a customer. You have to pour about two-thirds of the thick black fluid into the glass, then leave it to settle before topping it with the rest of the Guinness. That way you end up with a perfectly balanced pint of stout that's as creamy as it is malty. So that's exactly what I do. I pour the dude's drink then leave it to settle just like I'd done a thousand times before only to find the masked man almost violently waving at me. I ask him what was wrong and he starts complaining that I'd only half poured his bloody drink and that I was to bring it to him immediately. I laugh a wee bit then start giving him the talk about how he needs to let it settle with his horse serving blah blah blah. He then accuses me of taking the piss out of him

and starts kicking off about how I'm looking for a fight with him and all this other nonsense. At that point I cut him off. We can't have anyone like that in our pub and they're only ever out to cause trouble and giving them alcohol just makes that kind of situation a hundred times worse. So I put on my polite professional voice calling him sir and all of that and gently explain why he can go jump in a lake. Not my exact words but you get the idea. That's when he just comes out with, I'm gonna effin kill you. I was taken aback by this and I remember just leaning back with a look of confusion like, what'd he just say to me fella? He repeats that he's going to wait outside until we close, wait for me to leave, and then kill me. He said he didn't live far, and that he could go back and fetch a kitchen

knife in less than ten minutes. I've had threats like this before, and yeah, they're grim, but it's always from a guy who's coked up and raving. Nine times out of ten, they don't even remember you the next day, and the drunk that was threatening to smash your face in will try and make casual conversation about the footy as they'd never even met you but this guy was calm as anything he just gently and slowly explained how he was going to kill me and it didn't matter if he was arrested or caught on CCTV because I'd be dead, just like I deserved. I'm not even afraid to admit that I was actually seriously freaked out at this point.

I reached forward, trying to pull the mask off that concealed his identity from me, but he dodged, waving as he walked away from the bar and disappeared into the crowds. And I do mean disappeared. I spent the next 15 minutes or so wandering around the horseshoe shaped bar trying to figure out where this fella had gone but I couldn't see him. There was every chance he was just tucked away in a corner somewhere whining to his mates about how the bartender is a bellend or, but it seemed just as likely that this guy really had gone back to his flat to get a weapon and that he was just using the chaos of the day itself to his advantage.

By the end of the shift, I was emotionally exhausted. Every time I saw one of those daft leprechaun masks, I couldn't keep my eyes off of it. Every single one could have been that lad coming back to stab me to death in my own bloody workplace. I know it all seems crazy in retrospect, that he was obviously just full of bluster, but every murder story seems ridiculous until it's plastered all over the newspapers, with all those people coming out of the woodwork to say, oh we never saw it coming and it was just so unexpected. But a part of me really did think it was going to be my face on the newspapers the next day and sometimes I actually thank the man upstairs for keeping me safe that night. It is March 17th, 2019, St. Patrick's Day.

In Cookstown, County Tyrone, 17-year-old Lauren Bollock is getting ready to go to a party. She and her group of friends had spent their entire school day in increasing levels of excitement, swapping ideas on what to wear, exchanging rumors on who would and wouldn't be attending, and most importantly, scheming on how to get their hands on the most quintessential of St. Patrick's Day's amenities, booze. No Patty's Day party is complete without an unhealthy quantity of the demon drink, as any self-respecting Irishman will tell you. And as for the underage Lauren, buying alcohol would be as easy as putting on a little extra makeup and standing on her tippy toes at the counter. After all, without the telltale school tie, very little separates the appearance of a student

and a fledgling office worker. Lauren and her friends finished their studies for the day before congregating in one of their parents' houses to prepare for the night's festivities. Outfits were road-tested, makeup applied, and the girls even sampled a little of their alcohol haul to get healthy pre-drunk before they departed. When the time came, they piled into a waiting taxi cab which drove them a few miles down the road to the Greenvale Hotel. The sight that greeted them was one of utter chaos. The Greenvale Hotel on the outskirts of Cookstown had decided to throw a Paddy's Day dry disco for the local youths. Underage drinking is a huge problem in the UK in general, let alone in Northern Ireland, where alcohol is seen as a staunch tradition, even a rite of passage.

Their parents knew where their children were on one of the rowdiest nights of the year. It belayed their fears, even if they understood how inevitable it was that someone would get their hands on alcohol. The popularity of such an event would be evident to Lauren and her friends upon their arrival at the Greenvale. For outside a venue that had a maximum capacity of just 100 or so, at least 500-600 excitable Irish young people had assembled and were waiting to be allowed inside. Such a raucous scene might have been off-putting to another group of girls but not Lauren and her friends. They found the huge gathering of their peers to be intensely exciting

and attractive. Rural Ireland can be an extremely tedious place to live for a young person, lacking in all the adventure and attractions of the big city. So any opportunity to mingle with a large group of their peers outside of school hours is something very few Irish teenagers can pass up. Lauren and her friends climbed out of the taxi into a cold and windy evening to socialize with old friends and make a few new ones in the process. Meanwhile, inside the Greenvale Hotel, the management team is in a quandary. They knew all too well that there was far too many youths outside and that not all of them could be let into the venue.

However, St. Patrick's Day was a serious earner for the hotel. After a traditionally quiet January and February, where hedonists eschew the good life in favor of gym memberships and detox regimens, Paddy's Day always kick-started the local economy in a big way. To limit their patrons during such an event would surely be inviting financial ruin, but something had to be done to avoid disappointing more than half of the young people gathered outside. The general manager of the venue made the decision to go outside to address the waiting revelers. He told them in no certain terms that the Greenvale simply did not have the facilities to accommodate so many of them, and some would have to go home disappointed. He then asked the waiting use to form an orderly

queue at the entrance, where staff would take their entrance fee and stamp their hands with black ink to verify them. And that's when things started to go wrong. As I've previously mentioned, a long-standing tradition in the UK and elsewhere is to imbibe alcohol before arrival at a pub, club, or party in order to get a head start and save a little money. The same applied to the gathering of underage youths outside the Greenvale that night. So instead of doing as they were asked and forming an orderly queue at the entranceway, what started fairly calmly had soon descended into a chaotic mess of shoving, shouting, and fighting. Hotel staff pleaded with the drunken

crowds to calm themselves, but their cries were barely heard over the throngs of barking teenagers, some of who had begun to shove their peers towards the waiting line. Lauren was one of those who had rushed to queue up first and began to feel herself being trapped against one of the green veil's outer walls. She tried to push back, to give herself a little personal space, but it was impossible. No matter how hard she and her friends shoved back, the crowd didn't seem to disperse or diffuse. It wasn't long before neither Lauren nor her friends could move. Their arms were trapped by their sides, their bodies squeezed and compressed until some began to complain of feeling faint. Lauren was being crushed against the brick wall, finding harder and harder to

breathe as the crowds formed tighter and tighter around her. At one point, she saw a young man with glasses, so pale he was almost white as a sheet, collapse from the lack of oxygen available to him. This was barely noticed by the pushing crowds, who simply walked over and stepped on the unconscious boy, crushing him to death beneath their feet with nothing else in their minds but the desire to drink, dance, and flirt. With the very last of her strength, Lauren began to shout and yell, My friends are on the ground! Move back! My friends have fainted! Move back! My friends can't breathe! Move back! Nothing. Not one bit of movement or compassion. In fact, one of the last things Lauren saw before she passed out was the sight of laughing, spotted-faced teenage boys amusing themselves by pushing the crowds towards the doors,

trying to get them inside so they too could get to drinking. A horrific sight to see in the moments before unconsciousness, but Lauren wouldn't just be rendered unconscious. The crush at the Greenvale Hotel that night went on for another half an hour by the time the crowd realized what was happening it was far too late Lauren along with several other teenagers had been suffocated in the crush Nigel Rudell the medical director of North Ireland's ambulance service, told the BBC that emergency crews who responded to a 999 call shortly before 9.30pm encountered upsetting scenes. At this stage everything points towards it being a tragic accident and our hearts absolutely go out to the families of those involved and everybody who was caught up in this incident last night, he said. Yet the tragedy seemed to have been painted by the media as a seemingly unavoidable one,

an incident as sudden and shocking as a terror attack or natural disaster. But there was nothing natural about the deaths at the Greenvale Hotel that night, as they had been entirely avoidable. The facts remained that poor planning, drug use, and youthful zeal had proved a deadly cocktail. And without admitting this to ourselves, the Greenvale Hotel crush is doomed to happen again, and again, and again. Save up to $100 in rebates on select Toyo tires. Like Toyo's Open Country family of tires. Find your pro at your local Tread Experts. From tires to auto repair, we're always there. TreadExperts.ca 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 a pro at Tread Experts. Toyo's Open Country family of tires will get you through tough weather in a 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 at treadexperts.ca. I didn't know much about St. Patrick's Day when I first moved to America. I was familiar with American culture, sure, and growing up in Hokkaido in Japan, I was vaguely aware that St. Patrick's Day existed.

But I had no idea it was taken so seriously by Irish Americans. So my first March 17th as a student at Boston University was certainly an eye-opener. I remember waking up that morning like it was any other. I threw on some clothes, ate a small breakfast, then headed down to Boston Common to catch the tea to the university library. It was only then that I saw just how enthusiastic Boston was over St. Patrick's Day. Almost everyone I saw had some item of green clothing. Even smartly dressed businessmen had little green pocket squares or wore four-leaf clover pins. I saw big groups of kilted men with those noisy bag things and even people dressed as small red-haired creatures, though I can't remember the word for them. Yet I could barely believe my eyes when I saw the Charles River.

Somehow, someway, the city had managed to die to entirely a bright green. Everything seemed to be bigger and louder in America, unlike Japan where we almost pride ourselves on not showing too much emotion. I was reflecting on this for a moment as the tea stopped and looked on some more passengers, but as one man embarked the train, he immediately locked eyes with me. I said a silent prayer that he would leave me alone, but it was wishful thinking. He'd already given me the kind of look that many girls dread. The kind of look a cat might give a wounded mouse. Then to my ultimate disappointment, he sat down next to me.

He reeked of alcohol. So much so that I had to subtly cover my nose to keep from feeling nauseous. I didn't drink alcohol back then and I still rarely do. The smell still makes me feel sickly even to this day. So I simply put my earphones in and tried to keep to myself as the tea started moving again. A few minutes went by and I felt the man turning towards me. Before the muffled sound of him saying something to me could be heard through my earbuds. I tried to ignore him as best I could but the man began to poke me in the arm to get my attention. I couldn't ignore him anymore

so I took out my earphones and I asked him if I could help him in any way. Why aren't you wearing green? He asked me, slurring his words as he did so. At first I had no idea what he was talking about, but I quickly remembered that wearing green clothing seemed to be a sort of tradition among locals on this particular date. Yet still, I didn't wish to engage with the man, so I might have lied just a little to get him to back off. I don't speak so much English, I said, pretending to be ignorant. I thought this might deter the man. It wasn't the first time I'd pretended not to speak English to avoid a man's attentions, and usually it worked.

Just not this time. Why aren't you wearing green. He spoke much louder now, punctuating his final word by grabbing the sleeve of his own green pullover and waving it in my face. As he leaned in, another wave of his alcohol-soaked breath wafted into my nostrils. I couldn't bring myself to answer him. I thought if I tried to speak, I might vomit up my breakfast. So I simply shrugged at him as if I didn't understand and then tried to go back to my phone. That's when I felt an intense pain on my left arm. I cried out, shifting in my seat and turning to see that drunk man had actually pinched me. He was laughing as he did it too, with a little drool catching on his bottom lip before

running down his chin. You don't wear green, you get pinched, he said, still giggling to himself. Other people in the TE began to notice now, some looking pretty outraged that this drunk man was treating me this way. Please don't, I managed to say, holding the part of my arm where the man had pinched me. But this only seemed to make him angry. By the time I had jumped up from the seat to move away from him, other passengers on the train were angrily shouting at the man to leave me alone. People in Boston are very friendly, especially to foreigners like me me and as I got off the train a few stops early I decided not to let this experience tarnish the city's image in my eyes. After a long day of studying I was headed back to my apartment in an Uber taxi when I got a text from a few friends.

They told me they were having a few drinks in a big Irish bar near a government center. I forgot the name but they asked if I would like to join them for some green beer. I'd never heard of green beer, but they insisted this was a big tradition in America. I was not entirely in the mood for drinking, but I did like the idea of seeing some of the party, especially since it only happened once a year. If the beer in the river were green, what else had Boston changed the color of? I had to find out. So I arrived back at my apartment, rushing upstairs to take a shower and change my clothes. This time I tried to find something green to wear, only to find that I

didn't actually own anything distinctly green. I had a turquoise t-shirt but that was about as green as it got. I text my friend again but she reassured me I could borrow the green scrunchie she had in her wrist that way I could be safe from more pinching men hopefully. But as I begin to walk around to the Irish bar, that was no more than 5 or 10 minutes walk from my apartment, I happened to walk by a tea station. Standing outside was the last person I ever wanted to see. It was the drunk man from that morning, with a brown paper bag in his hand. He'd obviously been drinking since that very early morning and he looked even worse than he did on the train. I hoped he would be too drunk to see me or even recognize me but to my complete and utter horror, I saw a flash of recognition in his eyes.

He shouted after me and I tried to walk faster to avoid him but it was impossible. His rude, racist shouts became even louder and he started to run after me. I had tears in my eyes as I ran down the sidewalk away from him. I ran to the first police officer I saw, bursting into tears as I fell into his arms. I tried to explain what was going on but I was panicking a lot and then I turned to point at the man who was following me. There was no one there, only happy, friendly party goers. No sign of the drunk. The policeman walked me back to my apartment. He was very friendly and understanding, especially since I was so upset that my English had failed me. Most people in Boston are very nice and friendly, as I said, but some not so much. Especially when alcohol is involved, I sometimes think the world would be very different if people didn't drink.

Some living arrangements can be unusual, to say the least. And renting on-site at a storage facility is very, very different than living in a regular apartment. My uncommon living area connects to the storage facility by a long, dark, cold hallway from a door in what we call our porch area, and every night I have to walk past this doorway to get into my apartment. When my wife and I go to bed at the same time, I don't notice it, but when she goes to sleep before me and the house is dark and quiet, an acute anxiety grips me as I quickly patter down the hallway to my bedroom. Something about that doorway to the storage facility feels ominous, always has. A small peephole is in the door and sometimes I imagine looking through it at night only to see something or someone in the hallway on the other side. One night last year in the weeks leading up to St.

Patrick's Day, strange events began to unfold. At first we didn't notice anything too weird, mainly because the place's customers are in and out of the facility at all hours of the day and night, not to mention the fact that they can turn out to be some pretty strange folks when all is said and done. Anyway, at first it was just things like my toolbox going missing and then reappearing broken or a small pile of leaves being left in front of my wife's office door. We figured it was bored teenagers, maybe even a drunk stumbling home from the speakeasy around the corner. But then things were starting to get weirder. We awoke one morning with the bedroom windows open when we didn't remember opening them the night before.

A quick inventory of our belongings showed that nothing had been stolen, but we filed a police report for what was apparently attempted burglary. One night at around 4am, our bedroom lights began wildly turning on and off, waking us up and stopped just as quickly as it began. We put it down to an electrical fault and made a mental note to call the landlord, but the very next morning, we found the bathroom mirror was shattered and in the living room room all of the furniture was stacked into a big pile. The night before St. Patrick's Day I really didn't want to be home alone. Rosa, my wife, had to work late so unfortunately I didn't really have a choice. We were both on edge at this point from the events of the previous days and nights and we were constantly snapping

each other for a lack of sleep. Thankfully I had to work too and was able to get away from the apartment for a few hours. But I dreaded returning home. When I finally did so Rosa was still at work. I gave her a call to see how she was doing and she seemed stressed. It was a busy day and she had been forced to take on extra paperwork, but she assured me she'd be done soon as fast as she could. The moment I walked through the door I felt like someone was watching me. I also noticed that it was absolutely freezing inside even though it had been a pretty nice day outside that day. I checked the windows to see if they were inexplicably open again but they were closed.

Then I walked down the hall towards the porch and found the source of the cold. The door to connecting our apartment to the facility was wide open, and a draft was coming in from the dark hallway. I closed the door, concerned with how it had gotten open because we always kept it locked. After Rosa got in from the office, things began to get weirder. She was just as shocked as I was to learn that the door in the porch area was open when I came home, but she had some news for me too. While I was at work, apparently the power had been going on and off all day, despite near-perfect weather. We had ended up purchasing one of those home CCTV systems you can link up to your tablet device.

Rosa had been watching a feed of the security cameras and said that he'd seen people walking around the facility who never came through the front gate. As she was telling me all the strange things that happened that day, the door to the facility hallway slammed open. We slowly approached the door to see who had opened it, but no one was there. We locked the door to the hallway again, the house being eerily quiet as we did so. It was then we began to hear a faint sound coming from the storage facility. It sounded like a dozen voices, all talking or singing in unison. However it was, it had to be the same group of people that had been basically terrorizing us for weeks by that point. We decided to confront them, and it might have been the biggest mistake we ever made. We headed over to the storage stage the noises seemed to be coming from,

banging on the metal door as loud as I could to gain their attention. Slowly the door before us opened. There, standing on the table, were three short figures with masks on their faces. We couldn't tell if they were kids or grown-ups with dwarfism, but surrounding them were taller, lither figures who also wore masks to conceal their faces. The three smaller people on the table were the ones doing the singing, only it sounded a lot more like chanting in some old language now that we were close. As soon as they realized we weren't invited, that we weren't who they were expecting, the chanting stopped and all masked faces turned towards us.

It was only then that we saw a mass of blood and gore on the table in the center of the small figures. I only saw it for a moment before the door slammed shut again but to this day I've not been able to get that mess out of my mind. I still remember the smell that came from that room, the raw meat smell. It makes me sick to this day. We ran back into our apartment, locking the door behind us and immediately calling the cops. We struggled to relay just what we'd seen, insisting that they had to hurry as we suspected that there were children at risk. But when they arrived, we could no longer hear

the chanting sound coming from the storage facility. I was hardly surprised when the cops forced their way inside and found no one present but what really confused me is that there wasn't a single trace of blood we'd seen. The cops told us that forensics teams combed the facility and couldn't find a single fiber or fingerprint to corroborate our story. Not long after we moved, it was awfully disappointing. We were practically living rent-free in that apartment, but when it came to the horror we'd experienced that night, money was no issue. I'd have paid double what we were paying now just for peace of mind, because I never, ever want to run into those people again. Because another encounter, and I don't think we'll get away so safely.

My name is Rosie Lee Williams, and I'm a private investigator based out of Long Island, New York. I spent 20 years with the NYPD's Fugitive Enforcement Division which is exactly what it sounds like. My job was to track down and arrest those who chose to flee from justice rather than face it. This left me with, as my husband is so fond of phrasing it, a particular set of skills. And although I can't punch like Liam Neeson's Taken character, I'd bet my tracking skills are just as good if not better. I retired from the department a few years ago after a high-intensity pursuit that left me with a bullet in my shoulder. But for me, the thrill of hunting down fugitives was a vocation,

not just a handy career choice, so I used some of our savings to start up a private investigator agency. It was the best decision I've ever made. Alright, following a cheating husband around Manhattan to gather evidence of his infidelities isn't nearly as exciting as hunting down a violent prison escapee, but my word does it pay better. Having said that, each job is interesting in its own way but by far the most curious job I'd ever accepted came from County Cark over in Ireland. I opened up the company email account about this time last year to find a message that seriously piqued my interest. As I may have mentioned, most offers I get are from people in the New York and New England areas, so seeing the mention of Ireland

in the body of the message was unexpected, but very welcome. My husband and I are both of Scottish Irish descent, but had never taken the time to visit the old countries, so I was pretty much sold on the job before I even saw what it consisted of. The message was from a woman who had reported their son missing five years before. The Irish police or Garda as they're locally known had apparently investigated to the best of their abilities but come up with nothing. She had followed up by hiring a Dublin-based PI as well as a duo from nearby London yet still they turned up nothing. And so the grieving mother looked further afield and found me. On the 8th of March 2019 my husband and I boarded a flight out of JFK.

Eight hours later we were landing at Cark Airport. That same weekend, I met up with Mary O'Dwyer. The woman who had sent me the email, Mary and I, along with my husband, met up for dinner at a restaurant in Cark City Center to discuss the case. Miss O'Dwyer was an incredibly strong woman and had been hardened to grief throughout the span of her time since her son had gone missing. She was open about the fact that her son Patrick had been heavily involved in drug dealing around the whole of southern Ireland but didn't believe her son's disappearance was connected to it. She explained that Ireland's violent past had given rise to a kind of code. If someone was killed in relation to criminal activities, it was the custom for the family of said individual to be informed of the reasoning, and on occasion even monetary compensation was provided. No such information had come to light in the aftermath of Patrick's

disappearance, yet the previous Garda and PI investigations focused primarily on that possibility. I couldn't understand why. If Patrick was involved in the drug trade, it was definitely the most plausible explanation for his disappearance. But Mrs. O'Dwyer insisted that I talk to one of Patrick's old friends, one that had been consistently overlooked by previous investigators. I soon understood why. Patrick's old friend, who asked not to be named in any of my reports, was not entirely forthcoming with information. This was because his theory on Patrick's disappearance was frankly laughable, and I began to suspect that it was simply a cover-up to deter the police from looking in the right place. I could believe that Patrick had found himself

heavily in debt to a Dublin-based cocaine dealer after a shipment had been stolen in transit, but what I couldn't believe was Patrick's friend's theory on what he'd done to pay it off. He actually kept a straight face when he told me that Patrick had gone looking for a leprechaun's pot of gold. You know the story. At the end of the rainbow sits a pot of gold belonging to Ireland's shortest mythical creature. I actually humored him for a few minutes, asking where Patrick might have gone looking for such a prize. This is where I made my breakthrough. Patrick's friend mentioned a rural area up near the city of Limerick that Patrick had mentioned.

This might be the grain of truth I needed, the one masked in a lie which would lead me to uncovering the truth of Patrick's disappearance. In my business, you follow every lead no matter how unlikely in the hopes it will be a bridge to which you'll find the truth. I won't bore you with the details of my husband and I's train ride, just know it did not end in disappointment. At the bottom of a cave system on Ireland's west coast we found a body. A skeleton to be exact. One with strange growths on the skull.

I knew exactly what they were the moment I laid eyes on them. It was bone cancer. The most painful and probably the deadliest of all cancerous growths DNA testing found it to be Patrick's body and I was glad to be able to help that poor woman put her son to rest now she would be able to properly move on even if her son's killer wasn't something that could be tried or imprisoned but although Mary O'Dwyer could now move on from the case, I couldn't put it down so easily. I started to read up on Irish folklore in the hopes that something might shed a little light on the situation. The whole leprechaun story was insane, but Patrick was indeed found

at the bottom of a cave system in the area he had told his friend he would be searching. The story was nuts, but the reasoning wasn't. Perhaps there was some kind of code at play, a way the Dublin and Cark dealers could communicate without raising suspicion or alerting police surveillance. That's when I discovered two details that truly frightened me. I read that throughout history, many Irishmen had been hunting for the end of the rainbow in order to unburden a leprechaun of his pot of gold Each who succeeded found themselves disgustingly wealthy, but such wealth came with a prize The not so lucky Irishman would be cursed with deformities, disease and eventually death The second thing that disturbed me was an Irish newspaper article

that detailed the arrest and trial of a Dublin drug dealer for murder. It was discovered throughout the course of the trial that the dealer was in fact one of the main backers of a dodgy Dublin hedge fund that provided investment for foreign enterprises. I read that the hedge fund managers were unable to contain their greed at the prospect of a cash injection from wealthy, albeit criminal, source, but the method of payment was what keeps me up at night. It was 10 million euros. 10 million paid entirely in rare gold coins. is always there, helping you with Toyo tires you can trust. Until May 31st, save up to $100 in rebates on select Toyo tires, like Toyo's open country family of tires.

Find your pro at your local Tread Experts. From tires to auto repair, we're always there. TreadExperts.ca Shop with Rakuten and you'll get it. What's it? It's the best deal, the highest cashback, the most savings on your

shopping. So join Rakuten and start getting cashback at Sephora, Uniqlo, Expedia, and other stores you love. You can even stack sales on top of cashback. Just start your shopping with Rakuten to save money at over 750 stores. Join for free at rakuten.ca or download the Rakuten app. That's R-A-K-U-T-E-N, Rakuten.ca. This story took place when I was 23 years old, close to 10 years ago. I was living in upstate New York in a very rural area with my ex-boyfriend and his family. He and I used to argue quite a bit, and one morning before he went to work, he and I got into a very heated argument. He was 20 years my senior, but during this particular fight,

he acted majorly juvenile. He jumped out of bed, flipped me the bird, and yelled, If you don't like it so much, then why don't you go back to the Bronx? That was all the prompting I needed. I threw on my Uggs and my winter jacket, grabbed my cigarettes and flew out of the house. I am unfortunately an impulsive idiot and didn't think to grab my cell phone before I stormed out. I didn't drive so my only option was to walk. I don't think at the time that I intended to walk back to the Bronx as I was a three hour car ride upstate but I just needed to go for an angry dramatic walk.

I realized once I got to this road at the entrance of the trailer park that I had no idea where anything really was around me as I had only lived there for a few months at that point and we really didn't go out a lot. I banked left and just walked and walked where I knew civilization was. I found myself walking alongside a very busy stretch of road with 18 wheelers flying by, spraying me with slushy snow and soaking my shoes. I saw my then boyfriend driving by on his way to work and he sped up as he drove past me, evidently still angry about our fight. I thought for sure he was going to turn around at some point but he never came back. I pressed on, deciding instead to try to walk to my best friend's mother's house, which I knew to be in the same town. It started to snow and I was losing momentum.

I passed by a VFW where a nondescript pickup truck was parked in the driveway. It wasn't until I had passed it that I even realized the driver was in the front seat. He called out to me. Hey honey, do you need help? My stomach churned realizing I would have to accept this stranger's offer. I approached his truck slowly and tried to weigh out my options. He was a clean cut, seemingly normal older white guy. Grey hair, greenish blue eyes, just average. I blurted out, Are you a good guy or a bad guy? And cringed at myself for asking such a dumb question. He answered, I'm a good guy. I wouldn't tell you if I was a bad guy, would I?

I ignored the bells going off in my head and got in the front seat with him. As we drove, I realized I had no clue where my friend's mom actually lived. I knew the name of the road she lived on, but it spanned a good distance so it wasn't very helpful in terms of finding my destination. I asked to borrow his cell phone so I could try calling my best friend to ask where I was going. I called her three times and she didn't answer because she didn't recognize the number. I started to feel inexplicably hopeless. After a few minutes, he asked me where I was from and why I was out in the middle of nowhere in the snow wearing pajamas.

I explained I was originally from the Bronx and that I had gotten into a fight with my boyfriend. He paused and said, hey, you wouldn't be interested in making a little money, would you? I chuckled nervously and said, oh, uh, no thanks though. He responded, well, I just figured since you said you were from the Bronx, I trailed off. Realizing at that point I was almost definitely in deep doo-doo, I muttered, Oh, sure, sure. He eyed me up and down and laughed to himself before sneering. Sure, sure, she says. I started to panic big time but knew I couldn't show my fear.

I scoured the scenery for a pillowy snowbank that I could land in if I leapt out of the truck, to no avail. The houses were so few and far in between I became certain this would be how I met my demise. I'll never know why, but it was at this point that he decided to ask me who I was going to see. I quickly blurted out my best friend's mom's name and her husband's full name. He instantly perked up and explained that he knew the husband and how they used to snowmobile together 20 years ago. I felt the greatest wave of relief when he explained that he knew exactly where his old buddy lived. When we finally pulled up to that big yellow house, it was like arriving to the promised land. I sheepishly asked his name.

Steve, he said and then asked mine. I gave him a fake name, spat out a nonsense thank you and ran as fast as I could from his truck to the porch. I crashed through the front door and locked it behind me. I immediately start crying and running through the house trying to find my friend's mom. I had awoken her from a sound sleep, but she didn't say a word about it upon seeing how shaken up I was. Once I knew I was safe with her, I explained everything. The fight, the fleeing, the weird guy and his proposition And she listened, horrified and curious at the same time

She made me promise to never do anything so reckless again And that if I ever needed her to call her She told me she would ask her husband when he got home about this Steve guy and find out more about him. I returned to my boyfriend's later that same day and got really stoned and tried to forget about the events of that morning. The following day, my friend's mom called me to tell me that Steve was a dangerous person who her husband had cut off communication with years ago. The last thing he had heard about Steve was that he had been arrested for assault. She then went on to point out how incredibly easy it would have been for him to hurt me and leave me just about anywhere on some lonely stretch of road and no one would

even know where to look for me. Not to mention, I might not even been found until the snow thawed out. These events happened over several months in 2016, when me and my sister, then 16 and 14, first moved into our most recent apartment complex with our mother. We now call it the apartment complex from hell because there were many incidents like this. Admittedly, we were still into the hoverboard craze then and would ride them around. This is how we met Savannah. She was our age and lived in our building. She asked to hang out and we were happy to hopefully make new friends so we said yes. We hung out outside the complex at a little park.

It got dark and we started making up ghost stories. Turns out she liked creepy paranormal stuff like we did. Note I didn't actually believe in this stuff and still don't. Every time I reference the paranormal it's hyperbole. As we were walking home, though, the light in one of the apartment hallways flickered, and I joked and said it was a spirit trying to communicate with us. Savannah made up a flash-once-for-yes-twice-for-no system to communicate with the spirit, and we messed around a bit. We thought it was just harmless fun. The next day she runs over to us excited. She informs us that the spirit that we had met last night told her its name was Kieran and that it meant light, so it all made perfect sense now.

We asked her how she knew and she said she went back later that night, alone, to talk to it. This was the first time it occurred to us that she might have really believed in all this stuff. Our aunt had given us an old Ouija board as a joke the year before and we thought Savannah might like it. Savannah lit up and said she wanted to try and talk to Kieran. So we huddled in the hallway connecting the apartments and put our hands on the board. We kept getting random letters that didn't make sense but soon Savannah's questions were directed to Kieran. We felt her moving the planchette and called her out but she got mad and said she'd prove it.

She took her hand off the planchette and it no longer moved. She just huffed and insisted it wasn't her. Over the next few weeks we did mostly normal stuff with her, but she kept talking about the ghosts and Ouija board until we broke down and played it again. This time, we were introduced to a new ghost, Evan. We knew it was Savannah moving the planchette, but were curious about the story she was making, so let her follow through. Evan was a ghost, or demon rather, about our age who wanted free from a greater demon controlling him. That greater demon's name? Kieran. Savannah's parents called her inside, and conveniently, Evan had to go too. He told us he'd protect us against Kieran, especially Savannah. Savannah commented on how cute that was for him to offer. A few days go by normally, but then Savannah's back to tell

us that she has a boyfriend. We're happy for her until she tells us his name is Evan. We're wondering what she's talking about and she explains that while sleeping over at another friend's house, something had tugged off her shorts while she slept. She'd woken up and heard Evan's voice, I guess. Then he'd visited her in her dreams and asked to date or something like that. She'd said yes. Of course, we know she made up Evan, so we're kind of like, what's wrong with you? And we don't talk about the demon stuff anymore. Now Savannah was extremely possessive over her friends. When she'd see us with someone else, she'd text us non-stop about why we hadn't invited her. We tried to keep our distance but she lived on the ground floor and literally watched out her window waiting for us to come outside.

She'd latch onto us. We didn't know much about her home life but us to come outside. She'd latch onto us. We didn't know much about her home life, but she always seemed troubled. She had scars on her wrists and talked about running away from home. Her parents seemed alright, if rather strict and religious. We still hung out with her because we were worried, but we're starting to feel weird about it. Worse, she'd randomly show up holding her hand out, saying Evan was holding her hand. She'd look at random things and laugh when no one else was talking because Evan had told her a joke. Once she made us feel her cheek where it was supposedly warm from Evan kissing her. It was not warm. One day my sister and I were bored from her

talking to Evan on the Ouija board. She was still controlling the whole thing and wanted some fun. I texted my mom to call my phone from a blocked number and play creepy sounds. Looking back, this was one of the dumbest things I did, but at the time it was just for fun. My mom made the call and I put it on speaker. Savannah is living for it, especially when my mom played a track from a scary movie about a ghost. My mom took it a step further and threw a banana off our third story balcony for us to see. Savannah said it was a sign that Kieran was winning.

We had no idea of the fire this would lighten her. We were about to tell her it was a prank but again her mom called her inside. She found us the next day and I came clean about the prank. She laughed and said there was no way we could have done that. I said no my mom literally did all of it. Well Savannah had told her friend about it who told her that yellow objects like the banana were a sign of the devil, and seeing them meant the devil was hunting you. This was all she talked about for a while, but since nothing else happened, she gradually forgot. Things went back to normal for a while, until Autumn moved in. Autumn and Savannah connected instantly because of their history with depression. Autumn was a few years younger than us, but had a lot more of a past.

This included significant time spent in psychiatric facilities and violence towards her classmates and family. Autumn claimed she heard demons talk to her at night, and just like that, the ghost stuff had started again. Savannah felt threatened by Autumn and felt the need to one up her with ghost stuff. She told her Evan was her ghost brother that looked out for her. I was like, hold on, you claimed he was your boyfriend. She giggled and said, that's gross, he's my brother. Her story had completely switched.

Now she was dating another demon named Jacob and they were engaged. She even showed us a ring to prove it. The next week or so was literally like a match between them to see who was the darkest and most involved in the spiritual world or whatever. They'd compare scars on their wrists and brag about cutting themselves and doing things like sneaking out in the night. In a move to one-up Autumn, Savannah drew a giant pentagram in the parking lot with chalk. Her parents found out, and she backed out and blamed it on autumn. The next freaking day, people come to repave the parking lot. The pentagram is now buried under it forever, literally. Savannah moved on to saying

her friend had found Jacob's body and was going to put his spirit back inside it. Savannah continued to take advice from this friend who fueled everything she did. Savannah now said the friend was teaching her witchcraft. We mostly avoided her at this point, but she'd ask us to do things like make holy water with her and try to summon her a familiar. From that point on, she insisted she was a fire witch and walked around wearing all black with Halloween-like makeup on her face. She and Autumn frequently snuck out together and occasionally we'd see cop cars at her house. My sister and I were avoiding them both, but now we'd get fiery texts from both of them if we hung out with other people, especially our guy friends.

Once they saw us get home and stood in the parking lot pretending to be possessed. Autumn also cut off all of her hair and claimed to have tried to kill her teacher. My sister and I knew it was nonsense, or at least we hoped, but Savannah took it so seriously. She'd go around telling neighbors of terrible crimes she committed or wanted to commit. She even told us that when she'd first seen us outside with hoverboards that she'd wish for them to blow up. One day, we again saw the police come to our door, and the officers had jackets that said that they were from the juvenile justice department. Her mom pulled me, my sister, and our mom aside to explain what was going on. Apparently two years before, they discovered Savannah talking with a man online.

Her messages to him were hiring him to come literally kill her parents, after making threats of killing them a few days before. We were able to confirm the story after pet-sitting for them and finding court papers about it. We'd known she was on probation, but she'd always tell us different stories as to why. Savannah continued to beg us to hang out with her after that, even inviting herself to spend the night. We avoided her at all costs, but she'd followed us everywhere. It kind of died down when Autumn moved out, and Savannah moved with her family shortly after. Since then, she started doing service hours at a horse stable and graduated high school. I really hope she's gotten happier and more stable overall.

Autumn messaged my sister a few months ago asking to call her mom to confirm she was with us. She wasn't, and we later saw her with a 19-year-old dude. She's 14 now. Me and my sister and mom have moved as well. There were too many incidents in those apartments. Our new place is so quiet and peaceful, and I hope to keep it that way. When I was 12 years old, my family and I lived in an old apartment complex. I say old because it's been standing for well over 50 years by the time we moved in. Some residents have claimed to have lived there their whole lives. Anyway, one particular thing that stuck out to me is that there was a strict no pets policy.

The landlord actually elaborated on this, stating that a copious number of pets seemed to go missing around the area, and they now restrict pets in hopes that it would end that problem there. As a child, I kept pretty much to myself. As for my brothers, who were two to three years older than me, they spoke and played with every kid that lived in the apartments and surrounding areas. Every day after school, they'd beg our mother for some change so they could visit the candy lady. She was a local resident in the apartments who held a mini-mart in her apartment. Basically, she'd buy snacks in bulk,

ranging from gummy snacks to chips, so she can resell it to the neighborhood kids. I'd never been at that point, but was curious, of course. I'd asked my brothers if I could join them, and they declined. So I stole, I know, a whole dollar from my mom's purse and followed my brothers and their friends so I could find out where she lived. Upon stalking them, I finally found out her apartment location. Though they stayed inside for a while, I figured I'd just go the next day. The next day after school, I took my stolen dollar and headed

out to the candy lady's apartment. When she opened the door, she was an older Caucasian lady with a welcoming demeanor. She let me in and asked for my name. When I gave it to her, I asked for hers. She said to just call her the candy lady. She seemed sweet and thoughtful, asking me about school and if I lived in the area. Kids usually don't come here alone. Where are your friends? She asked me. I explained that I don't really have any and that I prefer to just observe. She seemed to sympathize with me because she then told me to take anything I want, free of charge. As a child, I indulged, taking as much as I could carry. While thanking her on my way out, she said to me, Come back any time, my friend.

I felt pretty jolly at that point. One, I got free snacks. Two, I actually made a friend. When I got home, I hid my snacks in my drawers, returned my mom's stolen dollar, and felt great overall. That is until I went back. I returned maybe three to four days after the first time. When I knocked, she answered the door frantically. I kind of got scared, so I told her I could just come back later. After realizing it was me, she told me no worries and insisted I come in. When I did, she asked if I came back for some more free snacks. I gleefully told her yes, but she said that the first time was a kind gesture.

But from now on, I'd have to help her with a few things to earn my free snacks. I was used to working for things, so I agreed. It was simple enough. Just throw out her trash for her. I figured she was old and probably couldn't go outside much. Weird thing was, she had me take her garbage out to the dumpsters in the apartments next door. Fast forward to a month later. It had become our regular schedule.

After school, I'd do my homework, then head over to her place to throw her garbage as well as collect my earnings. It was all easy breezy for a while. That is, until one day she didn't tie the trash bag all the way. I walked all the way down to the dumpsters next door and before I threw it in, I decided I'd tie it first. It was loose so I had to untie it to fix it all the way. Curious little me couldn't help but look inside. There I saw wadded up paper towels drenched in blood and hair. There was also more plastic bags at the bottom of the bag. This freaked me out so much that I dropped the bag right then and there and booked it home. As soon as I got home, I cried to my mother about my discovery. She said she'd go out and see it for herself after I told her which

dumpster. When she returned, she said she didn't see what was inside because the candy lady was already there throwing it out when she arrived My mother didn't say a word to her and just left She told me she didn't want me going out that far anymore and stop helping with other people's chores Completely neglecting what I initially told her Surprisingly, I was able to just sort of forget, more like ignore what happened and go about my kid life like nothing else happened. Then my brothers came rushing back one day. They anxiously explained to my mom, who is as nosy as ever regarding neighbors, that the candy lady was taken away by police. My mother dismissed it and told us to mind our

business. My brothers were bummed out though because of their future lack of snacks. As a child in this point of time, I didn't really understand police and all that so I was pretty much clueless about what happened. About a month ago, I had dinner with my mom. I am now 22 years old by the way. My mother and I got to reminiscing and we started talking about those old apartments. After discussing how old and broke down they were, I asked her if she remembered what I told her I saw. At first she didn't. Then I mentioned that she was arrested by the police. Then the shock of realization hit her. She said she remembered and that she actually asked the landlord about it shortly after she was taken away.

Apparently, the landlord told her that the candy lady was actually killing and skinning animals she found nearby. So she's the reason why pets weren't allowed. She was killing them and doing God knows what with the skin. And I'm the dumb little kid who got rid of the evidence for her. And for those of you wondering, the management of the apartments next to ours, the one with the dumpsters we used to dispose of the evidence, caught wind of the smell reeking from the dumpsters. And from there, they were able to catch the candy lady. All I know is, I'm glad I never went back once I realized what was in the bags of trash

she had me take out multiple times. This happened in December 2010 and was on the UK TV show Crime Watch, Liverpool, England. Mid-December 2010, I was 16. I was off school for the half term and was playing video games all day basically. I live in a semi-detached three-bedroom house. Due to my bedroom upstairs being fairly small, my mom let me have the back door downstairs as my room too. This had things like my PC, reptiles, guitars. This also had two double doors backing onto the garden. One night around 2am I was playing World of Warcraft and using Ventrilo talking to guild

friends. Pretty standard night. At this time my sleeping pattern was horrible and I was staying awake all night playing WoW. I pretty much always have my back door a tiny little bit open to let some cool air in because of the heat coming from my computer at the time. This had never been a problem, we live in a relatively quiet area. Our garden backsown to a small wooded area and the only people I'd ever seen in there were kids making dens or playing games. With having headphones in, I couldn't really hear anything outside because of the game volume, but I remember something catching my eye a little. My PC desk is about three feet from my double doors against a wall. Anybody outside would be able to see me sitting at the desk. I turned and see a hand opening the door.

I froze and remember spinning around on my chair and ripping my headphones out. This would also be a good time to add I was home alone. My mom and dad were at a wedding party and I was fine with staying home. A man about 30 with a shaved head and a scruffy beard was standing at the door. We sort of stared at each other for a few seconds and I asked him to close my door and get out of the garden. He very casually walked in and just stood there. I remember freaking out a little and standing up and moving to the other side of the room. I moved towards a shelf where I had a penknife and took it out and told him to screw off. He said he knew nobody was home and asked

me to let him stay on the couch until my parents' car turned up and then he would leave. I was super freaked out and again told him to leave the house. He got visibly agitated and started walking around my room looking into my reptile enclosures. I told him to leave or I was going to ring the police. I remember not being as terrified as I should have been for some reason. It was only after I realized what a bad situation this was. He said something along the lines of, I'll be able to stab you before you phone the police so if you get your phone, I've warned you. I remember then going out of the room, shutting the door behind me and leaning on it so he was locked in

I heard him walk to the door and try the handle Then he started really pushing on it while screaming at me to move I waited up my options And it seemed like the best option would be to run out the front door and knock on a neighbor's house But my very small dog was asleep in my bedroom upstairs and I would not leave him in the house with this person. I know my dad kept a police caution covered in his bedroom so I sprinted upstairs to find it. While rustling in the drawers I heard him walking up the stairs and through my parents bedroom door he was staring at me through the

spindles on the staircase. At this point, I was panicking and terrified. He had a steak knife in his hand, also which he raised up to show me. I had the kosh and a penknife, and we were similar sizes. He didn't move for a bit until I asked him to please go because this wouldn't end well for one of us. He told me he would be back and walk back down the stairs. I heard him go through my room which he came into but wasn't sure if he had gone. I slowly crept back down the stairs but what made it even more intense is for some reason he had turned off every light. Before I got to the bottom of the stairs, I called the police while watching the doors to see if he came. He didn't. The police arrived ten minutes later and my parents shortly after. They searched the woods behind my house, and in the fence facing my house they found some

used needles, gloves, and a huge roll of carpet and about ten cigarette stumps all in the exact same place. They suggested he may have been watching me because, in the dark, he would have a perfect view of my well-lit room through the doors. They never found him, but I frequently sent to stay at my grandparents' house, as both of my parents worked odd hours and struggled to take care of me during shifts. At such a young age, this was simply a time for me to eat as much candy as I wanted and stay up until midnight watching Cartoon Network. The only thing that

made my stay with my grandparents better was when my cousin Carly was also staying with them. My grandparents lived in a house that bordered a major highway and as such had a large brick sound barrier between the main road and the alley that ran behind the houses. This sound wall was getting old and there were places in need of major repair. One such place was at the far end of the alley near the local park. Behind a nice set of shrubs, the wall had been slowly crumbling and was the perfect size for two 8-year-olds to squeeze through. Now the location of this wall, the shrubs, and their relation to my grandparents' house is important. The shrub itself covered the crack in the wall perfectly from the road.

You couldn't see the crack until you stepped behind the shrub and bent down, due to how low it was to the ground. The wall itself was at the far end of the alley, of which my grandparents' house was second or third at the start of the alley. According to Google Maps, the alley is about a thousand feet long from house to crack. Once you reach the cracked wall, the alley turn left and continues for another 500 feet until it dumps out into the main street. Carly and I like to walk along the alley with a bag of cookies, slip under the crack, and walk to the other side of the road to play at the playground. This being the 90s, we had no adult supervision beyond us

vaguely shouting to our grandparents that we were headed to the park. On this occasion, however, Grandma was out at the store and Grandpa was gone to some church event. Now they hadn't told us we could leave the house, but they also hadn't told us we had to stay inside either if you catch my drift. The past few days that Carly and I had gone to the park, there were always people there due to it being a weekend. As it was full of people those days I don't remember this detail but Carly told me a few years ago that she remembers seeing the same grey van parked alone at the park the two days in a row. On this Monday however the park was deserted. Carly and I were having a blast, swinging and sliding with no kids to get in our way. We were so preoccupied that neither of us remember seeing a charcoal-gray Dodge Grand Caravan pull up and park in the

parking lot. After a little while, Carly pulls me down the playground into one of the plastic tunnels and tells me to be quiet. Chris, I think that guy in the van is watching us, she told me. He's been there on his phone for a while now. I'm not so subtly peeking my head out of the tube and see the man staring right back at me, as if he knew exactly where we were hiding. He indeed had some kind of phone to his head and was talking at a rapid pace. Carly and I decided we would get out, swing some more, so as not to seem suspicious obviously, and then head home at a brisk walk. I reasoned with Carly that he wouldn't follow if he didn't think we were running from him. Solid logic, I know.

Looking back, I realize now just how dangerous of a situation we were in. The situation started to get much worse when the man hung up his phone and got out of the van. We stepped out of sight to the driver's side sliding door and we saw him open it up. I got my very first bad feeling of the afternoon and basically whisper shouted to Carly, we need to go now. We pop off the swings and come to as close to a dead sprint as we can and left our basketball and cookies right where they were. As we reach the park fence, we hear the sliding door slam and the driver door close shortly after that. We look back to see the van sliding out of its parking space and we bolted across the road.

Carly started to shimmy into the crack behind the shrub, but I was watching the van. Instead of coming down the road we ran across, the van drove straight and disappeared from view. This is when my second very bad feeling kicked in. I grabbed Carly's shirt and pulled her back, telling her we needed to go another way. We both start walking down the main highway, cars whizzing by on the other side of the sound wall. As we reach the end of the wall and start to turn into the subdivision, we catch ourselves when the grey Dodge pulled out of the alley and turned down the street in front of my grandparents' house. We give the van a good five count and then sprint to the alley to make it inside the backyard. At this point, we bolt inside,

lock every single lock we can find, and both grab kitchen knives and head to the living room. I don't know what we thought we would do with said knives, but we placed them on the ground and turned on some cartoons. A little while later, creepy man forgotten, I went to the kitchen to grab a Mountain Dew. Now my grandmother had this beautiful full wall glass window sitting area put in a few years prior and it had no shades or curtains. I thought nothing of this until I noticed a charcoal gray Dodge Grand Caravan slowly making its way down the street. With my eight-year-old reaction, I scream out and jump back and ran to the living room to tell Carly what I'd seen.

We both proceed back to the kitchen like the little dumb idiots we were and peered over the ledge of the sitting area. The Dodge was stopped right in front of the house and the little dumb idiots we were and peered over the ledge of the sitting area. The Dodge was stopped right in front of the house and the man was staring right back at us. At that exact moment we hear both the garage door opening to admit our grandmother and watch my grandfather come around the corner of the street. As soon as my grandpa parked his car in front of the house, Creepy McCreeper nonchalantly pulled away and drove off. Our grandpa was more than a little myth that we had locked not only the knob and the deadbolt, but also the floor lock chain and door jam lock on the front door. For context, the area they lived could be comparable to South Dallas or some of the nicer areas of Chicago.

Once our grandma let him in, we were threatened with a whoopin' for touching the locks until my grandma persuaded him it was just kids being kids. We both told him our story, but neither one would believe us. Apparently my grandpa was reading an address or something as he drove up and never saw the van, and my grandma was always convinced their street was the safest street in the history of streets. Upon talking later as adults and revisiting the alley and park, Carly and I came to the same conclusion. Regardless of whatever creepy McCreeper wanted with us, he had been stalking us for at least a few days. As I said before, the crack was not visible in any shape or form, and you couldn't even see if you were taller than five feet due to the cramped space. Mr. Creeper had apparently watched us duck down at least once and likely

watched the alley end as well so as to know where we had came out. Carly swears she saw Mr. Creeper at the park later that summer in the same charcoal gray Dodge, but I never encountered him again. Sometimes Mr. Creepy pops up in my memories, even 15 years later, and I think about this story. To this day I wonder what would have happened if I had followed Carly through the crack in the wall. I'm not quite sure how to even start this story. A lot of things I've experienced never really fit this subreddit's guidelines until yesterday when this story wormed its way into my head again. This story happened when I started a new school in the middle of 6th grade. I'm 19 now.

This was technically my first middle school and for many many reasons I transferred out and this definitely didn't help. About halfway through, I was switched into Spanish to finish out the year. I had almost always had a foreign language class so I thought it'd be a pretty easy grade to end with. There was a lot of buzz surrounding the Spanish teacher, Mr. D, and when I first saw him and how he acted, I thought I could tell why. He was a pretty eccentric guy who if you only heard his voice and weren't looking at his stern face, you'd think he was pretty jovial.

He almost always pronounced our names wrong and he had this gigantic windmill on wheels in the corner of his room. The windmill reminded me that I'd actually heard about this teacher from an older boy called Jay in my Sunday school class. Weird how things can change so much in a number of years. I remember telling him I was going to a school. My mom and I had run away in the middle of my 6th grade year and I would start at my new school after Christmas break ended. It was nice to know that I had at least a couple of people that I knew so I asked if he could tell me about the school or if he had any advice. Jay had told me that if I ever got Mr. D to transfer out immediately. It sounded a little bit dramatic, but as we got more acquainted with Mr. D, so too did he get more acquainted with us. One thing that always made us all uncomfortable was

how he would rub chapstick on his lips fairly aggressively for like a minute, which was definitely made worse when he'd stand with one leg resting on something and his crotch leaning forward. Sure, it was pretty uncomfortable, but not the worst thing in the world. Just a bit odd. Have you ever seen a woman with her boobs resting on a desk? Sometimes it's on purpose and sometimes it's an accident, especially when you're short and sitting down. Mr. D started to do this, but with his wang. He'd stand close to the desk to look at their work, but his bulge would be laying on their desk. He wasn't desk wiener height either, so he stretched a little to do it, but given how strange he already seemed to be, I brushed it off as him not being self-aware.

I just feel bad for the first row. Flash forward and all of his idiosyncrasies seemed to be more prominent as the days marched on. I remember once he even answered his phone and carried the conversation on a bit before stepping out of class. I should note he wasn't a great teacher. He wasn't even a good teacher. English obviously wasn't his first language, which was fine because he was there to teach Spanish. Unfortunately, he didn't speak Spanish either. He'd always use the school PC to pull up Spanish videos on YouTube for us and would mindlessly stare at his personal laptop. Like I say, a pretty easy class. I just

feel bad for the other students who didn't already know certain things when tests came. We walked in one day and on my desk, the chair in front of me, and the desk in front of mine, there was a semi-straight line of off-white liquid. It was mainly on my desk and thinned out across the chair and desk in front. Mr. D came over, not quite fast enough as the kid behind me asked me what it was. All we got was nothing as he very quickly wiped it away with his hand and rubbed it on his pants. He couldn't say water because it wasn't clear. It really only looked like one thing but there wasn't any way to definitely prove it was. I tucked my hands into my sleeves and did my best not to touch the desk.

About a week after that, I came into my English class I had at the end of the day to hear one of the girls having a pretty loud argument with our English teacher. I walked in at the middle, but the girl, Megan, was extremely upset and asking why she shouldn't go to the principal. Megan was a bit of a hothead, but she was still a really nice girl. I couldn't see her dramatizing a situation this much. I later found out what happened from my best friend at the time who was in Mr. D's class when it went down. Their class was ahead of us us so their test was scheduled for that day. After papers were passed around Mr. D went back to zoning out on his laptop until Megan

needed to ask a question. She had her hand up for ages and he never noticed so she went over to where he was and freaked out on him. He was watching adult films with the sound off on the laptop he always brought with him and gave all his attention to So when I came in, Megan was being reprimanded for being pretty verbal with Mr. D Our teacher was basically telling her she shouldn't have been upset with a teacher watching this in her class And that it's his laptop as if that somehow nullifies anything Looking back, it explains so much of his shifty behavior and that it's his laptop as if that somehow nullifies anything. Looking back, it explains so much of his shifty behavior. The desk ween arrests, the hardcore stares, the personal laptop at the time,

and the definite jizz on our desk. It wasn't the first time he'd done it and wouldn't have been the last if he hadn't gotten suspended for the rest of the month. Mr. D disappeared and we had a sub finish out the rest of the year with us. I got the F out of that school and after everything that happened there but still kept in touch with a couple of friends who went. They told me that Mr. D was back but for a while was the gym teacher and co-soccer coach and the next year taught English. I really want to say it surprises me. He was brought back even without knowing anything about what he teaches but it doesn't. In hindsight, that school was atrocious. I have so many memories of insane students and teachers alike and what they did.

Another teacher was only given a suspension for actively looking down girls' shirts and up girls' skirts when they bent over. It's just concerning to know Mr. D probably still works there. I've had a lot of worse stuff happen to me, and I'd still suppress this memory for ages. This happened about 18 years ago. I was about 20 years old and had just recently moved away from home and got an apartment with my best friend. Back then I was single and one night decided I would try one of the phone dating lines to try and meet someone. I started sending voice messages with someone who seemed interesting and we exchanged numbers and then talked on the phone for about 45 minutes.

At the end of the call we decided to meet the next day at a bar that was close to where I lived. The next day I went to the bar and waited for her. She showed up soon after but she also had a friend with her. They sat with me and we talked for about 5 minutes during which I could already tell she was not for me until a server came by and asked us if we wanted to order drinks. We all ordered and when he asked for our ID, her friend didn't have ID. He told her she was going to have to leave. The two of them started grabbing their stuff and she turned to me and said, let's go to another bar. I told them I was going to stay here and didn't feel like going anywhere else tonight. She insisted but I continued to decline until the server made

it clear they needed to leave right away. I assumed that me not leaving with them would have made it clear that I was not interested in her but the next day she called me. We talked for a bit and it got very creepy very quick. She started talking like she had her whole future planned out. Where we would live, how many kids we would have, etc. I was not good with women back then and didn't know what to do. I kind of just panicked and let her talk until I was able to convince her that I needed to go. After that, I was scared to answer the phone. For the next two months, my roommate always answered the phone. She called about once or twice a day asking for me and my roommate always told her I wasn't home. She would ask him to tell me to call her back. One night after I had a bit too much to drink, me and my roommate were talking about the situation and what to do about it. At one point I jokingly said, just tell her I'm dead.

His response was, okay. I thought I convinced him that I was joking after that, but that wasn't the case. The next day when she called, he did it. He advised her that I had died in a car accident. She started to cry and started asking him a ton of questions. All he kept telling her is that he didn't know anything, the police just notified him because he was my roommate. Eventually the call ended and we collectively hoped that this was finally over. It was not though. Ten minutes later the phone rings. Obviously my roommate answers. He exchanges a few sentences and then holds the phone out for me to take it. I try to ask him what's going on but he says nothing. I answer the phone and say, Hello? I start to get an earful. It was my father. I don't have a very common last name. This girl

called everyone with my last name in the phone book, told them I was dead, and demanded to know when the funeral was. My father continued to lay into me, advising that I was lucky he was at my grandmother's house to take the call. He demands I fix the problem. I don't though. She called back 20 minutes after my dad and my roommate continues with the lie. After that though, things seem great. Over a month goes by and everything seems cool. I finally start answering the phone again. One day though, I answer the phone. It was her but I didn't realize it and get a, who is this? I tell them who it is and immediately she starts laying into me. She starts telling me how she had been in mourning for over a month. She then starts telling me how horrible I am for doing what I did. Finally she starts to ask me

questions like, how can you do something like this to someone? How do you think I felt during all of this? I never speak a word past my initial hello and advising who I am. After each question, there's about a one-minute pause before she starts up again, and this goes on for about 20 minutes. Then, the most unbelievable moment of my life occurs. She says to me, So I don't know how much I can trust you anymore, but this is something we'll have to work around. There's a slight pause, and she ends the call.

After that, I had my roommate call her number and clearly lay out that I'm not interested. And even though it was passive-aggressive, luckily, it ended there. So, I am originally from Texas, but for college, I had decided to move to Paris since I'm half French and have always had a French education. I moved into Paris about three years ago. I live in a pretty normal neighborhood and in a normal, secured building. So, what I'm about to tell you happened two years ago. I was chilling in my apartment and I wasn't doing anything special except rolling a blunt, since I used to smoke on a daily basis back then.

Suddenly I hear someone knocking at my door. Now I wasn't expecting anyone since I'm a young woman living on her own. I had no intentions whatsoever to open the door. Nevertheless, the knocking kept going and I heard that the person was also knocking on all my neighbor's doors. There are four other apartments on my floor. I thought that maybe there was some kind of emergency and I was getting really annoyed by the relentless knocking, so I opened the door and saw a man standing in front of me. He was approximately 5'9 and pretty chubby and looked 40-ish. He introduced himself as a new neighbor and said that there was banging noise in the apartment above his as if someone was

moving furniture. I told him that it possibly couldn't have been me since I wasn't doing anything but watching television, and followed by asking in which apartment does he live in. He said that he was in the one under mine, and told me that he was a handyman and that if I needed anything, I should feel free to knock on his door. I thanked him and closed the door and kept on going on with my day. The following months, I kept seeing him around nearly nearly every day but it wasn't weird or anything. One day on my way up to my apartment I crossed paths with him. After a small talk he told me that there were many flooding problems in the apartments and that

he needed to check mine. Again, being a woman living on her own there was absolutely no way that I was going to let a stranger in. I politely told him that I'll call my landlord if I have an issue. The guy gave me a weird look and told me, No, I have to look in your apartment. And it rubbed me off the wrong way because of the tone of his voice. He insisted again, and to cut the conversation short, I told him that we'll work this out another day because I'm exhausted. The following days every time I crossed his path he kept asking me when he would

come in and check the drainage system. At this point I got really angry. I told him that there was no need and even though my apartment ran out of water for two days my neighbor told me that it was normal since a bunch of plumbers had cut off the water in the building while trying to locate which apartment pipes were causing the flooding. Now, if there is an issue, my landlord will call me. After saying that, I walked away. I was so sick of this nonsense that I actively started to avoid him. The only way that I knew I could freely walk out of my apartment without crossing paths with him was by checking if he was home or not. I had a pretty terrible technique that consisted of me leaning out of my window so I could see his kitchen.

If the lights were on, he's home. Obviously this wasn't super effective since no one turns the kitchen lights on in broad daylight, but that was really my only way of knowing. Now, skipping to this year, I'd never seen this guy again, but I knew he still lived here since I still noticed the lights of his kitchen going on and off and the kitchen furniture hadn't changed. Fast forward to last month, I got into the elevator with a guy living in the building. Having a very slow elevator, I started small talk with him because I really hate awkward silence. I saw he pressed the fourth floor button and I asked for how long he had lived in the building and he said it had been five years and then we changed subjects. Finally, the elevator stopped at the fourth floor and I saw him going to the apartment right under mine.

I didn't think much of it until I arrived at my apartment and thought that it's really nice and then it clicked. He lived in the apartment right under mine for five years. So, the weird guy trying to get in my apartment was not my neighbor. MGM Ontario app today. Visit BetMGM.com for terms and conditions. 19 plus to wager Ontario only. Please gamble responsibly. If you have questions or concerns about gambling or someone close to you, please contact Connex Ontario at 1-866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge.

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I was living in a pretty decent part of the city at the time, but still had lots of friends who lived in my old neighborhood, which was a little more sketchy. Having lived there before I thought nothing of going to visit them, staying there late into the night and then leaving to go home. The majority of the folks that lived there were amazing, good-hearted people who wouldn't hurt anyone. However, it was an area known for crime and drug activity. On a normal night just like many before I had gone to visit a few friends at one of our mutual friends houses. The street she lived on was a tiny one-way street very common in that part of Philadelphia that didn't allow parking. Some

residents would park their cars up on the sidewalk but I was always afraid of getting sideswiped so I would always park on the next street down, a larger dead end street with two lanes and parking on either side. So I had to take a little 5 minute walk to my car when I left her house at around 2-3am. I hadn't been drinking, however at that time in my life we had smoked on the weekends so although I was not stumbling and I was completely coherent, I was a little foggy. I turned the corner onto the street. My car was parked along the side, closest to me about three to four cars down. I immediately saw a large Hispanic man with a big puffy jacket, jeans, and a do-rag standing against the closed shops pulled down security gates just past my car. Immediately I got a certain feeling in my neck. He was just standing there, hands in his pockets,

staring straight ahead. I started to slow my pace so when I was about 30 feet from him, he turned and looked right at me. When he saw me, he took out his phone and started to make a phone call. We were the only two people on the street, it being the middle of January at 3am, and although I logically didn't have a reason to be afraid of this man or suspect he would try to harm me, this feeling of fear washed over me and I did not want to get in my car. He kept looking at me out of the corner of his eye and acting sort of nervous. The way I was parked, the driver's side was facing him, so I was going to have to open my car door in front of him and leave myself totally exposed on many levels.

So, I slowed down and took out my own phone and pretended to be talking to a friend asking her if she was almost there to meet me, hoping that if he thought there was someone just around the corner on the way he wouldn't hurt me. After a few seconds of this and a few moments of watching the man I started to feel sort of silly. The initial adrenaline had worn off I guess and I chalked it up to me just being paranoid from smoking. He had been talking on the phone for a few minutes and I knew I couldn't just stand there forever and I was almost angry at myself for being such a scared little girl and immediately assuming this person was out to harm me and also thought that maybe he was just as scared as I was to meet someone on the street this late at night so he was doing exactly what I was. I laughed internally at myself. After about five minutes of my charade, I felt ridiculous and started to walk the final few paces to my car, unlock the door, and open it to get in. It was the worst mistake I'd ever made. As soon as I had the door open

and was beginning to sit in the driver's seat, he rushed me and pushed me all the way into the seat. He pushed something cold and metal into my side and put me in sort of a bear hug, pinning me sort of halfway against the center console and dash. Give me all the money you have right now or I'll shoot you. He said this forcefully right up next to my ear two or three times. I froze up and didn't know what to do. I had my entire paycheck on me. It was much more like fight or flight instincts. For a few seconds all I did was sort of whimper while he screamed at me. But then my brain started working and I said,

Okay, okay. You have to let go of me so I can get it. He paused for what seemed like ten minutes but was probably only about 3 seconds and slowly started to loosen his grip on me. He never took the metal object out of my side and kept his other hand on the back of my head but I waited until he was a few inches away. I started to turn myself around and acted like I was reaching for my coat pocket and at the last second, I kicked him as hard as I could, square in the chest. He stumbled back about a foot and in one fluid motion, I pulled myself all the way in the car, pulled the door closed and locked the doors from the inside with

the power lock button. For a moment, we both locked eyes. Me inside the car and him on the outside and in an instant his shock turned to anger. He started beating on the windows and the doors, pulling on the handles and screaming that he was going to kill me through the closed door. My car keys had fallen on the floor between the seats when he initially pinned me in the car and the 30 seconds or so that it took me to reach down and grab them and get them into the ignition were the scariest and longest of my life. I swore he was going to break my window and shoot me. Finally I was able to start the car and speed away, him beating on the car and threatening me the whole time. I never did see if he truly had a gun, a taser or what it was but I'll never forget the sound

of something hard and solid hitting my windows and doors along with his fists. I was certain the next punch was going to shatter my window and he was going to grab a hold of me and end my life right there. I drove as fast as I could all the way home and didn't come out of my room for about three days. He was never caught and the police tried to reassure me that he was not a resident and was probably just a transient looking for a drug fix but I'm not so sure. Either way I never went back to that part of the city alone or at night and a short time later I moved far away to the next state. I'm sure it was a combination of quick thinking and dumb luck that got me out of a situation in one piece and with all my rent money and I don't ever want to find out if I'd have the same luck a second time. I come from a small railroad town in Wisconsin. you know the state with a large roster of known serial killers, and grew up in the peak emo, scene, angsty time so as a form of entertainment

and a subtle nod to what we considered rebellion at our young, naive age, we would walk around town amongst all of the country roads, train tracks, and abandoned buildings scattered throughout our little town. Most evenings, the scariest thing that would happen is a deer would hop out and spook one of us, or our more creative friends would try and convince us of some alien sighting or urban legend that they swore was true, so we didn't take many claims amongst the group seriously. This evening, however, was different. As we made our way through the shadows, our somewhat large group splintered off into little subgroups of twos and threes.

We were a fairly large group of friends varying in age, so the younger ones would often pull together towards the middle of our caravan while the older characters in our bunch held ranks on the outer edges. As we made our way back to one of the boys from our group's homes, one of the more dramatic members of our group claimed that there was someone driving behind us at a distance slowly with the headlights off. We all scoffed and started making jabs at him along with some childish ghost noises mocking that the ghost car was going to get us. A few more blocks down, this boy that had claimed to have spotted our shadowy stalker grew more and more uneasy and started out, You guys, seriously, they're getting closer and I can hear the tires on the gravel. Noticing how anxious he now seemed and how far we still had to go,

the older members of the group began to take his claims more seriously, but did so in a way that would freak out the younger members. As we made our turn onto the paved floor, that meant we were two turns away from our safe haven, and I said, hey, first one to arrive at the house gets to pick the movie we all watch. Since the younger children were usually subjected to watching whatever boring or spooky things the older one of us put on this made them take off at a full sprint. As soon as our feet hit the pavement and we started our fast paced race back to the promise of locked doors and my friend's parents waiting for us, headlights flickered on in sync with the roar of an older modeled engine.

At this point the younger children are running and yelling in unison questioning what was happening, who is that? I surpassed the younger children and saw the sign that held the name of their housing complex that was nuzzled in a few trees. As I saw this I yelled for everyone to go under the sign. We all skid to a stop and rolled underneath as the man slammed his brakes to a screeching stop. He threw his vehicle in reverse and began to circle the sign. I noticed his overhead light was casting an unsettling shadow over his face that appeared to consist of glasses that were far thicker than the seemingly thin hair that the light shone through like a thin veil. Finally, as he rounded the part of the sign that was the sharpest turn to move around, I whispered loudly, Alright, everybody through the neighbor's yard, let's go. We all moved at record speeds in comparison to our sluggish paces that we usually assumed on these late night endeavors.

As we ran through the blackness that was slowly only getting darker due to the thick cover of trees that now surrounded us, we suddenly and unfortunately realized that our neighbor had an otherwise beautifully landscaped yard that had small bridges and ponds through it. As many of us ran while jumping over small ditches, decorative hills, and lawn ornaments, we finally saw the road that separated the neighbor's home from our final destination. As we all approached the road, I saw a gleam of headlights approaching to our left nearing the road that we needed to cross to finally achieve our sanctuary for the evening. As I saw these headlights approaching I yelled run, he's coming we gotta go. As all but one of us made it past to the safety of the yard I heard a faint ow behind me. As I looked back I saw the youngest and by far smallest member of our ranks

holding their knee while rocking next to a large rock. I looked at the small child and back at the vehicle that was now speeding to turn down the road towards us. I ran back to him, scooped him up while yelling, leave the door open, leave the door open. The rest was a weird combination of slow motion mixed with the quickest experience of my life. The vehicle sped and narrowly missed us. When I arrived to that door I dove while holding the crying child as though I was some athlete cradling the ball for the final score of a game. One of the older children slammed the door behind us and we all sat and silently sobbed while we told his parents what had just ensued. We begged his parents not to

tell the cops since we were all past our small town's curfew and now that I'm older I wish that we would have at least told the non-emergency line so it was on record but it is what it is. To this day I'm very wary walking home alone at night and now that I have a son of my own and he's nearing the age where he will start adventuring on his own, I'll tell him this story so he knows that some scary stories are real. For context, I am a female and I was 20 at the time this took place, 24 now. I was attending a local school and I had started a new job to make some extra money. I would go to school in the morning and work in the afternoons and evenings. They had three weeks of training and I was being trained

along with six or seven others. I had been seated next to a guy that seemed around my age that I would partner up with during activities. His name was Tyler. Tyler would follow me out on our breaks and even catch up with me when I would excuse myself to use the restroom. I initially didn't think much of it because we were all new and I know it helps when you make a friend in your training class to talk with. He started to write notes to me during class and grew more friendlier and attached. He started to say flirty things to me which I thought was odd because he said that his son was born just a few weeks ago and he had a girlfriend. I felt like I could have been interpreting it wrong and that maybe he was just generally a really friendly person.

He would start to make comments on my body after a couple of weeks and like how I have a cute butt and I would catch him staring at me across the building. A lot. He spent as much time as he could with me while we were at work. I didn't mind since he was nice and I didn't know anyone there yet. There was a manager there, David, that was super creepy and he too would make weird comments towards me. He even added me on Facebook which I never accepted. He would noticeably also find ways to separate me and Tyler or prevent us from spending our breaks together. Tyler knew how uncomfortable he made me but naive 19 year old me still thought that nothing too bad could happen because it was a workplace. Because of this, one day Tyler had said some things to David that he knew he would get fired for so he told me he was quitting. All of that took place in about a month but this is where it started to get creepy.

A couple of weeks after Tyler quit, I received a text. He called me by the nickname he gave me so I immediately knew it was him. He told me he got my number from the system at his new job, AutoZone. He said he did work on cars as a side job before so it fit. He also told me he missed me and that he was like a moth drawn to a flame and he really wanted to talk to me. I had reminded him that he had a girlfriend but he said they broke up. I told him that I wasn't interested in him like that and that we could just be friends. He didn't seem to take no for an answer because he would still flirt with me. He would send at least 10-20 texts a day. He would call me and leave voicemails. He would get upset when I didn't reply even though he knew

that I couldn't use my phone during school or while I was working. Not a full week went by and I had to tell him to leave me alone and to stop contacting me. Of course, he didn't stop and I just stopped replying to him altogether and I blocked him on Facebook. Like clockwork, every day would start with a good morning text and I would have dozens of texts, missed calls, and voicemails from him by the end of the day. They would mostly send, hey, how are you, and I miss you, and variations of the sort, but after a couple of weeks, I noticed his car in the parking lot when I got off of work or even just driving by.

I would ignore it and I would just get in my car and leave. He never seemed to follow me so I figured he was just being a creep and checking up on me. I started to see notes on my car under my windshield wipers. I was stupid enough to get out and get it once I saw it not thinking that it could be a trick to get me out of my car. The first few were sweet nothings like his moth drawn to a flame line he used a few times, telling me I was beautiful, telling me how he would kiss me and call me the nickname he had given me. Then he would move on to say things like, I hope nothing happens to your car. The text had started to die down at this point in volume but definitely started to get creepier like

I got your address from the system at work, I could come see you right now and did you get my note? At the same time the motion sensor lights outside my window would go off at around 10.30 to 11 at night I need pitch black darkness to sleep so I would wake up when they turned on. I would look outside my window and would not normally see someone there but I did see a figure once. I had a see through bamboo shade with semi transparent curtains over it that you could see shapes through. I tried to quickly move the curtains to pull the shape up to see who it was but they were gone by the time I got to it. In my gut I knew it was Tyler who had just told me he knew where I lived and was leaving threats on my car and this continued for weeks. One day after I got off of work the asphalt under my car was wet. I thought it was odd but didn't think much of it. I got in my car and started and after about 10 seconds,

the coolant light is blinking and my car is beeping at me. I turn my car off and I go inside asking my co-worker Brian to take a look at my car for me. He came out, took a quick look. He had gone back inside with me in tow to have my other co-worker, coincidentally also named Brian, to have him take a look since he was much better with cars. After me and Brian are walking out, I see Tyler's car parked next to mine. I started to panic and more so when I see he's in it. I whisper to Brian, pleading him to not leave me alone with him and that he was stalking me. He pops the hood on my car and Tyler gets out asking if we need help. Brian tells him no and then proceeds to tell me that the coolant hose

in my car was cut and showed me where. Tyler is still standing outside of his car looking at us, smiling at me. I'm incredibly uncomfortable at this point and would rather be inside the building so I say let's go inside to Brian. He agrees and I call my uncle who's a mechanic. He came and put a new hose on for me and put coolant in my car and confirmed that someone had in fact cut the hose. It just wasn't possible for this to happen by itself. That night my motion censored light had gone off again. By now I was angry and super tired of being messed with so I got a knife, went outside and in the general direction of where I thought he still might be, I loudly threatened to kill him and dared him to try something with a more colorful choice of words. Crazy, I know. After that my my motion sensor lights stopped going off. The texts and calls stopped. I didn't see him drive by my work anymore. He did send me a message on Facebook about a year ago under the name John Smith, calling me the nickname he gave me. The profile was brand new. I immediately blocked him, and I haven't heard from him since.

I lived with my aunt for about 5 months and this occurred right after the bike night incident hardly a month in. I've refused to go out at night after bike night but even staying in my aunt's apartment wouldn't save me. My aunt was perpetually on again off again with my uncle and welcomed him back into the apartment around this time. Now that my uncle wasn't living with his parents again he'd begin having his druggie friends over all the time. My uncle began having a specific friend over a lot. I'd later find out it was his spice dealer but let's just call him Earl. Earl was in his early 40s with light brown hair, eerily light blue eyes, and an arrogant smirk always plastered

on his face. He was one of those that anytime he looked at me his eyes would linger, always looking me up and down. Earl was actually told what had just happened to me and by bike night I'm referencing my run in with bikers, you might remember this from a previous story that I've told on here before, but evidently it didn't stop him. In fact it seemed to encourage him. My uncle would hang out with him in the living room, leaving me very little places I could go without being around them. One day my uncle and Earl had been drinking and hanging out all day. They left mid-afternoon and I hoped they wouldn't be back for the night. My aunt had spun herself into a horrible schedule due to heavily medicating herself and was to the point she literally slept all day and wouldn't wake up until about 7pm at

the earliest so I popped in a DVD. I'm enjoying myself when halfway through my horror movie I heard the back door open and hear my uncle and Earl. I groan and pause my movie, literally get up from the couch when Earl walks in the living room. He smiles huskily at the sight of me and I keep my eyes down, trying to avoid his piercing gaze. You don't have to go, baby doll. We're not trying to kick you out. And before I can assure him that I don't mind, he walks back towards the kitchen and I just sit there, waiting for a minute. I can hear Earl and my uncle talking, but I'm not nosy, so after five minutes I restart my movie. I hear the upstairs door open and I figure my uncle talking but I'm not nosy so after five minutes I restart my movie. I hear the

upstairs door open and I figured my uncle and Earl are going upstairs to bother my aunt. I sigh with relief but it's short-lasted. Earl saunters into the living room and I pause the movie again. There's two separate love seats and then the couch I'm on but he chooses to plop down right next to me. I instantly scoot away, unimpressed of his beer-stinking self and he full-on smiles at me. How are you doing today, baby? Now, I've had to deal with Earl long enough that I wasn't as passive as I would have been if he were a stranger. I'm not your baby, Earl. You're more than old enough to be my father. He laughs at that like it's a big joke and says, oh, Red, so sassy tonight. I like it. I scoff at him and stand up to which he pulls me back down by my wrist. Having none of it, I

yell, don't touch me, Earl. He smiles wickedly at me and replies, what are you going to do about it baby girl? Last I heard is that you needed saved when a man wanted you. Now who do you think is going to stop me? I tear my arm away from him and demand, where is my uncle? I stand up again. He stands too and says says you spent some alone time with your aunt you said I could hang out if I wanted I don't hide my look of distaste and he smiles widely at me again we'll have fun hanging out I respond duly and walk away he doesn't follow me I shrug on my jacket and decide to stand on the little balcony on the back of the apartment through the kitchen. I'm out there less than a minute when the door opens

and Earl slides himself through. No, I say, throwing my hands up in the air in frustration. Baby girl, hear me out, he insists. From the angles he's standing, I literally can't walk past him through the kitchen or down the stairs to the back alleyway. Move, Earl, I insist, trying to push past him. He grabs my wrist again and I lose it, trying to throw a fist at him. He easily catches my hand with his free one and laughs. I've dealt with tougher than you, little girl. No wonder you couldn't save yourself. It's pathetic. It's like you're begging for someone to do awful things to you. Don't try that again unless you want me to push you off that balcony.

He then releases my arms and I yank them away. I squeeze myself into the corner, taking a moment to figure out what I'm going to do He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and lights one up, offering me one I'm 15, Earl, that's illegal and I don't like smokers anyway, they stink And I especially don't like you He rolls his eyes at that and mockingly waves his hands in the air in a mock panic Baby girl, you don't have to keep bringing up your age. I know. But you look older and you act older, so what difference does it make? In regards to it being illegal, does it look like I care? He smirks and continues. If you'd just let me take care of

you, you'd have so much fun. His eyes darken as he whispers in my ear. We could have a lot of fun together. If you'd stop being such a little wench. My stomach flips in repulsion and I keep my eyes down. It continues. My last girlfriend was your age and she loved what I showed her. I full on scrunch up my face in disgust and hiss. Just because you took advantage of some other poor young girl doesn't mean I'm going to comply.

I should call the police. He rolls his eyes knowing full well I wouldn't dare given all of the illegal substances in my aunt's apartment. He drops his cigarette then and presses himself against me with my back against the rusty railing around the balcony. I hear it squeak from the pressure and I become terrified it's going to break and I'm going to go plummeting into the pavement below. He smiles at the look of fear in my face and he's so close that I can smell his smoky breath and feel his manhood pressed against me through his sweatpants. He reaches a hand and touches the side of my face and then lightly traces it down my body. Just as I fear he's about to lean in and kiss me, I watch the

door thrown open and my beast of an aunt rips Earl off of me, and like he threatened to do with me, my aunt shoves him against the railing, except she got him halfway over it. I'll kill you, Earl, if you ever come here again. Take my husband with you and get away before I break your neck. She shoves him away, and he stumbles down the step, stopping halfway down to light up again, flipping off my aunt the entire

way. My uncle leaves moments later, his head bowed down like a sulking puppy. My aunt and I stand there watching them leave. As they get to the little gate, Earl turns around and blows a kiss to me yelling, see you around baby girl. My uncle shoves him and tells him to shut up and they walk away. My aunt and I enter the kitchen and my aunt explains what happened. My uncle had come up to her room and she had actually just woken up, so they were talking when she asked him where his favorite illegal substance was and he said that he still needed to get it from Earl. To this, she frowned and asked what was happening, considering Earl had been with him all day. My uncle had tried to play it cool, but my aunt knew

that my uncle would never have Earl leave without leaving drugs for my uncle. She stood up, demanding to know where I was, to which he had shrugged. My aunt began bolting for the stairs as my uncle had tried to stand in her way. She had swore at him and shoved him aside as she hauled herself to the back door and threw it open to Earl pressing himself against me, which meant that my uncle had intentionally gone upstairs to distract my aunt and I guess give Earl a better chance with me alone. After all that had happened, she made sure I was okay and kept the teasing of what a creep magnet I was at a minimal. She grabbed her bong and took a few hits to calm down and we just hung out watching

horror movies all night. My uncle returned a few days later and was allowed back in but he stopped hanging out in the apartment with his creepy friends and completely avoided me. Earl would still come by to pick up my uncle but he wasn't allowed in the apartment at all. He'd blow me kisses and start screaming at me every time he saw me. So Earl, seriously, I hope I never see you. But if we do, I've got a fresh can of pepper spray calling your name. I love my job, because it gives me so many instances where stuff that only gets seen in movies are real. It's gotten to the point where I feel like I'm not safe in public without one of my husband's knives on my person after this. A common phrase I have heard all this month is,

while you're a girl, you normally don't see women working in places like this. A common phrase I have heard all this month is, while you're a girl you normally don't see women working in places like this. I wonder why? Let me clarify, I used to be one of those who'd wear nice clothes to work, shorts, tank tops, etc. However, working in a place like this you have to be careful of who you are nice to because people take it the wrong way. It's my job to be friendly and help but some people take it completely out of context. I had a guy come in the other night around 10-11 talking to himself saying, wow it's one of those places I've never been in here. Being I work here I try and say hello and see if he needed help. He doesn't make eye contact with me at all. Proceeds to walk to the opposite side of the platform and say the exact same thing over again to my best friend

who was just keeping me company at work that day and stare at her intensely while walking around. This guy was super tall, thin, white with a really bad few tan lines and older. I got a weird vibe off of him when he came in the door and it just got worse as he stayed in my store. He started walking down aisles talking to himself again and then making a huge circle in the store avoiding eye contact with me and when my friend and I started talking he asked can one of us come to the back area of the store where the lubricant is which is under cameras but is a tight area regardless. Being my creep radar was going off I said I can help you up here so I can help the other group as well. He then started acting weird when another group of guys came in the store and talking to himself again. The guys could see my face go from super happy

to unnerved because of the creepy dude walking around. My friend finally was able to get to the other two guys to catch what was happening as the creepy dude dumped his change on the counter to pay for a sample of lube and said, I didn't know samples cost money. I might have to come back. Really creepily. He then got his change and started outside where one of the guys who just came in followed behind to make sure he left and he was talking to our outside camera and his roof. I was so glad that he left after creeping me out for almost an hour. Flash forward to the following day where I'm off for four days due to moving to a new place near work and my boss calls. He says there was a taller older dude coming into the store looking

for a girl that works here with a purse of some kind and he was instantly creeped out and told him to leave and not come back. He wasn't sure why he was looking for me as I didn't tell him about the other night. Two days later when my husband went in to cover someone he said the exact same description of a dude came in with a purse looking for me saying it was a gift for the girl who worked there. I truly hope that no other women or girls who work in the adult industry like I do have to deal with this guy and needless to say I now carry my knife on me at all times. So back before I had a vehicle to speak of I rode the bus everywhere and naturally wanted to use it to get to work. One day whilst waiting for the bus to come a strange Indian man started chatting me up.

I'm a very patient and naive person and give most of the people the benefit of the doubt so I let him do his talking. In my observations he obviously lived at the same apartment complex as me because there wasn't much else around and he came from the same direction as me to a bus station that happens to be deliberately in front of this apartment complex. He wanted to continue this mostly one-sided conversation on the bus ride and we had a good distance and seating away from one another. He didn't get the hint when my earplug was still in that I kind of wanted to just jam out my morning bus ride and he moved closer to me, to the point of sitting on my earbuds. I'm not exactly the

touchy-feely type and for some background, I am one of those females that doesn't need much makeup for her face to be called gorgeous by some bystander and rarely used it, looking like a kid when I didn't. When I was going to be serving beer and getting tips at my job that evening and wanted to look presentable and I absolutely loathe most male attention, especially from old geezers like this one who was probably older than my grandfather. This move was very uncomfortable to me for one, I didn't know this person and two, he sat so close that his leg was touching mine and it was so weird. Many days later, it's late at night and the last bus for the night was going to run to take me home and at the large bus station I spot him. He is in a bench next to this

Asian female and she looks visibly uncomfortable with how he is talking to her and almost crawling on the bench to get near to her. I take this opportunity to approach and discuss the other day to him that he should please not get that close to me again. And he was furious. He immediately started spewing off I'm not interested in you and other not so savory things. I didn't imply such a thing at all. So ignoring him I asked the girl directly, do you know this man? And she shook her head no and looked like she was cringing in her seat and then I asked, are you okay? And she said, I think so. And then I proceeded to go back to my station spot and then I found a bus cop. I told him the situation that if the last bus for the night is coming, why is he over there when he lives at my apartment complex? And that

she doesn't know him. He got approached and he proceeded to be furious with the officer. Not a great plan on his end. I was later told that he was banned from large bus stops for the next six months, all because he wasn't cooperative. Fast forward to a few weeks later and I'm at my apartment's pool wearing a tasteful one-piece bathing suit that covers all of the things I like covered. If I could, I would be in a surfing getup, but I digress. I look up from drying off and in the window I see a strange movement and it's constantly jerking. Upon further squinting in the sun, I see a silhouette and the jerking, not stopping, is the worst place possible. I unfortunately recognize the same Indian geezer gawking at a total stranger and whacking it to whoever happens to be at the pool.

I was alone but as soon as I realized what was going on I hurried out of there. I have since moved many times and have had vehicles for the most part ever since and have never had to deal with bus folk ever again. And as for the perverted old Indian guy, tarting an Asian looking youthful females, please keep your distance. This story happened to me December 2018. I'm a recent Navy veteran and have seen and dealt with a lot of situations which made it to where I don't scare easily. Just some insight on me, I'm now a 28 year old male, athletic build, ready to take on the world since leaving the military. For this story we'll say my name is Ron. I started working as a security guard in a Michigan mall. I won't name it in this story and I was loving my

job and the people I worked with. The night of the 23rd I was to work my first overnight shift which only consisted of one officer for 8-9 hours. I didn't think much of it. So I clock in for my shift at 10pm and get everything ready for the night. My first row through the mall I verify all doors are locked, make sure no one is in the mall and hit all my checkpoints. The night is running smooth. Around 2am I start making my way around the mall again to do another check. I'm making my way to center court where we have our Santa set up at and as I round the corner I froze in what I can only describe as pure terror. About 30 feet from me I can see and smell a homeless man wearing a Santa hat,

holding a machete in one hand and would look to be a club in the other. He had this evil look on his face like he was there to do one thing and that was kill me. I just froze, sitting there running over what to do. All I had was a radio and handcuffs. This man had two weapons and I didn't want a chance fighting him, but I knew I could outrun him to safety of my locked office. I knew all the shortcuts and backhauls like the back of my hand. Then an arcade game started playing music which I guess caught the guy off guard as he took his eyes off of me for a second and once he did I made a run for it. As I'm running I can hear him right behind me, yelling for me to get back here, you're mine.

Not once did I stop. I ran and dodged around the corners and bounded through the halls as fast as I could. I made the final turn to the hallway my office was in. I had one chance to type my lock code in the door, get in, and shut the door before he got me. I finally made it to the door and can still hear him as he is now laughing hysterically. I quickly and flawlessly punch my code in, hop in the office, and slam the door shut. There is only a second of quiet before he starts banging on the door. Thank god it was reinforced. Suddenly the banging stops. I go to the monitors and he is standing in front of

the door not moving an inch. Mr. Security Guard, come on out and let's make this fast. It'll only hurt for a second. I'm freaked out at this point because his intentions are quite clear. I don't know why I didn't call the police and I should have, I know. I decided to wait him out. An hour goes by and he hasn't moved. I feel safe in the office but eventually people will start showing up to open shops. I gotta do something. I finally called the police. They said they had an officer right down the street and I was so thankful when I heard sirens and watched the man run out of there. I watched him on the cameras and he ended up running right into two huge linebacker like officers and he never stood a chance. After that night I refused to work night shift and actually left that job two months later.

But I will never forget that night or that voice. It will only hurt for a second. I've always been sensitive to the other side. I won't deep dive into all the occurrences I've had. Anyone interested can message me for stories, anywhere from shadow figures, doppelgangers, Michigan Wolfman, poltergeists, possible demons, and more. It's been a very interesting life. None of these stories include the random dangerous encounters with strangers either. I wouldn't be surprised if someone listening to or reading this is already rolling their eyes, much like I do from time to time. But I digress. I'm a 29-year-old

female and as recently as September of 2019, I purchased a house. It's an older home built in the 1800s. It's sturdy and has plenty of rooms, two bedrooms upstairs and down. My room, the largest of all of them, has a walk-in closet the size of a small child's bedroom, a call space attic above that and finally at the back of the closet is a door to an unfinished, unused type of walk-in attic space. I wanted to turn it into a small reading nook in the future but now my unease towards the area is becoming unresolvable. I almost never use my closet.

I've noticed small things here and there that hint at the paranormal. Despite my sensitivity to the realm, I try to explain happenings rationally before outright jumping to demon in my house. Such things include shadows without a source, voices from my closet, items missing or moved, cold spots, bangs on walls, doors being closed that I'd left open, etc. Typical spoopy stuff. A lot of these things can be explained by me being forgetful or the fact that the house is almost 200 years old. However, no touching until this morning.

I'm a bartender. My night ends around 4am by the time I'm finished at work, get home, get ready and into bed. And this is important information. I was laying in bed, sleep mask on, stories queued up and ready to sleep. I turned out my light and settled in. I was still wide awake and just getting comfortable. I'm a left side sleeper and I'm stretched into my favorite position, legs stacked, right foot behind left with the inside of my foot

touching the mattress. That detail is important. Imagine a very loose fetal position. So I'm comfortable and suddenly I feel the sensation of a finger pressed gently into the inside of my right foot, the one against the mattress, and travel from my arch to my heel and sink away. I tried not to panic. I kept my breathing steady. I thought through every rational explanation I could come up with and rolled over, similar position, opposite side. It didn't happen again and I wheeled myself to sleep. As I mentioned before, I have seen and heard hints towards the paranormal, but only recently have things escalated. This touch wasn't the first occurrence of it letting me know. It is, however, the first that I can justify with a rational answer.

The first time was before the light in the hall had been installed so there was no light to go by. I just left my bathroom and stepped onto the landing of the stairs when I heard the shower door rattle and slide partially. My cat was steadily beside me bouncing and chirping because I was headed downstairs and at the noise she stopped and turned to the bathroom. As I put my foot out to take a step down, I heard the landing behind me creak and groan, as though weight was being put on it, heavier than mine and painfully slow. I felt an agonizing sense of dread that someone was towering over me in my small hallway. However, I chose to ignore it and just went down the stairs with my girl eagerly racing me. I rationalized an older home in Creeks but

I still called my boyfriend and explained what happened on my way to work. He has seen and felt things here too and I think that's why he doesn't stay the night much anymore. I know it's because I started doing renovations to the house and trying to return it to the glorious old house it once was with very minimal modern flair. The electricians used that crawlspace in my closet to install the fixture above my stairwell and I believe it woke something up. Something much more interested in me than I am in it. I went to a boarding school from the ages 11 to 18. I graduated last year and thoroughly enjoyed my time there. Just so you're aware, boarding schools just aren't for kids who misbehave and

are unloved. My school was broken down into four boarding schools where you live, slept, and all of your belongings were, in your respective rooms of course. Each boarding house had their own housemaster or housemistress. Mine was a great, caring caring and understanding gentleman who undoubtedly made my time at school much better. Each boarding house had about three or four corridors spreading around the house with around 10 to 12 rooms in each. My school was over a hundred years old and had its fair share of deaths within its walls over the years. A few teachers, such as my house master, stated they experienced weird and unusual things happen in certain corridors when the school was empty for the holidays. The story I'm about to tell you may not seem the most scary, however it is something that has intrigued me for the past couple of years.

My corridor at the time was on the upstairs portion of the boarding house. It was a Saturday night. I was watching a show on my iPad. The last time I checked the clock was 2am and I was thinking about going to bed pretty soon. All of a sudden, the corridor lights flickered on. I saw the flash perfectly as there was a slight gap under my door and the light reflected on the bottom of my sink. Just a note that the lights are triggered by motion. Someone or something had to be moving in the corridor. I thought, okay, it's just the lights, it's probably someone just going for the toilet. As I thought that, the thick, heavy, double door swung open

and I heard light footsteps walk past my room. This door needed a lot of force to successfully open. It was located halfway in the corridor. The toilet was located at the end of the corridor and that's the door I heard screech open. Its loud, often annoying sound was very distinct. A short while later I heard the door open and close again with more footsteps heading back the way it came from The footsteps then stopped outside my door After pausing my TV show I began to get a bit nervous, a certain sinking feeling Something was up

From my bed I looked underneath my door and I could see no shadow It wasn't a human standing on the opposite side I got up and walked over to the door. Anxiously, I stood awaiting. I cannot describe the feeling of nervousness during that moment. It all happened so fast, yet so slow, and a few minutes went by before I finally opened that door. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It didn't make sense. The lights, the double door, the toilet door, the footsteps. I had no idea what it was.

My housemaster often told me stories of strange noises and doors slamming shut in that exact corridor. I firmly believed that it was a ghost on the other side of my door that night. Now before anybody asked, yes, my windows were shut and there was no wind or breeze. I spoke to my friends, housemaster, and other people who lived in my corridor, all said that they had never experienced anything like it before. There wouldn't have been time, nor would it have been quiet enough for a person to get back to their room without me noticing? Like I said, it's not the scariest story, but a very interesting experience from my time at the boarding school. The story takes place a good few years ago when I would have been around 10 to 11 years old and my family had just moved into our new house. I live with my sister and my single mom so I guess

you could consider us quite vulnerable, although we never worried since the neighborhood wasn't sketchy or anything like that. I'd like to also quickly mention that my mom wasn't a very social person so she never talked or knew any of the neighbors, neither did she care until this whole ordeal happened. I think we'd only been moved in for a week or two when this started but I remember that night quite vividly. I always had trouble sleeping and one night when my mom wouldn't answer my calls I took it upon myself to go out to the living room to find her. Our living room had big glass doors that would go out to a balcony. Due to us moving in,

the balcony was full of plastic bags and moving boxes. When I walked out, my mom walked in from the balcony with a knife and she looked horrified. She started explaining that a creepy guy had been on the balcony when she was watching TV. She only found out because he tripped on one of the bags so she ran out to confront him but he managed to run off. I was horrified and sat there on the couch until the police came to talk to us about the guy who we found out was our neighbor and this made us feel very uncomfortable. The next two encounters happened when I wasn't around but are just a bit weird and creepy. I think the next encounter happened when one of my aunties was over and she spotted him standing in our driveway looking up at the balcony. He immediately ran off when

he was spotted but my auntie notified my mom and she was extremely upset. We nicknamed him Anchovies because he was gross and anchovies were gross. Also since we never knew his actual name or at least my mom never told my sister and I. The third time happened when we had a roommate living in our house. She was one of my mom's close friends and was warned about anchovies. This friend had already been through a stalker experience prior to this so she was on high alert nonetheless. Like the last time, Anchovies was caught in our driveway but this time was very specifically eyeing our roommate. She noticed and chased off with a stick screaming like a mad woman.

The police were contacted again and we were told that Anchovies had been warned that if he stepped foot on our property again that he'd be arrested. This seemed to work as we didn't see him for ages. This last one is the creepiest part and it was the last time I'd ever saw anchovies. Now I was a destructive kid and over the past few years had developed an obsession with lighting fires and whenever I got my hands on lighters or matches it was time to burn something. On this specific day, I had found a random little hole pit in our backyard which was completely open, and the area I was in was on the edge of a property next to a road that divided the two lines of houses where we lived. I gathered dry leaves, grass, sticks, and even some paper and got to work lighting my mini-fire. It was going well. I had been staring at the fire for about 10 minutes when I happened to look up and see anchovies at the

other side of the road staring directly at me. My memories are blurry but I could almost swear he was wearing something on his face covering everything except his eyes which stared at me deadpan. Just to clear something up, he wasn't staring at me like a concerned adult. He was literally just staring me down and it was extremely creepy. I had no idea how long he was there but after making eye contact for about 5-10 seconds, I stamped out the fire and ran back to my house. It was scary since up to that point, I had never seen anchovies before and the whole mass thing didn't make me feel any better. Now down the line, our house burnt down. It was in very early 2016 and I would have been 12 by then. I wasn't actually there when the house burnt down but

my mom and her boyfriend at the time were. They were able to escape but we lost literally everything in that fire and it was very devastating. The worst part is that the cause is still unknown. Firefighters rolled out natural causes and they didn't have anyone suspect enough to accuse but my mom thinks it was anchovies. That thought has been in my mind since then. We never found out why he did all of this. I don't know if the police asked him or my mom knows but won't tell me. I still think of the day he stared at me and it freaks me out to think he may have had very sick intentions. But since then I doubt I'll ever see that creepy disgusting monster

again. I'm a 21 year old guy from Denmark. Back in 2017 I was going for a vacation road trip in the United States. We started in Las Vegas where my mom visited an old woman she lived with for a year back when she was 16 and an exchange student. We then drove to LA, then Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, and finally Louisiana. I was and am very into true scary stories, especially enjoying cryptid and unexplained creatures and skinwalkers and wendigos and I told my family about it but my sister and her boyfriend tease me about believing in such things. My dad doesn't believe in God nor is he superstitious or anything but he has had some strange things happen to him so he is a little bit more open-minded and so is my mom because she's had

experiences with some paranormal stuff. When we were driving through the deserts of Arizona my dad had to have a smoke and we wanted to stretch our legs. We got out of the car and my dad started smoking and everything looked normal and suddenly my sister says, what is that? And pointed towards the desert, where we immediately noticed a lion-sized, totally black cat, like it was so black it absorbed the light. It was just walking. It had a really long and thick tail, and it walked so freaking weird it was like a robot, just totally stiff legs. And then it noticed us and just froze and turned its head really fast and just stared. Then it turned its body without moving its head and started walking our direction. Then I said we should probably get in the car and get moving because I wasn't staying around

waiting for it to reach us. My family quickly agreed and we hurried to get in the car and took off. For the rest of the trip, my sister's boyfriend and sister didn't tease me about unexplainable creatures anymore. We were really agitated by this thing. I started google searching about animals that lived in Arizona and I couldn't find anything about a big feline that was black anywhere in the world like that. The only big cats I could find were jaguars and it's rare that they get black and not that black and it was also much larger than a jaguar. And jaguars, cougars, and mountain lions live in forested areas and definitely not in the middle of dirt and cacti. I still think about this a lot and I've never found an answer to what this was

and I believe even more now that there are creatures in this world that we just won't ever understand. Hey friends, thanks for listening. Be sure to subscribe and click that notification bell to be alerted of all future narrations. If you got a story, be sure to submit them to my subreddit, rLetsReadOfficial, and give and receive feedback from the community and maybe even hear your story featured on the next video. And join my Discord to interact with me and other listeners directly. And if you want to support me even more, grab early access to all future narrations for just $1 a month on Patreon, and maybe even pick up some Let's Read merch on Spreadshirt. And check out the Let's Read podcast, where you can hear all these stories in long compilation form and save huge on data, located anywhere you listen to

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