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Scary Stories and Rain
Scary Stories For A Rainy Night - Ep. 153 - There Is Someone In Your House
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Hey, welcome to Scary Stories and Rain. Before we begin, be sure to check out my brand new podcast, Scary Stories and Fire. If you would prefer the same great stories but with a super relaxing campfire background, the link is in the description. Also, if you haven't yet, I highly recommend you subscribe to this podcast. If you enjoy listening to Relax or Fall Asleep hundreds of hours of stories and rain for $2.99 a month. That will get you access to all episodes with zero ads. Consider subscribing and I hope you enjoy this episode. You know what's smart? Enjoying a fresh gourmet meal at home that you didn't have to cook meat. Factor your loophole in the laws of mealtime. Chef crafted meals delivered with a tap, ready in just two minutes. You know what's even smarter? Treating yourself without cheating your goals. Factor is dietitian approved, chef prepared, and you plated. Pretty smart, huh? Refresh your routine and eat smart with Factor. Learn more@Factor Meals.com this episode is brought to you by Progressive Insurance. Fiscally responsible financial geniuses, Monetary magicians. These are things people say about drivers who switch their car insurance to Progressive and save hundreds. Visit progressive.com to see if you could save Progressive Casualty Insurance Company and affiliates. Potential savings will vary. Not available in all states or situations A few years back, a few friends and I went on a camping trip to the Scottish Highlands. It was tough going, the weather was unforgiving and the terrain even more so, but the trip was an overall success. No one got hurt, no one got lost. Nothing remotely unnerving or scary happened at all. At least until the last night when we arrived back in the small Scottish village. We were due to catch a bus in. We were physically and emotionally exhausted by the time we arrived back in the small Highland village that served as our line of departure. Five nights in the mountains will do that to you. We had barely slept and barely eaten, so the sight of a small greasy spoon cafe almost brought tears to our eyes. We drew stares from the locals and to be honest, I don't blame them. We were a mess of bloodshot eyes and greasy hair. All of our clothes reeked of smoke from huddling around a fire at night. They were curious, but still friendly. The owner questioned us on our trip and took a great deal of pleasure in our fascination with the Highlands. It always earns you brownie points with the locals when you tell them they must be tough, hard working people to live in such a barren place. We left with full stomachs and headed to the nearest and only pub in the village. They were equally welcoming and even stayed open an hour or so later than usual, just so we would have somewhere to keep warm until our late night bus was set to arrive. We left the pub with about 20 minutes before our bus was due, having heartily thanked the bar staff for accommodating us, then made our way along almost border barely lit streets towards the village's one and only bus stop. Now it's important to note that the bus stop is located just next to a small bridge which provides a crossing point over the river that runs through the village. So in the low light or semi functioning street lights we knew there was a bridge. We just couldn't see what was on it at any one time. The minutes are ticking by and we are all clock watching. We can't wait to go home to hot showers, warm beds and properly cooked food. There must have been less than 10 minutes to wait when we heard something from the other side of the river. A grunting sound, but I think we were too buzzed and exhausted to make anything of it. But the sound continues, getting louder and more vocal until we realize there's someone on the other side of the bridge. Someone who sounded drunk. Someone who sounded angry. I can't remember who, but someone was curious enough to gather the energy to go check it out. I wasn't watching, but I could hear their heavy boots against the metal bridge, moving slowly to the top. Then there was a humdrum of noise as they came down the bridge stairs faster than they had come up them. Grab the bags. Now. He hissed, trying to keep his voice down. Come on, move. We had no idea what was going on. In fact, I thought it might just be some sort of prank, some lame attempt to inject a little excitement into the final hour of our trip. But one look in his eyes told me he was serious. I had never seen my friend that scared before. Ever. As if to confirm what he was saying, I began to hear the same kind of footstep noise on the metal bridge. Someone was moving fast across the bridge from the other side, making the same angry grunting noises we had been hearing. None of us wanted to take a chance, so we all grabbed our heavy packs and dragged them across the road and into a small dark village street. We were fairly concealed in the darkness, but we still had a good look at our side of the bridge, each of us wanting to see just what had scared our mate so much. Then we saw it. A man staggering down the bridge's metal stairs with something in his grip. The glinting of stainless Steel in the low light. Is that a machete? No sooner had one of us exclaimed that the man honed in on the sound of our voices, he raised the huge blade in his fist, pointing it towards the dark alleyway that we had thought was concealing us. You. He roared in his rough Scottish accent, then began to bound down the bridge's stairs towards us, waving the machete as he ran. We bolted, hurtling down the small dark street. We had no idea where we were going, but anywhere that wasn't in the immediate vicinity of this drunken blade wielding maniac had to be better. Whoever was in the lead must have had the presence of mind to loop around the block. If we got too far away from the bus stop, we would miss our ride and the only other intercity bus to roll through the village wasn't due for another two days. He explained this to us the first chance he got and we all rued the situation we were faced with. Go back to the bus stop and risk getting stabbed or stay away from the bus stop, miss our bus and end up stuck in the middle of nowhere in Scotland. It was like a military operation or something. We moved in pairs, covering each other's movement and watching for any sign of our potential murderer. Somehow we made it back towards the bus stop without running into him. We figured we had lost him and started to relax as best we could. It was about five minutes after the bus was due to arrive and we were starting to panic again. Some of us had gotten it into our heads that we had missed the bus entirely and we better start looking for a decent place to bed down before we ran into the machete wielder again. But they didn't have to wait long as a few moments later, a familiar looking figure emerged from one of the poorly lit side streets. Our collective hearts sank when we saw what he had in his grip. It was the machete. It was the same guy. Yow. He roared again before slowly walking towards us. This time we took a different tack. I don't know if it was the adrenaline or the pure desperation to catch the bus and get out of there, but we stood our ground. We roared back at him, pulled out our pathetically small Swiss army knives and dared him to try us. Looking back on it, it was kind of glorious. We went from terrified vermin scattering through the streets to full on warriors willing to defend their ground. What happened next was like something out of a film. As we're facing the guy, he starts pacing back and forth in the street, zigzagging towards us, still waving his machete. He was obviously deterred slightly by our newfound aggression, but it obviously didn't deter him entirely. A horrible feeling came over me as I realized that one of us could well be about to suffer life changing injuries. But in the distance, near where the road pulled away from the river's course, a police van came trundling around the corner, revving towards the scene and to our rescue. It was like the cavalry showing up in an old western. We were saved, our bravado doubled and we actually began to advance up to him, pushing him towards the approaching police that he was somehow completely oblivious of. He only realized what was happening when the van skidded to a stop behind him and a trio of burly looking Scottish policemen jumped out and pounced on him. He got tackled hard, so hard you heard the sickening thud of his head slamming into the concrete, but he had zero sympathy. We cheered as the bedroom lights of nearby dwellings flickered on and faces began to appear in windows to watch the melee. Then, as all this is happening, the bus shows up coming around the same corner the police van just did. We continued to cheer, grabbing our bags and patting victoriously towards our ride home. The police wanted to talk to us about what had happened, but backed off once we explained that this was our one ride out of town. I told them we would be in touch to make telephone statements, but we never ended up getting in touch. We were all just so glad to get out of there in one piece. This episode is brought to you by PDS Debt Struggling with credit cards, personal loans, medical bills or collections? It's time to stop worrying about that high interest debt you've got. Piling up PDS debt can help you start saving money immediately. 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So do like I did and have one of your assistant's assistants switch you to Mint Mobile today. I'm told it's super easy to do@mintmobile.com Switch upfront payment of $45 for 3 month plan equivalent to $15 per month required intro rate first 3 months only, then full price plan options available, taxes and fees extra. See full terms@mintmobile.com I used to be a scuba instructor in Bali, Indonesia. Groups could book me for a casual lesson or for like a week's worth of diving where they could earn a provisional diving license. So this one group books me. They're a mixed group in their early 20s. Couples and friends, good people, silver spoons galore. But I'm not one to judge. Our first activity was underwater walking. Now I had never tried underwater walking since it was relatively new at the time, but I was keen to try it. So we pile into a little boat and take the short trip out towards the mother ship. Now this is just a naval term for a larger boat that smaller ones like ours can work from, but we go one step further to justify this. Having sprayed spray painted one of those huge gray alien heads onto the hull. It looked awesome and naturally the kids loved it. Underwater walking itself was similar to the time I did Snooba Scuba. Snorkeling equals Snuba in the Caribbean in that the oxygen tanks float up on the surface of the water instead of being on the divers backs. The other major difference to regular diving is that instead of having a scuba mask to breathe out of, we had these big old sci fi looking helmets on. I mean they looked like they were props from that old lost in space show that used to be on tv. Real kitschy. I went first and the procedure was pretty simple. I hung onto the ladder with the majority of my body in the water. They placed a small foam rubber ring on my head to cushion the helmet and then they finally put the helmet on. The second that it was on my body I felt its weight forcing me to the bottom of the ocean. It was kind of scary because I went down pretty fast which caused the pressure to build up quickly. I made sure to swallow and yawn a bunch to negate the effects of the pressure and I was fine. Also, I could never really get a deep breath of air because as I breathed in the helmet began to make a vacuum And I would have to stop to let it fill in with more air. Then two members of the mixed group of teens followed suit before a scuba diving man came down to be our guide. He handed us all a piece of bread in a plastic bag which drew all of the fish to us. That was a lot of fun, watching otherwise timid fish practically swarming us. There were metal guiding handrails in the ocean floor, which I followed. The two kids followed behind me. It was very difficult to walk because the current was surprisingly strong and the helmets were quite heavy. We found it all incredibly enjoyable, though. I had been diving for years and even to me it was a novelty. As I breathed, there was a constant loud whirring sound as as the water put pressure on the oxygen tube. It was kind of annoying, but it meant that I was getting air, which was obviously good. That's why it was so scary. When the sound suddenly stopped, I was confused, but it quickly came back on after about two or three seconds and I could breathe again. It happened one more time and again it came back on very quickly. I rationalized it by assuming that my tank had run empty and they were switching it to a different one. No big deal. I didn't understand how they would run out so quickly, but I didn't think too hard about soon came back on and I could breathe. So no big deal. After about 10 minutes or so, the guide points at me and indicates that he wants me to climb over the railing. I was very confused, but I did it after he made it very clear that that was what he wanted. It was kind of hard to see out of your peripherals, out of the masks, so it was easy to get lost. I looked back behind me to make sure that the teenagers saw where I went and didn't get lost. We made eye contact, so I assumed we were all good and then turned back around to follow the guide. He had me walking in a very small path between two corals, so I went very slowly to make sure that I didn't cut my legs on them. It was hard due to the strong underwater current, my unwieldy helmet, and an occasional tug by the air tube as I pulled it taut. As I reached the guide, my air stopped again. I figured it was no big deal like the previous two times and continued on. I followed him a bit and it still didn't come on. Five seconds without oxygen, then 10. I started to get confused. Was this some kind of a joke? If so, it wasn't funny at all. 15 seconds. I thought to myself, don't Panic. They always tell you not to panic. I was panicking. I started taking quicker and quicker breaths, but I forced myself to stop that. Thanks to previous training, I knew that was the worst thing I could do. I spun around to the guide and started pounding my fist on my chest. That was the sign for I can't breathe. He seemed to notice and started walking away. I could only hope that he was taking me to the boat. I thought maybe I should just try and shrug off the helmet and swim to the surface. I didn't know if I had enough air to make it. I didn't know if the boat was above me. I didn't want to hit my head. I didn't know if I could actually shrug it off. And I didn't want to get the bends, so I figured it wouldn't be a good idea. 30 seconds. I started to notice that I was getting less and less oxygen with each breath. Water was starting to seep into my helmet. I had to look up to breathe what little air I had left. I grabbed hold of the guide's arm so that I wouldn't lose him and also so that he would understand the gravity of the situation. I gave him quite the death grip. 40 seconds without oxygen. Now my lungs burned for air. I saw the ladder of the boat. I knew that all I had to do was make it there and I would be okay. I must have gotten some sort of adrenaline rush with renewed hope because I almost forgot about my lack of air. I fumbled for the latter for a few seconds. It was hard to tell distances through the helmet because it had a bit of a magnifying aspect to it. Before I grabbed it, I started pulling myself up. As I broke the surface, air came rushing into my helmet and I took a nice deep breath. Breathing had never felt better. It was definitely the scariest experience of my life. And I categorically would not recommend underwater walking to anyone ever. Lunchtime. I count down the hours every day, looking forward to just this time. It's the highlight of my workday every day. I eat at 1630 hours inside the break room every day. The room itself is unremarkable. You could find it in any office across America, maybe the world. Tile floor, white ceiling with those asbestos and cardboard type cutouts you could push out with your hand if you wanted. There's a plain Formica topped table that could fit five people comfortably. Six if that weird guy pulls up another chair to bother you while you eat. The one time of day you have to yourself. The room's size itself is too small to even think about getting a running head start, you might be able to take five steps forward and back. Maybe the same side to side. A refrigerator barely fits in the corner. Looks to be from the Carter administration. I put my water bottle in there for after lunch. A microwave from the post nuclear era whirrs on the counter. The lazy Susan indeed earns its name quietly and slowly turning a Tupperware containing leftover taco salad. Above the counter stands a handful of cupboards. What's inside? No one knows. No one opens them. Must not be anything too important. Ding. Taco salad. Prepare for destruction. Two walls of this break room are covered in plate glass. The outside view is like the room, unremarkable. A concrete parking lot. A tree. A squirrel. So exciting. Luckily there are long vertical plastic beige shades that you can turn to shut the outside world down. Which I do. I review the first part of my day as I do every day during lunchtime. Nothing much happened. Just like every other day. That's why this is the highlight of my day. Every day I have four hours left. I work a strange schedule. Somewhat of a split shift being that it's currently in the middle of winter. It usually gets dark by the time I finish my meal. I mean, pitch black. Sadness sets in knowing my chosen food item has only a few bites until complete disappearance. Back to work. Back to wishing I hadn't enjoyed ended up here. Oh well. There's always the thought that lunchtime is just less than 24 hours away. I have noticed through the blinds there is a car in the parking lot with its headlights on. Not uncommon. Many other people work here and there is multiple businesses around. It stayed there, pointed toward the break room for some time. I doubt whoever is inside is paying attention to where I'm at. After all, this is on the second floor. I'm sure they're just getting ready to leave after their respective workday. With that, I wash my Tupperware out in the sink, which I forgot to mention, and start getting ready to head back. One last look outside. The car is still there, headlights on. I gingerly step to the side of the wall length window. Slowly pushing one of the shades aside, I get a closer look. Just a normal car. Looks like a Chevrolet of some sort. Too dark to see who is inside. There could be four people or none. It's too dark. Finally I shake it off. I don't know why I've been so focused on this vehicle with its headlights on. Back to work. Back to dreaming of my next lunchtime. Before I leave, I always turn off the lights. Even though I'm not paying the electricity bill, I still think it's proper to turn a light off when you're not in the room. Flip lights off. Crap. I forgot my water. I consider just leaving it in there for tomorrow. One step back inside the break room freezes me. As mentioned, the lights have been turned off, so I am now in darkness, looking outside. The car has turned their headlights off as well. Could be just a weird coincidence. Could be more than that. Either way, it's weird and struck me as disturbing. I left the break room and came back in just to make sure I was actually seeing this. Yep, sure am. The car is there now, blending in with the darkness surrounding it. They just turned off the lights the second I turned off the light in here. Sorry. There's something that's off about this. After battling myself for several seconds, the logical part of my brain wins. Thankfully, it's nothing. Just get back to work. You still have a lot left to do. The quicker you get back, the quicker lunchtime will come. You can enter the break room once again, and this time maybe a bit earlier when it's lighter. My head shakes, accompanied by a smirk. You're going crazy, man. I turned to walk out the door. Except there is no door now. How do you explain this? How do you explain this? The same place I have been coming to for years just mysteriously boarded the only entrance point. I run my hands along the wall. I try in vain to feel where the doorknob used to be. I try to stay calm until the phone rings. And it's not my phone that I left in my work area. There's an old corded phone on the wall near the refrigerator. This break room never had a phone, let alone one bolted to the wall. It has that old metallic ringing sound, like an actual bell is being struck in the innards of the phone behind the big plastic numbers. One step is all it takes to be within arm's reach. With a shaking arm, more shaking than I'd like, I put the receiver to my right ear. Um, hello. You love this place so much, don't you? Well, now you can't leave. Isn't that poetic? I pull the receiver back, looking at the mouthpiece with a puzzled expression like that will solve the million questions I have. Now I'm getting annoyed. Quickly, I put the phone back to my mouth. Look, this is obviously some kind of fever dream. Or maybe the taco salad was bad. But this isn't going to work. Silly, just silly. You must pay. An insanely high pitched sound burrowed into my ear. After that last word, I threw the phone down and covered my ears. The sound seemed to fill the entire break room. I crawled underneath the table, the one that comfortably fits. Five, six. If that weirdo insists on joining, I think the floor is shaking. And just like that, it stops crawling out from under the table. I expect to see broken glass in general disarray, like an earthquake just passed. Everything is where it was good. I cautiously look outside. Oh, thank goodness. The car is gone. The door. Yes, the door is back. I reach for the handle. My water. Oh, forget that. Just get out of here. Stepping outside the break room into the garden I've always liked the immaculate row of multicolored roses, my favorite flower. Pinks, whites, oranges, and of course, reds. It smells wonderful. It smells. There's no garden here. I have never seen a garden in my building. Ding. The microwave stops. The lazy Susan stops. My taco salad sits in its covered bowl looking toward my left. Outside, the car is gone. In its place stands an ominous figure. I can't see the face, but it is no doubt looking at me, blinking. And it's gone. No person, no car. Only 24 hours until my next lunchtime. The light is back on. Better turn it off. Don't want to waste energy. My dad works in B2B marketing. He came by my school for Career Day and said he was a big roasman. Then he told everyone how much he loved calculating his return on ad spend. My friends still laugh at me to this day. Not everyone gets B2B, but with LinkedIn you'll be able to reach people who do. Get $100 credit on your next ad campaign. Go to LinkedIn.com results to claim your credit. That's LinkedIn.com results. Terms and conditions apply. LinkedIn, the place to be to be. Get the Angel Reese Special at McDonald's. Now let's break it down. My favorite barbecue sauce, American cheese, crispy bacon, pickles, onions and a sesame seed bun, of course. And don't forget the fries and a drink. Sound good? Ba da ba ba ba. I participate in restaurants for a limited time. This episode is brought to you by. Meundies Underwear. Drawers are like the Wild West. You never know what you're gonna pull out or what shape it's in. So upgrade your collection with the buttery, soft comfort of Meundies. Meundies signature fabric is as soft as a warm hug from your favorite sweater. Plus, it's breathable and oh so comfy, making it ideal for all day wear. Get 20% off your first order plus free shipping at Meundies.com with code Spotify. That's Meundies.com Spotify code Spotify. The most deadly shark attack in recorded history began on July 30, 1945. The USS Indianapolis, a Portland class heavy cruiser of the United States Navy, was taking part in a top secret mission of the utmost importance. Importance. It was tasked with carrying enriched uranium to the island of Tinian in the South Pacific, along with other parts required for the assembly of the world's first deployable atomic bomb. As history shows, the crew of the Indianapolis were successful in their mission, completing the delivery in record speeds that are unbroken even by modern naval vessels. However, as they sailed back towards towards late for training before the invasion of Okinawa, tragedy struck. Just after midnight on July 30, the Indianapolis was spotted by a Japanese submarine. Without any escorts to defend her, the Indianapolis was a prime target and the Japanese closed in for the kill. The Indianapolis did not have sonar to detect submarines. They were completely unaware of the danger in which they found themselves. At exactly 015am, two type 095 torpedoes smashed into the right hand side of the vessel, instantly killing dozens of American sailors and causing obscene amounts of damage to the ship's structure. It took just 12 minutes of panic and terror for the ship to sink completely, taking down over 300 of the crew along with her. The surviving crew members, lacking life jackets and lifeboats, were set adrift among the waves in almost complete darkness. Many thought the worst was over, but their nightmare had only just begun. Naturally, the sailors floating among the debris were expecting to be rescued in a matter of hours, days at most. But the horrible fact was that no one was coming to their rescue. Despite sending several emergency signals before the ship went down, the Navy had somehow lost track of the Indianapolis. Nothing was made of the fact that the ship failed to arrive it late, and many of the emergency messages that were received by nearby ships and naval bases were completely ignored. Declassified records later showed at one such commander in the Philippines was drunk and had told his staff not to disturb him. Another wrongly assumed the SOS calls were some kind of Japanese trap. The roughly 900 men who had actually survived the torpedo attack were now exposed to a new, perhaps even deadlier danger. It was dawn when the survivors saw the first sharks in the waters around them. The pure carnage and chaos of the sinking had attracted hundreds of the oceanic whitetip and tiger sharks from miles around. Some were apparently as large as 15ft. It must have been absolutely terrifying for the survivors, seeing huge dorsal fins emerging from the water as the predators began to surround them, circling, picking out the weakest links, those too weak to struggle. At first, the sharks focused on the dead bodies floating in the water. Many men had died from exposure, salt poisoning or thirst, and it was these corpses that provided the easiest meals for the circling sharks. But soon the lifeless bodies among the survivors had been completely devoured by the hungry predators. It wasn't long before they turned their attention toward the living. The survivors later reported that they were losing at least three or four men to the sharks every single day. At some points, they counted 20 to 30 sharks in the water, their dorsal fins breaking the waves to form an almost impenetrable barrier around the surviving sailors. The sharks would often swim towards the survivors, bumping into them to test for signs of life. The sailors never knew exactly when the attacks would would come, and this took a serious toll on their sanity. Men would kick and pound the water screaming bloody murder in an attempt to deter the sharks from attacking. But this only served to attract more and more of the fishy fiends, as it mimicked the thrashing of a wounded sea creature that served as a natural dinner bell for the hungry beasts. Every so often, a shark would lose patience and strike without mercy, rushing up from the briny depths to drag down a screaming survivor. Imagine it hearing the man next to you let out an ear splitting, blood curdling scream before disappearing beneath the waves, never to be seen again. Some survivors recalled that the elements were perhaps just as deadly as the circling sharks. During the scorching heat of the daytime, men would pray for darkness, their faces blistering as the harsh Pacific sun beat down upon them. While at night, the water grew so cold that their teeth would chatter as hypothermia set in. Some would kick their legs and thrash their arms in futile attempts to keep warm. But again, this only mimicked the death throes of a wounded sea creature, making them a target for the circling sharks. As the floating sailors fought to survive, many of them succumbed to the horror of their experiences and began to lose their minds. Some men even began to hallucinate, seeing islands that weren't there, or claiming that they heard rescue planes searching in the skies above. One such surviving sailor recalls the heartbreaking moment that one of his shipmates finally lost his grip on sanity. The man claimed he could see the Indianapolis floating in the water just a few feet below them, and that he could access the mess hall's stores of purified water. He made repeated trips beneath the surface, inviting his comrades to join him in Drinking the cool, fresh water he had found. But the man was drinking salt water. He died shortly afterwards from the effects of saline poisoning. Then, on the fourth day of their harrowing survival, a navy seaplane happened to be passing overhead when they spotted the groups of surviving sailors floating in the waters below. One of the aircraft's crew members leaned out of the central hatch, waving down at the men. That's when the tears came, tears of pure relief and salvation. They were saved. But out of the crew of almost 1,200 sailors, just 317 survived the ordeal. But for some, the horror, pain, and tragedy of the sinking would never end. Captain Charles McVeigh, commander of the Indianapolis, was one of the last to abandon the sinking ship. In November of 1945, he was court martialed for failing to order his men to abandon ship in time, resulting in the 300 or so sailors that sank with the ship to the bottom of the Pacific ocean. Cleared of this charge, he was instead convicted of hazarding the ship, a naval term which describes the failure of a captain to properly maneuver his vessel to avoid the likelihood of a direct torpedo strike. Yet aspects of the trial were controversial, as even the commander of the Japanese sub that sank the ship said that zigzagging the Indianapolis wouldn't have made a bit of difference and that he'd have always found a way to sink her. The disgraced captain was cleared of all charges, was reinstated to his position, and retired as a rear admiral four years later in 1949. Yet while many of the Indianapolis survivors agreed that Captain McVeigh was not to blame for their ship sinking, the sentiment was not shared by some of the grieving families of the fallen sailors. Captain McVeigh would often receive Christmas cards from the relatives of his dead crew members, but they did not have a remotely festive tone about them. Merry Christmas. Our family's holiday would be a lot merrier if you hadn't have murdered my son, read one card that McVay has received. As late as the 1960s, despite being cleared of blame, Captain McVay never forgave himself for his failures as a commander, even if it was during the most brutal and decisive war that mankind has ever known. Eventually, in 1968, McVay picked up a small toy sailor that reminded him of his naval service, walked out into his front lawn and shot himself with the very same weapon that the navy had issued to him upon entry into the Service. He was 70 years old. Over 23 years later, the largest war in human history had senselessly claimed yet another Life. On November 10, 2014, YouTuber Kenny Veach set off on his last hike. He had informed some close relatives that he was going on a short overnight trip into the desert near Area 51. But it was one from which he would never return. Yet Kenny was hardly an inexperienced desert hiker or spelunker. He had ventured into the arid, dry deserts of Nevada many times before. He claimed to have hiked solo across mountaintops that many people would have never dared to attempt and had lost count of the number of camp caves he had explored. But there was one particular cave that had terrified the veteran explorer. And it was during an additional visit to that particular subterranean cavern that he disappeared without a trace. Kenny was no amateur. He had been hiking and caving for 20 plus years, having encountered all sorts of life threatening dangers on his travels. From sheer cliffs and animal traps to rattlesnakes and freezing conditions. Kenny had faced some of the most terrifying threats the natural world has to offer. But he always made it back. He always got himself out of whatever jam he was in. He might have returned beat up and exhausted from his trips, but only once was he ever forced to call for help in an incident in in which he had hurt his leg on a mountaintop and was forced to call a helicopter rescue. So it was well documented that he had an excellent safety record and was in no way reckless or foolish. One day, while Kenny was out exploring the desert near Nellis Air Force Base, he came across a cave system with an entrance shaped like a perfect capital M. Kenny entered every cave he came across and naturally he was even more curious about this one, given its unusual shape. But on his approach, he found a strange feeling taking over his body. A bizarre vibrating feeling that shook him to his bones. The closer he got to the cave's entrance, the more intense the feeling became, until it was so strong that he became intensely terrified, fleeing the area without even attempting to explore it. He posted a YouTube video under the username snakebitemcgee, which was titled Son of an Area 51 Technician. This video detailing the events telling his viewers that it was by far the strangest experience he had ever had whilst out hiking in the desert. And so began one of Nevada's most pictures peculiar and puzzling urban legends. Obviously, the video sparked a huge amount of interest from his subscribers. A multitude of users enthusiastically encouraged Kenny to return to the cave to properly explore it and to properly document its appearance and location as to provide proper evidence of his strange and terrifying discovery. Naturally, he obliged them. On this second trip to the M shaped cave, Kenny armed himself with a 9 millimeter along with a video camera so that he might show his subscribers exactly what he had seen. However, much to the disappointment and skepticism of the YouTube community, Kenny couldn't seem to be able to retrace his steps to the cave's location. Some called him out as having lied about what he had seen, calling him a fraud and a fabricator. However, in the video itself, Kenny is visibly shaken that he can't seem to locate what he'd easily stumbled across during his previous visit. His experience with hiking and navigation meant that he'd have no trouble finding it again if he wished to do so, and we can understand why people might think that made him a liar. But Kenny insisted that it was like his mind was playing tricks on him, and rebuked any who accused him of having made the story up. To save face, Kenny vowed to go back out into the desert a third time in order to prove that he was not simply lying about the whole thing. This seemed to satisfy the doubters and reassure his regular viewers. All except one. No, do not go back there. If you find that cave entrance, don't go in. You will never come out, read one user's comment on the video posted. Other commenters asked them exactly what they meant by the plea, imploring them to share what knowledge they had of the cave that would cause them to leave such a stark warning. The user never replied. Even in spite of the warning, Kenny was undeterred. He was determined to prove that he was not a liar, determined to prove that his hiking and navigating skills weren't slipping. At some point, he posted a comment telling his viewers that he was making a third trip into the Mojave, one of the hottest and driest regions of the planet, in order to finally relocate the cave and to explore it. He told viewers that although he was not taking his video camera for mobility's sake, he would be making a detailed record of the cave's location so that he and his subscribers could easily find the MK for themselves. For the sake of making their own judgments, viewers awaited his return with bated breath, thrilled at the prospect of more information on a place that could well be connected with nearby Area 51, or at least have some kind of extraterrestrial or paranormal significance. Since Kenny would be making an overnight trip, they knew they would have to wait until the following day for a new post from their favorite desert explorer. But the day came, and nothing was posted. Then another day went by, and still nothing was posted on Kenny's YouTube channel regarding the M cave. Eventually, concerned viewers alerted local authorities that Kenny might well be in some danger. And after the mandatory 72 hour period, Kenny Veach was officially listed as a missing person and the search for him began. On 22 November 2014, Search and Rescue volunteers found Kenny's cell phone lying in the dirt at the entrance to an abandoned mineshaft. This was the same mine shaft featured during the video entitled M Cave Hike, Kenny's second trip into the desert, in which he filmed himself being unable to locate the cave entrance. Much to his own anxious confusion. The search and rescue volunteer superficially explored the bottom of the shaft, but could not find Kenny or his body. Yet there was no other trail leading from the cave that would indicate that Kenny had headed off in any other direction. To the volunteers, it seemed like he had just straight up disappeared, plucked from the face of the earth by some unknown unseen force. Additional rescue teams were called in from surrounding areas and on the advice of Kenny's girlfriend and sometime hiking partner, they found his truck in its unusual parking spot. But again, Kenny was nowhere to be found and any trails they found went cold. Near the abandoned mine shaft, Kenny's sudden disappearance fueled all manner of conspiracy theories which speculated on his fate. Some insisted that Kenny had fallen down the mine shaft, even in spite of the search and rescue teams, instead insistence that there was no corpses to be found down there. Others asserted that Kenny had found a hidden entrance to Area 51 or had come across some kind of military secret that had led to him being detained by the US military. While more outlandish theories abounded that the M Cave was some kind of extraterrestrial structure, and that Kenny had either been abducted or killed by visitors from other worlds. It is most likely that Kenny simply fell victim to the elements, went a bridge too far in his search for the truth, and had died of dehydration or heatstroke. But if this was the case, there is very little doubt that his body would not be found and recovered by the search and rescue teams, who at one point used a helicopter to scour the area for any signs of him. But a post from Kenny's girlfriend in the months that followed his disappearance might shed a little more light on what became of him. She mentioned that her boyfriend had been battling with depression for many years by that point, and that he may well have gone out into the desert one last time to end his own life. At least that's the only logical explanation she could think of. Yet as much as we can rely on her for an insight into into his personality. It ties into our previous point that surely someone somewhere would have found his body. We might never learn the truth of Kenny Veach's fate, but if we can learn anything from his disappearance, it's that it would be extremely unwise to go looking for that M shaped cat. My grandparents had passed away within a few months of each other, leaving their house empty. There was talk of renting it out initially, but because of its poor state of disrepair, the family decided against it. No consensus about what to do with it could be arrived at. Therefore it would be left to decay for another decade or more before I would stumble upon it. My aunt and I were going through my mother's things and discovered an old family photo album. Mom had gone off on one of her journeys and no one was sure if she would ever return. Her and I had been having an on and off relationship for years, so there was a lot about this family I didn't know. I came across a picture of her and I when I was just a baby, but I didn't recognize the house we were standing in front of. I inquired and my aunt told me about the old Wheeler family house that had once belonged to her parents. No one had been there in over a decade, and she wasn't even sure if it was still standing. So after half an hour of badgering, she agreed to take me out to see it. That following morning we headed out of town through 30 miles of cornfields until we came to a turnoff that led down a long, weedy gravel road. As we crested the hill, I was taken aback. The house I saw before me, despite being run down, was still breathtaking. In its prime, it must have been the finest home in the county. My aunt pulled up within a few yards of it and we got out. From what I could see, nobody but the occasional mowing company had been there in a very long time. I couldn't help but be in awe of the place. The vibrant pink and blue paint had long faded from its soaring towers, and the massive porch was beginning to sag in a few places before I entered. I wanted to take take in every bit of the wonderful facade as I could. Around the back was the remnants of the old horseshoe pit and what I was told my grandfather's Ford pickup. Although the big house had long seen its best days, I knew that I hadn't seen anything that could have compared. Maybe one of those beautiful Victorian mansions in San Francisco. Even those would be dwarfed in comparison to this. When I was ready, we climbed the concrete steps and entered through the back Entrance from the moment we cracked the door, we were overwhelmed by a hideous smell coming from inside. We assumed it was a normal part of having a house sealed for so long and continued with our search. Everything appeared as if it had been left where it was on my grandmother's last day Day Almost like a time capsule or museum. The lights were even still working. Only later did I discover that my mother had been paying the bills all these years in hopes someone would return and live there someday. Walking from room to room and seeing all the beautiful antique furnishings, I couldn't stop wondering why I had never been told about the house. Regardless of our frequent estrangements, I would have helped my mother with the upkeep of was downright insane to me to leave such a beautiful place to rot. Then again, my mother's strange ways were the main reason for our frequent falling outs. As we made our way to the second floor, the smell only got worse. I suggested we cut our visit short and just take a quick look around. Every door was closed, so I went for the closest one and stuck my head in. This must have been a guest room or spare. Upon the bed laid a beautiful and elaborate quilt, easily over 100 years old. My aunt was going through a cedar chest in a room next to me. I joined her and we discovered another much older photo album and decided to bring it back with us to look at later. She closed the door behind us and I made my way toward the last room. Unfortunately, the closer I got to the door, the stronger the smell got. I was reluctant to open it, but I thought if the poor critter was where I could get to it, I'd take it outside and give it a good burial. Cracking the door the stench slipped, slapped me in the face, and I lost focus for a moment. When I regained my composure, I was met with a terrible sight. Before me was not a dead forest creature, but a human being. The bloated body, now unrecognizable, laid curled up silently on the bed. I could feel my knees begin to buckle, so I turned, turned as quickly as possible away and out of the room. My aunt was confused by my behavior and stuck her head in before yanking it out quickly again. We both ran down the stairs where the smell was less potent, and I called 911. The officers spent a few minutes in the room before coming back out with a small piece of paper and a driver's license. One of them joined us at the table where we were sitting and asked a few questions about my mother. This made me nervous, and I began demanding he explain himself. A serious look came across his face and he told us that the body appeared to belong to my mother. I didn't want to believe it at first, but when he handed me her license, I knew it was true. My aunt and I held each other for a long time and cried. The officer gave us a few moments before interjecting himself again. Then he asked me if I knew why she would take her own life. I had naturally assumed mom had died in her sleep. She was an older woman, but the note he handed me made everything clear. She had been depressed for a long time because of our being at odds with each other, and the last time we spoke, some things were said she feared she couldn't take back. The morning after our argument, she decided to return to the only place she'd ever been happy, quote unquote. Although she claimed to not be sure of what she was going to do at the time, the poor state of the house just sent her over the edge. The last sentence asked that I not blame myself for her death and that I move on with my life. The ending read simply, goodbye, Mom. A couple of weeks later, after everyone had time to deal with their grief, I brought the remaining family members together. After seeing the old house and realizing the poor condition of it hurt my mother, I proposed we try to raise the money to renovate it. In light of what had just occurred, I wanted to at least try to create something positive from our tragedy. I was given their blessings and went to work. It took some time, but on the first day of spring 2018, the historical society allowed me to lead the first tour of the newly restored Wheeler mansion. A great day could have been much better had my mother been there with me. Me. No matter our differences, it was her who inspired me and the one who truly made it all possible. This episode is brought to you by Shopify. Upgrade your business with Shopify, home of the number one checkout on the planet. Shop pay boosts conversions up to 50%, meaning fewer carts going abandoned and more sales going Cha Ching. So if you're into growing your business, get a commerce platform that's ready to sell wherever your customers are. Visit shopify.com to upgrade your selling today. What makes a great pair of glasses at Warby Parker? It's all the invisible extras without the extra cost. Their designer quality frames start at $95 including prescription lenses plus scratch resistant, smudge resistant and anti reflective coatings and UV protection and free adjustments for life. To find your next pair of glasses, sunglasses or contact lenses or to find The Warby Parker store nearest you, head over to warbyparker.com that's warbyparker.com during my teenage years, my family and I lived in military housing here in the us. A few doors doors down there was a new couple with two kids who were referred to me since I made a little weekend cash working as a babysitter for some families who lived in base housing. Their house was pretty bare and undecorated since they had only been moved in there for like a week or so. When I arrived, the mom was showing me around the house with a three month old baby in her arms, showing me where the baby's formula was kept, where I could get myself a bite to eat, stuff like that. I had to admit that I was a little worried about that particular job. Three months old was by far the youngest baby I had ever sat for and I'd be lying if I said I didn't think that the mom was having similar thoughts. However, they were only going to go to their welcoming event for a couple of hours and it was right there on the base though, so not very far at all. I mean, what could possibly go wrong in such a short space of time? Well, something did go wrong and it occurred at the very top of the staircase as her three year old called her, and she was following me down. A strap on the mom's flip flop snapped off and she suffered a terrible fall, completely taking me out as she toppled hopelessly down to the bottom. And as she did, she ended up dropping the baby from her arms. Honestly, I'm not sure how it happened as I am not exactly famous amongst friends for my agility. Quite the opposite in fact. But as I was being sacked, I reached up and just sort of snatched the baby out of the air, grabbing a hold of her onesie and holding her up high as we hurtled to the bottom. I ended up with a black eye and some serious bruises where the mom essentially bowled me over. But thankfully, whenever I think about this, the baby was luckily completely unscathed, whereas the mom, she ended up with an open fracture of one leg right above her knee and a pretty solid concussion. I mean, the wounds looked horrendous, she was bleeding all over that new cream carpet. But she did not act as if anything hurt at all though. She just kept on saying thank you, you saved my baby, you saved my baby over and over again as the kid's dad called 911 and rushed an ambulance crew over to the house. They ended up paying me like 200 for a four hour gig that night, which in 1987 was practically a king's ransom, especially to a teenager like me. But I don't think my pulse slowed down for a week. I'm serious about that. Sometimes I'd think about catching that baby out of the air and I'd feel like I was going to have a panic attack. I pretty much stopped babysitting shortly after that because that freaked me out so much. Not just the event, but word getting around like I was some superhero with cat like reflexes when I'm pretty sure if that happened again, I could not grab that baby if I tried. I know that sounds crazy that I probably just should have soaked up the praise and used it to make a ton more money, but it was all just way too much pressure for a young person like me. I have always found creepy, mysterious things fascinating. I always have. Even as a kid, my parents used to put me to bed by telling me scary stories. Scary stories about monsters, vampires, witches and ghouls. I like to refer to these kinds of stories as old school scary stories. These stories are nothing like the scary stories you hear nowadays about murderers and kidnappers. Unlike vampires and monsters, murderers and kidnappers are real, making it more frightening. The old school scary stories never scared me that much because I knew none of the stories were real. They were fake. It was all fake. After all, there's no point in being scared of things that aren't real, right? Well, that's initially what I told myself whenever I would get scared. However, I had no idea of what lay in store for me as I got older. I am currently 20 years old. I live alone just outside of a town in a tiny apartment. I'm a student with a part time job so a tiny apartment is sadly all I can afford. My best friend Emily comes to visit me sometimes. We have been best friends since middle school. Emily and I had decided to have a sleepover at my place this weekend. Emily was going to sleep on an air mattress while I took the bed. The days leading up to the weekend consisted of studying, working and sleeping. When Friday finally showed up, I got excited. I waited until Emily was done working her shift and then she came over to my place. The clock was around 8pm when she turned up. We had something to eat and sat down to watch a movie. When the movie was finished, the clock struck 11pm Emily went to the bathroom. While I started tidying up a bit, my phone suddenly vibrated. I didn't check it at first because I thought nothing of it. Little did I know that would be the Biggest mistake of my life. After I was done tidying up, I realized that Emily had spent an unusual amount of time in the bathroom. I grew a little concerned about her absence, but I quickly brushed it off, reassuring myself that she was probably just fixing her makeup or something. I sat down on the couch and checked my phone. It was a snap from Emily. She had sent me a picture. That's odd, I thought to myself. The concerned feeling I had a moment ago came back stronger. I tried reassuring myself again. Maybe she had sent me a snap to let me know that she was fine. I opened the snap. I screamed. I was horrified. How could this have happened? I was right here. Tears started streaming down my face. I was sitting on the couch, shaking like a Chihuahua. The picture contained an unconscious Emily with the words, looks like your friend needed a timeout. I rushed to the bathroom as fast as I could. That was probably not a smart decision, but at that point, I didn't even care because I had to help Emily. When I opened the bathroom door, there was no sign of anyone. There wasn't even a sign of a break in or an open window. Nothing. How on earth could someone have broken into my home? I had been in the apartments all day. I started panicking. I had to call the police. I pulled out my phone and dialed the emergency number. A policeman picked up the phone. Hello? What's your emergency? I answered hurriedly. Hello, my name is Mia Cavanaugh. I live at 34 Hill Park Avenue. My friend Emily Fieldman has gone missing. You need to hurry, please. The policeman on the other line replied, okay, we'll be there right away. I hung up the phone and sat down on the couch. My phone vibrated again. I knew I had to look, but I didn't want to. Another snap from Emily I opened was a picture of a terrified Emily with a knife held to her throat and a person in a black mask standing behind her with the words stating, be careful what you say to the police or she will get it. I tried to study the background, but I couldn't make out anything. It was all black behind them. The picture had been taken with a blitz showing only Emily and the person in the mask. From the looks of it, the person in the mask seemed to be a man. Regardless, how did they know that I had spoken to the police literally seconds after I had hung up the phone? At least I had evidence now because of the picture they had sent me. There wasn't a timer on the picture so I could show the police without taking a screenshot of it. That way, the kidnappers wouldn't know I had shown the police. A thought quickly appeared in my mind. If they knew I had spoken to the police seconds after I ended the call, then they would have found out. If I had shown the police this picture and if they would have found out about the picture, then they might have killed Emily. I feared that I would have to find the perpetrators on my own or Emily was going to die. The police showed up about 10 minutes after our phone call. I opened the door and greeted them. I knew I had to lie to them. It was a false emergency. Emily had gone to the store without me knowing about it. I'm terribly sorry. The policeman looked stern and replied, are you sure? Because if that is the case, you have a risk of facing a $1,000 fine or ending up in prison. I recognized the policeman's voice from the phone call and answered, yeah, I'm sure. I'm so sorry. I really did think she was gone. The policeman sighed. Well, you sounded pretty concerned on the phone so we believed you. We'll let you off with a warning this time, but if it happens again, you will be charged a fine. Worst case scenario, there is a possibility of you ending up in jail. So please be careful when calling us for emergencies. Yes, absolutely. It won't happen again. Goodbye. I said. Goodbye. Have a safe night and take care of yourselves. The police then left. I closed the door. My phone vibrated again. I knew who it was. Immediately. I looked at it. A snap from Emily. I opened was a picture of Emily tied up in a chair. Her eyes were red and puffy. It looked like she had been crying a lot. The text on the picture read Good job love. We'll reward you for your cooperation. I sighed. What reward were they talking about? I'm not even sure if I wanted a reward from them. My phone vibrated again. Another snap from Emily. This time it was a picture inside a warehouse with some cars in it with a text stating this is your first clue as to where Emily is hiding. The picture I had received was dark and it was hard to make out where it was. The cars that stood lined up looked really familiar. That's when a thought popped into my head. Of course they are in the abandoned warehouse for cars. That place used to be Emily and I's hangout spot when we needed a break from the world. I knew what I had to do. I drove my car to the old warehouse and parked outside the building. I made my way inside. Nothing. The sun had gone down so the warehouse was pitch black. The only sound that could be heard was My footsteps as I tried to find my way in the darkness. I took out my phone and turned on the flashlight. I tried to find a light switch, but. But I had no luck. I walked further in and discovered a door. I opened it and on the left side of the door, on the wall was a light switch. I flicked the switch, but there was no light. Of course, I thought to myself, this place is abandoned. There is no electricity here anymore. In the middle of the room was a chair. I approached the chair cautiously, afraid someone was going to jump out from the darkness and kidnap me too. But nothing happened. I looked at the chair and realized that this had been the chair that Emily was tied to. But she was no longer here. Hello? I said, getting nervous. I did what you asked me to. Now where is my friend? But to my dismay, may no one answered. My eyes then fell upon the cars that were lined up. I spotted a note hanging on the windshield of one of the cars. I made my way to the cars and took the note. It read, here's your second clue. I turned the note around, but there was nothing there. I looked up, trying to spot something, but the room only held the chair and the cars. My phone vibrated. I took it out, knowing who it was. Another snap from Emily. I opened it to be faced with a tree. Why in the world would it just be a tree? I studied the background as well as the tree. And that's when I made the realization it was the tree where Emily and I had carved into the trunk. That we would be best friends forever. I recognized that one of the branches had grown in an odd way. That's what made the tree special. Which is why Emily and I chose that tree. I just really wish I was right and not that the kidnappers had taken a picture of another tree. But I had to go for Emily's sake. I drove to the forest where the tree was and parked my car in the parking lot by the entrance. I got out and started to walk up that all too familiar path. While walking further into the forest, a flashback suddenly hit me. A flashback from the first time we walked here together. Some boys in our class chased us all the way up here because they wanted to beat us up. We ran from them and hid in the woods. And that's when we decided that we would be best friends forever. After walking for a while, I had to turn away from the path and head into the thick forest where there was no path to guide me anymore. This walk took longer than I had remembered because of everything that had happened. It felt like one minute lasted 20 minutes. I started to pray to keep Emily safe and that I would find her in time. To be honest, I wasn't really religious. But I was so desperate, it was better to be safe than sorry. I started to run. I got there soon enough, but there was nobody there. I walked up to the tree and there was the carving. Our carving. E M. While looking at it, I smiled, remembering the good times. I traced my finger alongside the E in the carving. That's when my emotions got the best of me. I started to cry. I hugged the tree, wishing it was Emily who stood in my arms. After I had cried a whole lot, I had to start looking for clues. I let go of the tree and began my hunt. After a while, with no luck, my phone vibrated once again. A snap from Emily. I pulled out my phone and opened it. I could tell that the picture was taken in our schoolyard in the place where Emily and I first met each other. I couldn't see Emily in the picture though, and that freaked me out. I placed my phone in my pocket. I had to get there as fast as I could. I ran down to my car and drove off. I parked my car in the school's parking lot and got out. I had to find her. It was the only thing that mattered. I started walking down the schoolyard. I couldn't see anything. My head turned to the side and that's when I spotted the place which was where the picture was taken. My first encounter with Emily. All the memories came flooding back. The same old tiny shed with the same old tree beside it. I walked towards it. I had a feeling I would find my next clue. Or better yet, Emily inside the shed. As I got closer, I noticed that someone had left the door to the shed ajar. I opened the door to the shed and looked inside. It was dark, but the room was illuminated by the moon. There was a desk and a chair standing in the middle of the room. I walked to the desk and found a note. The note read, final destination is Emily's place. Can you reach her in time? I waited for the all too familiar Snapchat notification. Nothing happened. I couldn't stand here all night. So I ran back to my car and sped off towards Emily's place. I sat the whole time hoping that Emily was okay. I couldn't think of anything else. I reached Emily's place as fast as I could and ran inside side. There was nobody there. I admit that maybe barging into her house like I just did wasn't a great idea, but I was desperate. I tried Calling out Emily's name, but no one answered. I searched downstairs for her, but to no avail. I went up the stairs but could not see anything. Her room was the last room. I looked inside. She had to be here, I thought to myself while slowly opening the door. What greeted me was the most horrifying thing I have ever seen. Emily's body lay on the floor. I ran over to her and held her limp body in my arms. I started sobbing. I couldn't believe it. How could this have happened? I hugged her even though I knew she wouldn't hug me back. I sat there for what felt like eternity, hugging her tight, like I would never let her go. I had lost my dearest friend, My best friend. The one who was always there for me. The one who knew more about me than anyone else. I spotted her computer. While I sat hugging her, it was turned on. I lay Emily gently down on the ground again and went to investigate it. When I got to her computer, I saw that it was logged into what could only be the dark web. Did she use this? A chat was opened where I could see that she had been chatting to someone. Someone that threatened her. He wrote things like, I will kill you and I have your address. I know where you live. I could tell by the looks of these messages that he wanted money. I clicked out of the page because it was too menacing to watch. When the page disappeared, I found some videos of me on the computer. I pressed play on one of them and it showed me while I was talking to the police on the phone. There was another video of me when I was at the warehouse. And another one of me when I was in the woods looking at the tree. They had put up surveillance cameras and filmed me while I searched for Emily. That's how they knew when to send me the snaps. I looked up and found printed screenshots handed hanging on the wall behind her computer of Emily and I's chat. The times we talked about the places I had been to. Like the tree and the place we first met. That's how they knew these places meant something to us. What is this? I said to myself, overwhelmed with what I was seeing. My phone vibrated. I took it out and looked at it. Another snap from Emily. My heart started to beat faster. A tear fell from my eye. I was so scared. I knew who it was. I picked up what was left of my courage once again. And I opened was a picture of me from behind. I suddenly heard Emily's closet door creak open. I whipped my head around and gasped. It couldn't be.