John (0:00)

Hey, welcome to Scary Stories and Rain. I'm excited to let you all know that I got my hands on a Nintendo Switch 2 the Mario Kart World Bundle and I'm giving it away to one of my podcast supporters on June 4. I stood in line for about seven hours to ensure that I got one. So I'm pretty excited to tell you that I actually did get one by the skin of my teeth. Honestly, only my podcast members are in this pool. It's a small group. You actually have a shot to win. In order to win, all you have to do is sign up for a $2.99 a month membership to support my podcast. Keep in mind that all of the ads will go away. You'll be able to listen completely interruption free and you will enter automatically. By doing that, the winner will be announced September 1st. Click the link in the description to join. Now get rid of all of the ads. Enjoy the podcast with absolutely no interruptions and you might just have a Nintendo Switch 2 sent to your doorstep. And with that said, I really hope you enjoy this episode.

Sponsor (1:05)

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John (1:36)

This happened way back in October of 2006. At that time I was just a 19 year old kid always on the lookout for adventure. One Friday night after wrapping up my shift at McDonald's, I met up with some friends who suggested we check out this haunted location called White's Bridge. My one buddy, Brandon, said he had recently learned about it and began telling us the legends associated with the 100-year-old wood covered bridge. Never one to turn down a spooky experience, we all piled into my green Ford Taurus and headed out on our journey. Brandon gave directions, guiding me off the main road and within minutes we were on the dirt back roads surrounded by woods and corn fields. Our only point of reference was a blinking cell tower off in the distance. We could tell we were getting further from the city as our cell phones begin slowly losing service. As we rode deeper and deeper into what legitimately felt felt like the absolute middle of nowhere, Brandon repeated the legend associated with the bridge. Back in the early 1900s, a local farmer discovered that his beloved wife had been cheating on him and in a fit of rage he killed her and her lover after discovering them in the act. After committing the cold blooded murder. The farmer left his home and wandered the dirt roads in a daze. He eventually came upon White's Bridge, where the realization of what he had done finally began to sink in. And deciding he would rather die than face the consequences of his actions, he hoisted a rope up and over one of the bridge's rafters and hung himself. As far as I can tell now, the story is complete fiction, but we totally believed it at the time. After a long and bumpy ride, Brandon instructed me to turn right on an off road. I wouldn't have even noticed was there had he not pointed it out. I took the turn and there before us was White's Bridge. It looked like something straight out of a horror film. An old wood covered bridge, aged by time, sitting alone above a river deep in the middle of nowhere. We parked the car on the side of the road and got out to explore. Immediately catching our eyes was a scarecrow lying abandoned at the entrance to the bridge. My friend Mike, who was known as somewhat of a risk taker, and a stupid one at that, picked up the scarecrow and lit it on fire. The hay body burst up into a ball of flames and Mike waved it around proudly next to the old dry wood bridge. Realizing the risk, I told him to throw the damn thing in the river and put it out, which thankfully he did. After making sure there weren't any rogue embers that could ignite the bridge, Brandon suggested we get back in the car and pull it onto the bridge. He explained that the legend was that if you parked your car in the middle of the bridge, put it in neutral and killed the engine, the spirit of the dead farmer would push the vehicle forward to get it off the bridge. Naturally, we had to try this. We piled back in and did exactly as he said. We parked halfway across the rickety old bridge and killed the engine. We sat in the pitch black, saying nothing, waiting for something, anything to happen. The only sounds were the creaking of the bridge, the river flowing beneath us and footsteps. Suddenly, the back driver side door opens and a woman abruptly enters the back seat, cramming in next to my two friends back there. She looked to be in her late 20s, early 30s, long straight black hair, slim and wearing a plaid shirt and blue jeans. It's been a while, but this is essentially how I remember the conversation going. I saw your fire signal for me, she said. Uh, wait, what? I replied, totally freaked out and at a complete loss for words. I'm so glad you came. My boyfriend's car broke down down that way. I Need a ride back? My brain was doing its best to compute the situation. I'm sorry, but who are you? I asked. What are you doing out here? I told you, she responded curtly. My boyfriend's car broke down over there. Can you please just give me a ride so I don't have to walk all the way back? She was pointing ahead towards a narrow road that forked off to the right. On the other side of the bridge, my friend Mike, the scarecrow burner and ever the gentleman, added, I mean, if you need a place to stay, you're more than welcome to come crash at my place. I got plenty to drink, and I interrupted him. No, lady, listen, I'm sorry. I don't know who you are. You just got in my car and this is all really weird. You could be an axe murderer for all I know. And I'm sorry. You have to get out. She glared at me in the rearview mirror. If looks could kill, I would have been done for. But you signaled for me, she responded in an irritated tone. We weren't signaling for you. Get out. She let out an angry sigh and got out, walking back in the direction from which she came and disappearing into the night. I started the engine right up and looked at my friends. They all had looks of disbelief on their faces. Without saying a word, I put the car in drive and slowly rolled forward and off the bridge. We needed to turn around and go back across the bridge to get back to where we had come from, and the only way to do that was to pull onto the side road that the woman set her boyfriend's car had broken down on and then reverse. As I pulled onto the side road, my headlights illuminated the three posted signs that I hadn't been able to see from the bridge. NO Trespassing PRIVATE PROPERTY and DO NOT enter. Looking up the road, there was no sign of the woman. Wherever she went, it didn't appear she went that way. I didn't want to stick around, though, so I backed up and crossed the bridge again and from there began the journey home. We didn't have much to say on the ride home. I think we were all equally stunned, except for Mike, who asked if he knew anyone that would be awake at this hour that he could score some weed from. I visited White's Bridge a couple other times after that, but nothing of note happened in my subsequent visits. Sadly, some delinquents burned down the old White's Bridge some years ago. It was rebuilt, but from what I hear, it's just not the same as the original. I don't have any plans to go and check it out. Electric Forest is an electronic music festival that normally takes place at the end of June in Rothbury, Michigan. Nestled in the very depths of Sherwood Forest, the festival truly is in the middle of nowhere and incorporates all the natural beauty of the towering woodland trees into the experiences of those who choose to attend. By day, fans can roam around the enchanting scenery, hanging out among the pop up installations or the hundreds of hammocks that hang between the tree trunks. But once the sun sets, they can watch as the forest is lit up by the many light fixtures. And according to many, that's when the magic really begins. The exhilarating atmosphere combined with jaw dropping light displays and spontaneous secret parties, all matched with a carefully curated lineup, generates a truly unique experience. For one and all, it's this particular music festival that 29 year old Kevin Graves wished to attend during the summer of 2018. Hailing from Oakland Country, Michigan, Kevin bought tickets for himself and his girlfriend, who was instantly sold on the idea of partying in such a unique and unusual place. Both were fans of electronic electronic dance music, but had found themselves tiring of visiting the same old clubs week in and week out, so Electric Forest provided the perfect way to switch things up a little. But after only a day or two of partying among the trees, the blissful feeling between himself and his girlfriend apparently turned sour and the pair began to argue intensely. Speculation as to the reasons behind these arguments ranges from the couple having run out of money to to over consumption of alcohol to Kevin having witnessed his girlfriend flirting with other guys. All of the above is up for debate, but what we do know for certain is that after a particularly vicious confrontation, Kevin walked out of the main festival grounds to return to their campsite alone. Fellow festival goers have reported seeing a man leaving the site who was very upset, possibly even in tears. It's a rather sad end to a tumultuous relationship, but what makes this incident particularly terrifying is that after these sightings, Kevin was never seen again. His girlfriend returned to the campsite several hours later, expecting to find Kevin sleeping off the effects of the drugs and alcohol he had ingested. But when she unzipped the front flap of the tent and peered inside, she found it completely empty. This wasn't exactly a surprise to her though, and she figured either Kevin had gotten lost on his way back, possibly even having found another group of revelers to hang out with to help cheer himself up, or that he had headed back towards the main festival compound to either look for her or party some more. So with that in mind, she simply crawled into her sleeping bag and got some much needed rest. The following morning, Kevin still hadn't returned, but again, his girlfriend wasn't particularly alarmed. It was only when the festival came to an end and she had to find her own way home that she actually began to worry. Kevin hadn't seemed to have returned to his apartment either, and to his girlfriend's knowledge, he was still in Sherwood Forest. It was around then that she broke and contacted his close family regarding his apparent disappearance, who in turn contacted the police to report Kevin missing. Law enforcement set about scouring the area surrounding the festival site using every asset at their disposal, using dogs, aerial units and dive teams, but not a trace of Kevin could be found anywhere. Then they appealed the public to information regarding Kevin's whereabouts and many people called the missing person's hotline claiming to have spotted him in the days after the festival. Callers stated that they had seen him around other cities in Michigan as well as in other surrounding states. In some cases, Kevin was spotted at a motel not far from the festival site, in others at a diner in the same sort of area. There were also suggestions that Kevin had run off to join some kind of religious culture that was in attendance at the festival, given that the colorfully branded bus was said to be present at the event. After some investigation, the group was found to be the Word of God, a charismatic missionary Christian community founded in the late 60s that is based in Ann Arbor, Michigan. But a spokesman for the Word of God denies ever being at Electric Forest that weekend, and Kevin's family insists that it's pretty much out of the question that he would run off somewhere without at least telling them first. The behavior of Kevin's then girlfriend have also raised a great deal of suspicion among those that investigated his disappearance. In the immediate aftermath, she posted a few grief stricken posts on Facebook, the kind you might expect to read if Kevin had been confirmed deceased. Yet no body was ever found and as far as police knew, he wasn't dead at all, just missing. And then, instead of cooperating and staying in touch with Kevin's family as one might expect her to do, she proceeded to block most of them before refusing to answer any more questions with regards to what happened that weekend or where he might have ran away to. According to her, their relationship was on the rocks at the time, so also apparently posted a Reddit comment after his disappearance that claims he was suffering from mental illness and that he had a history of threatening suicide when they had previously come close to breaking up. There is every chance that she simply wishes to move on from a painful period of her life, away from drug and alcohol use and away from the pain of knowing that she might have contributed to a tragic and unforeseen event. However, there is also a chance that she is so uncooperative because because she knows way more than she is comfortable sharing. Police managed to interview a handful of the festival's staff that were working during the same weekend that Kevin went missing. Although most couldn't remember seeing Kevin specifically during their time there, as the event is attended by hundreds, if not thousands of festival goers, some told stories of revelers going missing year in and year out. One even told police a story how how one person went missing after partying too hard and was found as far away as Alabama. Yet another admitted that it wasn't exactly a rarity for people to die at the festival due to excessive alcohol or narcotics use. Often people who mix things that really shouldn't go together. He then told police of a rumor he had heard from a few different attendees of a guy who had actually died sitting up. Others had just assumed he was asleep and continued to drink and dance around an actual dead body, becoming extremely distressed when they realized that he was dead and not just passed out. Other members of staff admitted that sometimes they weren't sure if the location of the festival was a safe choice, and they worried that some might be so messed up that they would wander off among the trees wearing very little clothing, only to be subjected to some stormy weather that night and caused them to pass away as a result of the exposure. There was one member of the festival staff who told the police a story that they were initially convinced was Kevin, a man who seemed to be very upset by something was going around the main compound, giving away all of his possessions, including expensive electronic items and large amounts of cash. These are in line with reports from Kevin's family that he had apparently emptied his bank account in the week before the festival was due to start. So what actually happened to Kevin at the festival? Was it the case that he was simply so grief stricken by the breakup with his girlfriend that he had opted to simply up and vanish from Michigan? Perhaps this grief was something that a religious cult could play upon to induct him into their ranks, or perhaps such a cult would be able to use the heavy amount of drugs in his system to essentially brainwash him into their way of thinking. Regardless of what happened, we can all agree it's an extremely scary prospect that we could end up Basically vanishing from the face of the earth after attending something as seemingly benign as a simple music festival. Perhaps we're never truly safe, no matter where we are or what we are doing. My kid goes to Cooper elementary here in Vacaville, California. In early October of last year I drove them off to school, arriving as usual at around 8am I gave them a kiss, told them I hoped that they had a good day, and off they went to morning class. Nothing out of the ordinary, just like any other day. Only right as I'm about to drive off, I notice something that immediately got my attention and not in a good way. There's a woman standing outside and she is not coming or going or anything. She's just standing there. She looked middle aged, maybe Latina or Asian extraction, and she's just sort of watching all the kids come and go. Now the morning rush is usually just that. Parents pulling up drop their kids off, then leave as quickly as they arrive to get to their jobs or whatever. But there's this woman, really chill just standing there. Then she gets her phone out and starts like pointing it around, almost like she was taking pictures or a video of the whole scene. I got this bad, bad feeling in my gut, like she didn't look like you'd imagine some old creeper to look. She wasn't wearing a trench coat with a ball cap pulled down over her face. She looked kinda motherly actually. And if she hadn't have just been standing there or recording with her phone, I think I would have completely passed her by. So instead of driving off to make it to work on time, I just kind of sat in my car watching her. Better safe than sorry, I told myself. And boy am I glad I stuck around because things were about to get weird. As I'm sat in my car watching her, I notice that suddenly she seems to take a sharp interest in something. She puts her phone away and seems to be staring over towards the other side of the school parking lot. I try to spy whatever's gotten her attention, but the place is so busy with the morning rush that nothing really stood out to me. So again I just sit there waiting patiently as she starts to walk across the street and over towards this parked car. I have to turn around in my seat to see what she's doing, but I am able to watch clear as day as she walks towards one of the cars and opens the back door before reaching in and pulling out this preschool aged kid who was sitting in the backseat. She doesn't pull hard or anything, just kind of takes the Kid by the hand and leads them out of the car, leaning down to say something to them before she started trying to walk off with them. My spidey senses are tingling by that point so I jump out of my car, locking the doors before I start power walking over to her, I say, excuse me lady, is this your kid? Where are you taking this kid? She turns around all calm, smiles at me and then tells me she's a teacher at the school. I mean it was actually believable for a moment. She had this lanyard around her neck with what looked like an ID on it. Her answer was so confident too, and actually called the kid by the name Brian. So for a second I felt like I was going crazy and that I had gotten way inside my own head about this playing at being some vigilante or something. So I respond, oh, okay, I'm sorry. She accepts my apology and then goes to walk away from the school again. I don't think I would have done anything else about it until I heard another voice behind me shout hey, what are you doing? I turn around and see this furious looking guy running towards me and the woman. He runs past me, stops this woman and grabs the kid's arm pulling him away from her. She then starts giving this guy the same speech she just did to me, telling him she's a teacher and she's taking Brian somewhere, how he's a student of hers, etc. What this guy said next made my stomach drop. Brian. My kid's name is not Brian. Lady, I'm calling the cops. The guy shouts and in doing so draws the attention of everyone coming and going in the parking lot. Once he realized he had gotten something of an audience, he just starts going off saying this psycho is trying to kidnap my kid. Someone get the cops out here. The mood in the parking lot shifts. Every single parent is basically watching their worst fears played out before them. An unsuspecting person trying to abduct a kid in broad daylight. It was honestly sickening. Firstly the whole act of trying to snatch the kid and then the kind of mood shift as all these half awake parents just turn into what was basically a violent mob. But the middle aged lady was quick. She moved faster than I had ever expected her to, out of the parking lot, back across the street where she jumped into a car and sped off. Parents are taking pictures of her license plate, screaming about child abusers seriously wanting to rip her apart there and then. I stuck around to talk to the cops, gave a detailed description along with the dad of the potential kidnap victim whose kid was just distraught by that point There was a PTA meeting called about the incident. It was this whole big drama that rocked the small community we live in. And now, just in case none of you believe me, the woman's name was Eileen carringle. She was 56 at the time of the incident and she ended up getting followed and arrested by the cops at her home in the 700 block of Cross Pristine Drive. The story was sent around the parents of all the kids attending Cooper elementary in like a matter of hours and the relief was palpable. I don't think people who don't have kids can really understand just how terrifying something like that is. We are told there are monsters in the world, but knowing they walk among us looking just like sweet middle aged women when they are in fact complete predators is just chilling beyond belief. This happened back when I was 14, but even with my bad memory I remember this years later. I honestly think that this memory will haunt me for the rest of my life. I would often go walking either alone or with my neighbor Jim, but this specific night she didn't go with me. I usually went walking around nine at night but was impatient that night so I left about 15 minutes early. It was summer in Texas, but I grabbed my black hoodie anyway. The reason for this was because I was a pretty small kid even for my age and I would walk with a knife in my sleeve in case of a problem. There was security in this area but they were pretty much useless and weren't fond of the kids anyway, so the black was to avoid them seeing me and to maybe help avoid being noticed by anyone else too. The area was heavily wooded and the roads had no street lights. I had lived there my whole life, so with the moonlight this wasn't really an issue. I could see things as much as I needed to. I walked to the park in the area and sat down on the swing set like I had a million times before. The park was old and wasn't very well taken care of so the swing set creaked. The wooden picnic tables were half rotted with the paint mostly peeled away and the metal slide was covered in rust. There was the main road that ran in front of the park and a branch off road that ran along the side of the park with a thin line of trees between the side road and park. After a while a favorite song of mine came on and I of course started singing it. Since singing was a big way, I let out stress. Despite my stage fright, I had a tendency to not hold back when singing at this park, since there was rarely people near it during the day, let alone at night. My blood ran cold though, when I saw the shape of a person maybe 50 to 100ft in front of me on the main road. The main reason for the chill was the fear that this random person heard me sing. But then I got a deeper bad feeling. Something was just wrong about them. I noticed that the person was walking really fast. Like really fast, almost running speed. I figured he might have been running from something or after something. But when I looked around, everywhere that I could possibly see from where I was, I saw nothing else but them. They soon passed by the park, not seeming to notice me, and after a few minutes of waiting to make sure they were gone, I continued singing. After a couple more songs, I decided that it was time to go home. I still had that bad feeling, that uneasy pit in my stomach that you get when you're being watched. I even thought I saw something behind the treeline between the side road and the swings, but I brushed that off as an animal or something. Deer were really common, so were dogs and things like that. So it was probably me getting spooked by an animal again. But the feeling was eating away at me. So I cut my usual 30 minute to an hour walk to about 10 minutes. So I got up and started to leave the park, turning onto the main road to go home. As I was leaving, I saw a person walking toward the main road from the road that ran alongside the park. It looks like the same person as before. It was a man. He must have been visiting a friend or something, right? Even if that was the case, I crossed to the opposite side of the street so I wouldn't pass directly by him. He didn't look particularly dangerous or unusual, so sadly, no weird, creepy homeless looking man for this story. I just got a bad feeling from him, which is probably what makes him even more terrifying. He got to the intersection before me and stopped. I passed by and glanced at the man, taking in what details I could. Under the moonlight that came from between the tree branches, he looked normal. He was probably an average height, wearing a pure white ball cap with no logos that casted a shadow over his face and a pure white polo type shirt. There wasn't a speck of dirt on the man. He looked well kept and it made the moonlight almost shine on him like some kind of ghost, which just added to my uneasy feeling. He watched me as I passed by and I tried to pretend that I didn't notice. I would occasionally look around as if I was Just looking at the woods so I could see the man out of my peripheral vision. I didn't want or need to see the man in detail, partly because I was scared of the possibility of seeing something else too. Just cause the man was much larger than me didn't mean that he wasn't probably armed too. Once I was around 15ft past the intersection, I glanced and my stomach dropped as I saw him turn and start to follow me. Maybe he was just going for an extra long walk or something. He probably isn't following me right then. Another thought popped in my head and sent my stomach to my feet. I had been there for probably 10 minutes or so, singing after he passed. What if he wasn't visiting anyone? What if he was the thing I saw just beyond the treeline? That's kinda obvious now that this was almost definitely the case. But let's be fair. When do 14 year olds ever think through all the details of a situation completely during the situation? He was probably watching me the whole time. He could have snuck up and done God knows what at any time. I kept doing my glances and noticed that he was getting close. Closer and closer. I gripped my knife tighter, ready in case I had to use it. The chance of it going well wasn't the best, but it was a better chance than not trying at all. But I wanted that to be a last ditch option. I tried to make sure it wasn't obvious I was keeping tabs on him. I didn't want him getting anxious and having to decide to speed up or whatever his plan was. I was only halfway home and this was before I had surgery on my ankle, so I was absolutely sure he could catch me before I reached the house if I started running where I was. So that wasn't an option whatsoever. I didn't have many current options, so the one I chose was to bide my time until an opportunity opened up. I kept walking at a rather quick but unpanicked pace, keeping tabs on the man as he inched close, closer and kept an eye out for opportunities. And an opportunity came. I saw headlights. A car was rolling towards me at a careful pace like normal considering the animals I mentioned earlier. It was Jim's dad. I recognized the shape of the lights and as the car got closer I became convinced it was him. I was never so relieved to see that tiny white car. I tried signaling him without letting the man know I was, but he just passed by. He must have thought I was just saying hi. I glanced back again. Even though he didn't stop, he did exactly What I needed. He slowed down a bit as he passed. The man backed up a lot and crossed to the other side of the road. The headlights were on him and he couldn't see me at least for around five or six seconds. Seconds, maybe a bit longer, including readjusting to the dark. I walked faster. I didn't run that way my steps wouldn't be too loud. But I rounded the corner before he would be able to readjust and get sight of me again. Once I could turn and no longer see him, I rushed home and locked the door. I knew better than to leave it unlocked, since, after all, I lived in the woods. Just because I couldn't see him anymore didn't mean he wasn't nearby and didn't mean he couldn't see me. As stupid as this next part is, it's probably for the best that I did it. I texted Jim. I asked her to meet me outside right now because something happened and I needed to come over. She said okay and we both went outside and as soon as I saw her in the driveway, I sprinted to her house. I didn't want to be outside any longer than I had to be. She kept panicking and asking what happened and what was wrong, and once I caught my breath, I told her everything. Right after I got done explaining, her dad walked in the house. He looked at Jem, seeming worried, then noticed me hiding behind her. He looked relieved and told her, I was about to tell you to ask her to come over here. I asked him if he saw the man following me. He said he did. He didn't really see his face, but that he was trying to make it look like he was on the phone when he wasn't holding anything. But that wasn't even close to the worst part. I think this was the first time I have seen this man scared and I am not sure if I have ever seen fear like this from him since he told us the man wasn't alone. There was a gate at the front of where I lived that needed a card to get in. Apparently there was another man outside the gate who looked similar to the first standing by a van. That mean they didn't live there, didn't want security knowing they were there, and wanted to get out quickly and quietly after they did whatever they were there for. Needless to say, I spent the night at Jem's that night and I have no clue what would have happened had Jem's dad not driven by or if I would have left at my normal time. When I was a junior in college, I took A modern American literature course under a professor who I will call Dr. H. Her class took place right after the lunch period, so many of her students would come into the classroom looking like they were ready for a nap. Dr. H sympathized with us, so before she started the day's lecture, she would tell us an interesting story in hopes for waking us up a bit. Usually her stories were tidbits about the author we were studying that day. Some stories were more successful than others in getting our attention, but there was one story she told that got everyone's attention. She said that the story was a little long, but she thought we would find it interesting because, as she put it, the devil is in the details. Dr. H was a senior in college at the time this story took place. She shared a room with another senior who she called S. They had both spent the day reading and working on papers for the week ahead, only breaking once to eat some sandwiches while listening to the radio. About 8pm Dr. H&S. Decided to reward themselves with the rest of the night off. Dr. H had a novel that she had been dying to read. While S. Wanted to treat herself to some cocktails. S told Dr. H that she would only be gone for an hour, tops. She then said in a joking manner, if I'm not back in two hours, make sure the police find my body. S decided to have a cocktail or two at a bar that was popular with her classmates because it was so close to campus. She sat down at the bar and ordered a dry martini. She did not notice that she was seated right next to a man until she looked up from her glass and was greeted with a smile. The man tipped his tumbler at her and said hello. S. Was immediately embarrassed, especially because there was an empty seat to her right. She was about to move to the other seat, feeling as if she had violated one of the unspoken rule of bars. But before she could get out of her seat, the man said, you don't have to move if you don't want to. I like the company. The man extended his hand to S and introduced himself as Chris. He said that he worked in construction and was renting a room in the area. He asked S what she was studying and she told him she was a psychology major. Chris's eyes lit up and to S's surprise, he began to talk about Frank, Freud and Young. She told him she had to do an experiment for her final project and he asked her which method she would be using, an observational study or a survey. She told him she wanted to make a link between lack of empathy and the potentiality for criminal behavior. She told him she wanted to do an observational study, something similar to Milgram's controversial studies, but based on posing scenarios rather than shock experiments. Chris shook his head. You should do a survey instead. S. Pointed out that people could lie on a survey without thinking twice about it, but that it was a lot harder to lie to someone's face. Chris chuckled. Sweetheart, a psychology professor could look at a student, the same student for three years, and never have an inkling that the kid killed his mother and has her buried in his backyard. People can lie to your face if they want to keep a secret bad enough, but a true sicko can't refuse the chance to show his true colors on a survey because that guy wants to shock you. S. Listened as Chris argued that Jack the Ripper's letters from hell proved his point, but she had already decided that though Chris knew some things about psychology, his lack of knowledge was beginning to show. Nevertheless, S. Still appreciated how passionate Chris was about helping her make the right decision regarding her project. She eventually told Chris that she would bring up all the good points he had made to her professor, and this seemed to satisfy him. Though S. Was attracted to men her own age, Chris had a certain appeal. He was not bad looking for an older man, and most importantly, he was easy to talk to. Over the course of 45 minutes, they had talked about various subjects, including psychology, politics, and places Chris had traveled to while working various construction jobs. In all that time, Chris had not hit on S. Once. If Chris was trying to seduce her, he was being admirably patient in his approach. He did offer to buy S. Another martini when she finished her first, and though S. Would have normally said no to the offer, she felt so comfortable around Chris that she let him buy her a drink. While she had carefully nursed her first martini, S. Quickly drained her second, and without asking permission first, Chris bought her another. S. Did not mind because she wanted to spend more time with Chris. It pleased her that Chris seemed to have no expectations for set sex in return for his generosity. S's attention quickly turned momentarily from Chris to the television. Behind the bartender, the newscaster was giving a preview for the evening news, which included a story about a fatal car accident that had occurred earlier that morning. S. Told Chris that she had heard about the accident on the radio that afternoon. She said that she felt terrible because a whole family had been killed in a head on crash. Chris replied, I wonder if anyone was beheaded. Then he chuckled. S. Was stunned by this sudden change In Chris personality, it was like an invisible mask had quietly slipped off of Chris face to reveal the true man underneath. S. Had an urge to leave the bar, but the psychology major in her was intrigued. She had read about inappropriate effect and emotional personality disorders, but she had never met someone who displayed any of those characteristics before. Any desire that she had to sleep with Chris was now over, but she thought that he might be an interesting story to share with her fellow psychology majors. S. Continued to listen as Chris started talking in graphic detail about some of the accidents he had seen at construction sites, including one guy whose hand and wrist got pulled into a cement mixer and another guy who fell four stories from scaffolding and wound up in a twisted mess on the rubble below. The whole time he was talking about his fellow co workers being maimed or killed on the job, Chris was smiling and giggling. S. Tried not to show her disgust, but when Chris followed up on a story of one of his co workers being impaled by a piece of rebar by inviting S to his room for some real drinks, S. Suddenly remembered that she told her roommate she would be back in an hour. Chris's face was suddenly indifferent. Not angry or sad, but more cold and expecting. Most men would have tried to turn on the charm in hopes of salvaging the night with a potential conquest, but Chris had already caught the eye of a blonde that had just walked into the bar. S. Said goodnight. Chris gave her a little wave, but said nothing. When S finally arrived back to her room, S. Apologized for being late. She told Dr. H that she had been talking with a man. Dr. H smiled at the news and said, so what was he like? S. Replied, he was interesting, but not in a good way. Early that morning, Dr. H was woken up by a pounding sound on their door. She heard the RA shouting on the other side of the door, wake up. The campus is on lockdown. Dr. H had to shake S awake. They went outside to the hallway and saw the other occupants on the floor standing in nightgowns and pajamas, crying, whispering, or just looking dazed and confused. The RAs looked panicked and they spoke to each other in whispers. Dr. H learned through the various conversations that multiple girls had been brutally attacked on campus during just minutes ago. Police believed that the killer could still be on campus. No one in that dorm at that moment knew the extent of what had just taken place. Later that morning, each girl in the dorm was asked if they had seen anyone strange that night. For a moment, S thought of Chris, but she told herself more than likely that Chris was with a woman right now. S. Told the officer no and thought nothing more about it. When a news report finally broke a month later showing that the campus killer had been apprehended, there was a collective sigh of relief and a few loud cheers from the young women gathered around the television. Dr. H smiled, but when she turned to look at S. Her roommate was staring at the television. Her eyes were wide and her face looked pallid. S. Said, I think I'm going to throw up. It was not until two years later, when Dr. H. Who had just finished her master's degree, and S. Who was now a law student, were having brunch, that the subject of that horrifying night was brought up again. Dr. H said that S. Suddenly looked like she was not feeling too good. Dr. H asked S. What was wrong. There was a pause as S. Took a sip of her orange juice. Dr. H could see that S's hand was shaking. S. Finally spoke that night at the bar. If Chris had asked me to go to his room 30 minutes into our conversation, I would have gladly gone. S. Began to tear up. She then added, I wonder if I would be here right now. The man S had drinks with that night was Ted Bundy. Three years ago I met who is now my best friend, K. Through working in a restaurant, we immediately found that we had similar interests. Oh, you're a girl that likes gay gaming. Word. Let's hang out. We were about 21 and 22 at the time. Fast forward to our first day hanging outside of work. We go to a brewery downtown because we shared the similar craving for this thing on the menu called crack fries. They are seasoned to absolute perfection and tossed in truffle oil. Would recommend 10 out of 10. We had some some beers, talked about school and eventually decided to check out what events were going on in the Park Circle downtown. While we sobered up. The Park Circle had different events going on throughout the week. Swing dancing on Tuesdays, jazz on Wednesdays. It was Wednesday and I wanted to check if the jazz event was in season. Oh shoot. I glanced out to the Circle to what appeared to be a church event event. It's not for another month. The church event was playing this chill and ambient instrumental music. The weather finally crept its way up to 70 degrees and sunny. We decided to stay, pitch up a hammock and enjoy the artsy musical culture that our city holds in the Park Circle. K had never hammocked before or seen the events in the Circle, so I was pretty stoked to share what would be a new experience for for her we are facing each other, sharing stories from our pasts, tugging at the ropes to rock the hammock back and forth. It's a great first friend date. We are laughing, just two peas in a pod, looking up at the finally blue sky of springtime, watching the sunlight filter through the treetops over our head until the greasy cracked out face of a man hovers into our vision. Looks like fun. Mind if I join you? He uninvitedly plops his backpack against the tree holding our hammock strap. We exchange an unsettled glance and immediately sat upright to face the man. It's broad daylight and homeless people sometimes meandered towards the circle and sat under the shaded trees to just hang out. Some asked for money but most kept to themselves. Nothing out of the ordinary. I was kind of creeped out by the guy but didn't think much of it because I am used to interactions with homeless people. My mother was homeless, so I guess you could say I have a soft spot for having a conversation about their life, not giving them money, maybe offering a cigarette and leaving it at that. K hasn't had that experience so she keeps glancing back at me for some time. Support of what the hell do we do? The guy decides that he's welcome, cracks open a 40 in a crinkled paper bag and takes a few swigs. He extends his can to offer us some. We decline and ask him what he's doing. Just seeing what's going on down there. Noticed a large group down there. He points a dirty stub of a fingernail out to the circle. Xiaoyu sat up and thought this swingy thing looked cool. I already considered saying oh, we were just leaving but he watched us set up. Getting up and packing up now after being there only 10 to 20 minutes would only indicate fear. K raises an eyebrow at me. I'm fairly new to the whole hammocking thing, so I'm trying to quickly devise how to casually grab my hammock. What excuse sounds most believable to make an exit and nope, right out of there? He gives the typical creeper interview questions. Where are you guys from? What are you doing? We give him short replies, hoping maybe he'll take a hint and go bother someone else. He only gets closer. What's this? He starts rocking our hammock. K's eyes cut into mine with panic. A hammock? Where do you buy them? Thinking about getting one of my own. Maybe this guy genuinely wants to buy a hammock and is socially inept, not realizing rocking two girls in A hammock is creepy as hell. I look down to the circle. Everyone's just doing their church thing. I look towards the walking paths that spiral out from the circle. I give passersbys a walk wide eyed look of please help us. They exchanged the same look of well that's creepy. Sucks to be you guys and continue walking. I look to the other side of the road and see a strange construction van pull up, the plate obscured. There was no business information on the side, but then again my uncle drives a similar van for work. I expect to see a construction construction worker come out, but it's a man dressed in business casual talking on a cell phone. The homeless man nods his head at the businessman who starts slowly and casually making his way towards us while maintaining his conversation. The businessman is speaking in a different language. I assume it's Hindi because I had a friend, Andrea who grew up half Indian with her native speaking grandma and her father. By her family's interactions I could usually tell when something serious was going down. Sometimes I'd pick up small words in their conversations and try to understand what they meant. I was studying French in college at the time and learned that once you study a language it can become pretty universal. You don't understand just that language. You pick up on similar sounding vowels and words which hold a pretty similar meaning. From that you can kind of decipher a translation from the businessman's body language and words. How he kept looking towards us with purgatory eyes. I felt completely hollowed out and then the feeling of a lead weight sank in my chest when I hear him say do ladak in a Hindi to French to English conversion that my brain puzzled together. Do is similar to Duke's is similar to too ladak. The rest of the word cut, cut out was pronounced in a way that reminded me of what Andrea's grandma called us when we were in middle school before she translated to her broken English and said girls. The businessman discreetly motioned towards us. I take out my cell phone and bring up an old text, pretending I just got it. Hey K. Looks like Chris and Jordan are here. They're looking for us right now. I throw my body off the hammock, unclip it from the loop and swiftly pull the hammock straps from the tree. K never took a hammock down before but learned very quickly. We threw the jumbled heap of hammock and its straps in my backpack and the homeless man calls after where are you going? We swiveled into a crowd of people and when I turn I see the homeless man and businessman speaking, motioning angrily back toward us. We scramble through the crowds of people and down a few side streets until we're out of sight. Later, we tell my aunt and uncle when we get back to my house, by the way, this is my friend K. And here's what happened. My aunt's eyes are cold and she tells us that sex trafficking and abductions of young women had been on the rise in our city, pulling women into vans from the side of the road or using markers of objects or people to indicate targets. We were a very visible target, sitting nearby a street in a highlighter yellow hammock. There's something uncanny about old houses, an eerie air that clings to their wooden bones, shrouded in time's decay. My wife and I moved into a century old Victorian mansion in a small town in Vermont. We were charmed by its antiquated beauty, the hidden history, and we thought it would be a nice, refreshing break from the urban hustle that we were used to. Little did we know we had signed up for more than just a house. It started very subtly. I would hear the distant murmur of voices late into the night, far enough to be dismissed as wind rustling through the trees, or perhaps other things that could be explained away. I would find objects misplaced in the completely wrong place that they're supposed to be in. My reading glasses, for example, I found in the attic one time when they should have been on my nightstand. I dismissed this, chalking it up to forgetfulness, although I'm not quite sure how my glasses would end up in the attic, but my wife, Natalie, laughed it off as just old age creeping up on me. Then one night, as I found myself caught in the twilight before sleep and consciousness, I heard someone whisper my name, clear, urgent, and extremely close. Too close. I sprang up in the darkness, scanning, but there was no one there. Natalie was sleeping soundly beside me, undisturbed. I was unnerved, but I just convinced myself that maybe it was a dream. But but the whispers didn't stop. They became a nightly occurrence, each time scarier than the last. Yet when I discussed it with my wife, she thought it was just stress, maybe anxiety, and suggested that maybe we should take a vacation. I agreed, thinking that a change of scenery might help me. But on returning, the whispers continued, although now they seemed to have turned into hushed conversations, always barely inaudible, just out of my comprehension. The voices weren't the only thing that changed either. The house seemed to have aged in a weird way, growing older, colder, the shadows darker I would often feel an unseen gaze making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I began to dread the night the voices and the unseen watchers. Sleep eluded me, and Natalie grew very worried. One night, as I lay awake in bed, absolutely tortured by the constant whispers, I saw it. A figure standing in my bedroom doorway, its form a wavering shadow in the moonlight. It was just watching us. Panic surged through me, but before I could do anything, it disappeared. The whispers ceased, and an oppressive silence filled the room. I jumped out of bed, waking Natalie, but there was no sign of any intruders. Natalie, alarmed at my distressed state, agreed to finally call paranormal investigators, despite her skepticism. Honestly, I didn't really believe in this kind of thing either. But I felt now it was necessary. The investigators arrived a couple days later, armed with equipment I had only seen on TV and movies. They spent the night in our house, wandering through the hallways, speaking to the thin air, their devices beeping and whirring, just like you see on tv. When we met with them in the morning, their faces were very grim. Our house, they said, was a hotbed of spiritual activity. They believed that the spirits were trying to communicate with us, perhaps trapped in our house, trapped in our world. They suggested a cleansing to help the spirits find their way out. Feeling desperate and sleep deprived, I agreed. There was nothing else I could do. A local medium was called. She was a very petite woman with long black hair, her face etched with wisdom and kindness. She moved around the house, her voice a low murmur, as she performed the ritual. When she finally came to our room to discuss what she found, her face was white. She told us that a spirit was definitely bound to our bedroom. A man who used to live in the house over a century ago. His name was John, like mine, and he thought that we were ghosts invading his home. The whispers, the watching, were his attempts to drive us away. I felt a chill run down my body. All this time, this ghost was as scared of me as I was of him. The medium promised that she would help John find his way out and find peace. She started chanting, her voice filling the cracks of the room. And then I felt it. A rush of icy cold air, the faintest touch on my arm, and a whispered thank you that echoed in my mind. Silence. That night, for the first time in months, I was able to fall asleep. And I slept like a baby. The whispers were gone. The feeling of being watched disappeared. The house felt lighter, peaceful, innocent. Since then, we have lived in peace. Every now and then, I think of John, the man who used to live in this house, the man who died here. I often wonder if in a hundred years I will be the one whispering in the night, trying to scare away the new owners. After the cleansing, there was a brief period of calm and tranquility. The house seemed different, as if a heavy fog had been lifted. The shadows were not as dark. Some of the cracks seemed to have disappeared. The whispers were gone. The misplaced objects didn't occur anymore. We could finally sleep. And we slept peacefully every night. Natalie and I were so relieved. We started enjoying the house as we had intended when we first moved in. Months passed. The leaves changed from green to red and gold, and the first frost of winter made the old mansion looked like a fairy tale castle. The house was warm, cozy, and very inviting. Our life was back to normal, or so I had hoped. One cold winter night, I was reading by the fireplace and a cold draft swept over me. The fire flickered and danced as if something had disturbed it. I looked around frantically, thinking maybe a window must have been left open or something. But they were all closed. Then I heard it. A soft whisper right against my ear. John. I froze. No. It couldn't be. We cleansed the house. But then I heard it again. More insistent this time. John. My heart pounded in my chest. I couldn't believe this. He was back. This time he sounded different. Not menacing, but pleading, as if asking for my help. I decided to contact the paranormal investigators again. And they returned. And once more, they combed through the house with their strange devices and grim expressions. The results this time were not what we expected. Yeah, there's still spiritual activity in here, one of them said. But it's not the same spirit. This one is different. Different? I asked. How? Who? My mind racing with fear and confusion. We can't be sure, he said. But it seems like it's a different spirit that's asking for help. His words sent shivers down my spine. The thought of another ghost in our house was terrifying enough. But a different one that was crying out for help? That was so unsettling. Settling, we called the medium Next. She arrived and confirmed what the investigators had said. The new spirit was a woman named Emily who had lived in the house many years after John. She had died tragically young and was unable to move on due to her intense grief and unfinished business. Emily's story was heartbreaking. She had lost her child abruptly and her husband shortly after. She had lived the rest of her days in my house, alone and heartbroken. Her spirit was trapped, reliving her sorrow over and over again. I believe she thinks you can help her, the medium said. But how? I asked. I don't know anything about this woman or her life. How am I supposed to help her? She seems to think you can find her child, the medium replied. She believes her child is still here in this house. Natalie and I exchanged a glance. This was far more than we had bargained for when we bought the house. But now we felt responsible. Somehow we had to help this woman as we had helped John. And so our search began. We looked through old records, newspapers, and anything that could give us a clue about Emily's life and her lost child. It was a very long process, but we did finally find something. An old newspaper. We found a small article about a baby found abandoned at a local church. The baby had been adopted by a family from another town. The dates matched up and the church was not far from our house. It was a long shot, but it was the only lead that we had. So we decided to go with the investigators help. We managed to track down the child, now a grown man named David, living in a neighboring state. He was surprised and skeptical when we told him about Emily, but he agreed to come to the house. The moment David stepped inside, the atmosphere in the house completely changed. It was as if the house had recognized him. The air grew heavy, and for a moment I thought I saw someone standing at the top of the staircase. David spent the night in the house, and when he left the next morning, everything was quiet. The whispers were gone. The coldness had disappeared. Emily seemed to be at peace. It has been years since then, and our house has remained calm. Natalie and I have grown fond of our haunted mansion and its spectral inhabitants. We have come to understand that every whisper, every sign is a plea for help, a cry for closure. We understand how most people get scared at first, but these spirits just want our help. After the departure of David, the house once again settled into a comfortable silence. Peaceful. We thought we might have seen the last of our spectral tenants. But as it turned out, the house was not done revealing its secrets quite yet. One day, Natalie and I were exploring the attic, which was sprawling. We stumbled upon an old dusty chest hidden behind some worn out furniture. The chest was locked and the wood was brittle with age. We were filled with excitement to find out what was in this thing. With minimal effort, I was able to pry it open. Inside, we found an array of objects that seemed to span decades, perhaps even centuries. There were. There were old photographs, letters, trinkets, even an old wedding dress, all somehow carefully preserved. Each item was a glimpse into the past, the history, the Lives of those who have lived in this house before us. As we sifted through these items, we found an old, faded diary, or so it seemed. The pages were crumbling, the ink was faded, but some of the words were still legible. It seemed to be the diary of a young lady named Lillian, who had lived in the house in the late 19th century. Through her words, we learned about her life, her hopes and dreams, and her sorrows. But as the entries progressed, A sense of unease began to creep in. Lillian spoke of strange occurrences in the house, Whispers in the night, Objects moving on their own, and a sense of being watched. Her experiences were the same as ours. We couldn't believe it. The last entry in the diary was disturbing. Lillian wrote about feeling trapped, About a darkness that was clear closing in on the house. And then the entry ended abruptly, Leaving us with a very chilling sense of dread. Haunted by her words, we decided to contact the paranormal investigators for the last time. They arrived once more, setting up their equipment and scanning the house through the night. This time, however, their findings were inconclusive. There was some activity, they said, but it was faint, sporadic, like echoes fading into the ether. Determined to find out what happened to Lillian, we decided to delve deeper. We reached out to a local historian who helped us uncover more about Lillian's life. She was the daughter of a wealthy merchant who had lived in the house with her family. However, records of her life after her last diary entry were scarce. It was as if she had simply vanished into thin air. We shared our findings with the paranormal investigators, who suggested that Lillian's spirit might be trapped in the house, just like John's and Emily's. The thought of another lost soul wandering the halls of our home was terrifying. We wondered if this would ever stop. How many spirits were trapped in this house? With the help of the medium, we tried to communicate with Lillian. The sessions were intense and emotionally draining. We could feel her presence, her anguish and her fear. The confusion echoing through the centuries. We assured her that she was not alone and that we would help her if we could. One night, during a particularly intense session, I felt chills in the way that I had not before. I turned around to see a figure standing in the doorway. It was a woman, her form ethereal and translucent, her expression one of surprise, cries and relief. It was Lillian. She had tears in her eyes. She looked at us and mouthed a silent thank you so much before she slowly faded away, Leaving behind an overwhelming sense of peace and closure. Since then, our house is quiet again. The whispering have stopped. The shadows have lightened and the feeling of being watched is gone. We know that John, Emily, and Lillian have found their peace and in turn, have given us ours. As I sit here writing this in the very room where we made contact with the spirits, I can't help but feel a sense of awe and gratitude. Our house, with all its spectral inhabitants, has taught us about love, loss, and the enduring power of the human spirit. You know that one friend who somehow knows everything about money? Yeah. Now imagine they live in your phone. Say hey to Experian, your big financial friend. It's the app that helps you check your FICO score, find ways to save, and basically feel like a financial genius. And guess what? It's totally free. So go on, download the Experian app. Trust me, having a BFF like this is a total game changer.