Loading summary
Transcript9 lines
- [00:00]
A
Welcome to Scary Stories and Rain. A couple things before we begin. I have two new podcasts that I would love for you to check out. It's the same type of stories, but one with a crackling campfire background and one with more of a dark, eerie background. Scary stories in fire and scary stories in the dark. The links to each of them are in the description to this episode. Please check them out and give them a follow. It would really mean a lot. And if you're not following this podcast yet, please do that as well so you get reminded when a new episode comes out every single night. Also, if you haven't subscribed yet, you can get rid of all of the ads for $2.99 a month and be automatically entered to win every single giveaway that I do every month. Just $2.99. No more ads. All the giveaways. I want to say thank you for being here and I really hope you enjoy this episode.
- [00:53]
B
Tito's Handmade Vodka is America's favorite vodka for a reason. From the first legal distillery in Texas, Tito's is six times distilled till it's just right and naturally gluten free, making it a high quality spirit that mixes with just about anything from the smoothest martinis to the best Bloody Marys. Tito's is known for giving back, teaming up with non profits to serve its communities and do good for dogs. Make your next cocktail with Tito's distilled and bottled by 5th Generation Inc. Austin, Texas 40% alcohol by volume. Savor responsibly.
- [01:29]
A
I'm kinda weird about social media these days. I used to be really into Facebook when I first moved to college. It kept me in touch with my friends and family back home and it was nice feeling like I wasn't so far away from them. Building up a collection of photos, checking into places, sharing every little detail of my life so that everyone could see how great I was doing. My entire world was online for all to see and because I'm dumb, I was pretty liberal about my privacy setting too. So one day I get this message request from someone I have never heard of before. It just said hey. I checked their profile to see if they were in the same class as me or something. But it turned out we had no mutuals and they lived on the other side of the country. So as you can imagine, I am pretty confused as to why they are messaging me. But I'm also curious so I just reply hey, do we know each other? I don't know what I was expecting him to say when I saw that he was typing a reply and I remember thinking that maybe he was looking for someone with the same name as me or something. But then his response pops up and all it sounds said was I'm going to kill you with the cowboy emoji on the end. I stare at the message for a few seconds, not scared at all. Just like what the heck. I then take another look at the guy's profile, seeing a bunch more pictures of him wielding knives in the woods somewhere. I mean, that was at least a little intimidating. But what really got me were all these rants that he had posted about how much his life sucked, how unfair things were, and how he would love to take it out on someone who deserved it. And then the videos that were unplayable because they had been removed by Facebook admins but still had captions like that chainsaw goes through his neck like butter. Crying, laughing face. That's when I started to worry. It didn't seem like this guy was just having fun playing a prank on a stranger by trying to scare them. He seemed legit crazy and seriously angry. That nutcase could have been studying every one of my statuses, picture posts and check ins for weeks before he decided to message me. He could have screenshotted all my stuff too, so it didn't matter if I had blocked him or not. He had my name, my school where I hung out, the names of my friends and family, everything. I thought maybe I was just making a big deal out of nothing at the time, but later on I could barely sleep thinking about it. How horrifying a thought it was that he could have been driving across the country as I lay there in bed, having just picked a person at random to kill and being crazy or angry enough to actually do it. You can call me paranoid all you like, but I just couldn't get this guy out of my head. Like the idea of him hunting me down or whatever was unnerving enough. I mean, he had enough info on me to be able to ambush me at a dozen different places that I just couldn't avoid because they were school or grocery shopping or just my dorm room. But what had me freaked out is that the creep might have been able to learn so much about me and I was dumb or vain enough to let it happen in the first place. I knew the Internet was full of crazies, I just didn't expect it to reach out and touch me in the way that it did. If I didn't make it clear already, I did actually block the guy, but Some weird grim curiosity had me unblocking his account one day so I could sort of check up on him and make sure he wasn't about to do anything too nuts. There were no rants, no threatening statuses, just a long series of photo posts that made me think he had taken up photography or something. I am scrolling through them when I start to get this familiar feeling from looking at that scenery. I couldn't be 100% sure, but I'd swear a lot of the pictures he had taken were of things that were around the town I was living in. There were no street signs or anything, nothing to actually confirm he had actually driven across the country. But if he wasn't taking pictures in a town that looked remarkably similar to mine, then I could have been in a lot of trouble. I expected that guy to jump me for weeks after, like I was a complete nervous wreck. It messed with my sleep, I lost a bunch of weight, being in an almost constant state of anxiety for the better part of a month. He didn't find me. Nothing happened as a result, thankfully, but just knowing that he could pretty much come and get me anytime he liked got to me in ways I never even imagined it ever could. We put ourselves on Front street in a big way with social media and there could be literally anybody out there just lurking on our profiles. So like I said, now I am kinda weird and cautious about social media. I don't put too much out there. I don't use my real name, I run the strictest privacy settings possible and I really recommend that you do too. When I was a kid growing up in North Carolina, I was a member of the Boy Scouts of America. I know it might seem corny, but my time in the Boy Scouts honestly made for some of the fondest memories of my childhood. And as much as my friends these days like to make jokes about the deviant pretty proclivities of my former Scoutmasters, nothing remotely weird or unsavory ever happened with any of them. There was a lot of fishing, camping, field craft and community service. Just some good old fashioned wholesomeness that gave my parents a break from me from time to time. Well, all except for this one time. So one summer my Scout troop goes on this big big camping trip up into the Smokies. For those unfamiliar with the term, the Smokies or Great Smoky Mountains are a part of the greater Appalachian Mountains and are also home to the Great Smoky Mountains national park, one of the most highly visited national parks in the country. The name Smokies comes from the Natural fog that often hangs over the mountaintops, appearing as large smoke plumes from a distance and originate from organic compounds that are exhaled by the local vegetation. But excuse the high school science lesson. I'll get on with it. So we're up in the Smokies having a good time, when one night while sitting around the campfire after dinner, one of our scoutmasters decides to tell us a creepy campfire tale. He starts telling us the story of Atlanta, which is the Cherokee name meaning Spearfinger or one with the pointed spear. Spearfinger supposedly lived in the western part of North Carolina, right up in the Smoky Mountains where we were camped at the time, and her name referred to the long, slender, sharp finger on her right hand, which she used to slice up her child victims whose livers she ate raw. As legend has it, she apparently clutched the stony skin on her right hand tightly because her heart was actually hidden in her palm there. Our Scoutmaster goes on to tell us how, because Spearfinger's skin was made of stone, she was invulnerable to the arrows of the Cherokee, and her footsteps sounded like thunder as she walked along the mountainside. Whenever her deep voice rumbled around the hillsides, it would scare all the birds away, a warning sign to those she was hunting as she sang her favorite song, ue la na siku, or liver I eat it. Spearfinger was also said to be able to take on the appearance of her child victim's family members, often taking the form of a kindly old woman. To trick her victims into feeling safe around her. She would lull the child to sleep, running her fingers through their hair to calm them before stabbing her pointed finger through the back of the neck or through the heart. She would then tear out the livers of her victims before feasting on them, leaving her mouth covered with fresh blood. Needless to say, by the time our Scoutmaster had finished telling us the story, we are all completely and utterly terrified and only managed to stop freaking out once he had gotten out his old guitar and sang us a few songs. But that night, while back in my tent with a buddy of mine, I found myself totally unable to sleep. I kept imagining that if I did, Spearfinger would come rip my tent open and stab me in the heart with her long, sharp, stony finger, all before tearing out my liver and eating it. Then, right as I was about to drift off to sleep, a bright light lit up one side of my tent. I was completely frozen in fear for a moment, whispering for my sleeping buddy to wake up, but I was totally unable to rouse him. I carried on staring at the side of the tent, wondering where the bright light was coming from as it seemed way too intense to be from someone's torch. Then I just about let out a whimper of fear when I heard a hissing sound and saw a shadow passing over the fabric of my tent. I called out to them, asking who was there, but no one said a thing in response. There was just another faint hissing sound as the figure seemed to creep closer and closer to my tent. Then I saw the figure raise a hand and I almost choked in terror when I saw a single long pointed finger and a hissing voice whisper. Ue la nasiku. I screamed, ripping my way through the front flap of my tent and tearing around the campsite screaming, it's Spear Finger. It's Spear Finger. She's come to eat my liver. Please don't let her eat my liver. I expected the rest of the camp to start screaming too, to burst out of their tents in terror, or to maybe just stay inside them in the hopes that Spearfinger might pass them over. And don't get me wrong, there were a couple of other cries of fear that accompanied my own, but the sound that made me slow to a stop and peer around in confusion was the sound of laughter. When I looked, I saw another one of the Scouts, this kid named Devin, and he was just about doubled over in hysterics with a long slender twig tied to one finger. I must have been boiling with rage at the time, but Devin just thought that it was extra funny, waving the long wooden twig at me and making the same hissing sound again before bursting into laughter. I swear that was probably the most scared and embarrassed I ever was during my entire childhood, and all because that little punk Devin decided to pull a prank on me. Ever since then, I have never been able to hear the words Smoky Mountains without remembering that Boy Scout camping trip, even if it does make me kinda smile these days. But what doesn't make me smile is seeing liver in the deli section of a grocery store. Because all I think about sometimes is the idea of Spear Finger hushing a child to sleep, stroking their hair, singing them a little lullaby with the voice of their grandma or favorite aunt, all before ripping out their liver and feasting on it with her stony skinned lips drenched with dark fresh blood. Upgrade your laundry routine with a durable and reliable Maytag laundry pair at Lowes like the new Maytag washer and dryer with performance enhanced stain fighting power designed to cut through serious dirt and grime. And what's great is this laundry pair is in stock and ready for delivery when you need it the most. Don't miss out. Shop Maytag in store or online today at Lowe's.
- [14:53]
B
At New Balance. We believe if you run, you're a.
- [14:56]
A
Runner.
- [15:01]
B
However you choose to do it. Because when you're not worried about doing things the right way, you're free to discover your way. And that's what running is all about. Run your way@newbalance.com Running.
- [15:27]
A
Geraldine Largay kept a detailed record of her journey along the Appalachian Trail during the summer of 2013 in a small black notebook. Due to her pace, she had adopted the trail name Inchworm. But for a slow walker, she had still managed to cover an immense distance, hiking almost 1,000 miles from Harpers Ferry in West Virginia with a close friend of hers named Jane Lee George Largay, Geraldine's husband of 42 years, was driving ahead of them, arranging care packages and supply pickups for them, occasionally ferrying them to motels for the relief of a hot shower or a night in a soft bed. But on June 30, as Jane and Geraldine reached New Hampshire, Jane was forced into an early end for her adventure due to a family emergency. But Geraldine insisted on continuing the hike. The trail was almost at an end, and she would not give up so easily. Jane would later say that Geraldine had a poor sense of direction, had taken a wrong turn on the trail more than once, and would become flustered whenever she made such mistakes. Then, while she was all alone, Geraldine ended up taking another wrong turn up in Maine, wandering into terrain so wild that it is used by the state's National Guard for military training. She kept writing after she lost her way, even as her food supply dwindled along with her hopes of being found. She ended up waiting nearly a month in the Maine woods for help that would never come. Geraldine had left the trail in one of its most rugged sections, with thick underbrush and fir trees packed so tightly that the landscape became a maze of greenery. You step off the trail, trail a little, then turn around, and it's very difficult to see where the path is, reported a volunteer who spends time doing trail maintenance in the area. If you didn't know which way the trail was, you could easily walk in circles for hours. Knowing she was hopelessly lost, Geraldine sought high ground in the hopes of getting a signal on her cell phone. Lost since yesterday, she texted her husband off trail three or four miles. Call police for what to do, please. She tried over and over to send messages, but none went through. In some trouble, another text To George, Read got off trail to go to the bathroom. Now lost, she asked him to call the Appalachian Mountain Club to see if a trail maintainer could help her. But again, the message was never received. Around July 23, she set up her tent atop sticks and pine needles under a canopy of hemlock trees so thick that they obscured her from rescuers searching from the air. She tied a shiny silver blanket between two trees, possibly to attract attention, but the foliage was simply too dense for the blankets to be seen from the air. Geraldine was scheduled to meet her husband on July 23rd in Wyman Township, but she never showed. The following day, George reported her missing. Multiple agencies and volunteers would take part in a search for her, using horses and helicopters to traverse the tough terrain. Agonizingly, it would turn out that Geraldine was less than a mile from the trail itself, close enough that, in all likelihood, searchers had probably passed by her campsite without actually realizing it. Infuriatingly, the rescuers were bombarded with a number of false tips regarding the missing woman's whereabouts. Some purported that she had been murdered and strung up in the trees, saying they had seen her with sketchy looking men who might have intended to harm her, while others suggesting that she had fallen in a river and drowned. A number of psychics called to report visions of her, including one who incorrectly insisted that she had broken her ankle. Others injected a kind of social justice warrior agenda into the situation, contending that Geraldine had been spotted at a women's shelter in Tennessee. This actually diverted valuable resources away from the search with accusations that her husband was a batterer, when in reality, he had never laid a finger on her for the entirety of their marriage. Her last entry reflected a strikingly graceful acceptance of what was coming. When you find my body, please call my husband George, and my daughter Carrie, she wrote. It will be the greatest kindness for them to know that I am dead and where you found me. No matter how many years from now, it would be two years before a logging company surveyor stumbled upon her campsite and remains, solving a mystery that had been tormenting her family and defied teams of experienced searchers. Mrs. Largay, a retired nurse from Tennessee, had survived nearly a month on her own, longer than many old backwoods hands thought possible before dying of exposure and starvation. Her dead body was found on October 14, 2015, still inside her sleeping bag in a campsite she kept tidy until the day she passed away. Around her lay her final few belongings, including a blue and white bandana, a rosary, birthday candles, lighters, dental floss, a sewing kit and two water bottles, one still containing water. Two weeks after she was found, Geraldine's family visited the area in which she tragically lost her life. They left a white wooden cross decorated with messages etched in black marker. One, written in a child's handwriting, said, I wish you were here. It is quite simply terror inducing that even in a country as populous and settled as the United States, a person can still go missing on a simple mountain trail and vanish almost without a trace, only to be found months later having starved to death. In a country where there is such abundance of sustenance and civilization, humankind has tamed more and more of America since the nation's founding, but it seems that some particular areas of the country will always be wild.
- [22:27]
B
When did making plans get this complicated? It's time to streamline with WhatsApp, the secure messaging app that brings the whole group together. Use polls to settle dinner plans, send event invites and pin messages so no one forgets mom's 60th and never miss a meme or milestone. All protected with end to end encryption. It's time for WhatsApp message privately with everyone. Learn more at WhatsApp.com Limu Gamu and.
- [22:55]
A
Doug Limu and I always tell you to customize your car insurance and save hundreds with Liberty Mutual, but now we want you to feel it. Cue the emu music. Limu Save yourself money today. Increase your wealth. Customize and save. We save. That may have been too much feeling. Only pay for what you need@libertymutual.com Liberty Liberty Liberty Liberty Savings Fairy underwritten by Liberty Mutual Insurance Company and affiliates excludes Massachusetts. Your sausage McMuffin with egg didn't change your receipt did. The sausage McMuffin with egg extra Value meal includes a hash brown and a small coffee for just $5 or only at McDonald's for a limited time. Prices and participation may vary. My name is Honey, I am almost 30 and I use Instagram to share pictures of my art. All right, I know what you're thinking. Honey is a weird name, so please don't tell me what I already know. No, it's not a nickname. My parents are from California and they are like uber hippies. So go figure. As you can probably guess, I grew up in this really overly loving peacenik environment, which I'm sure sounds cool at first, but let's just say it left me wholly unprepared to deal with some of the darker things in life. Needless to say, I really struggled with my mental health in mid to late 20s. I don't want to totally blame my parents for that. I think they did the best they could, but they seriously didn't help with their just fill your heart with love bullcrap when what I needed was actual therapy and antidepressants. I did get access to professional help in the end, but what really helped me keep it together in the meantime was my art. Before I started to suffer with depression and stuff, I used to paint and draw some pretty basic stuff. Landscapes, portraits, floral displays, stuff like that. But when I started to really suffer, I let out all my stress, anxiety and sadness onto paper. And as weird as it sounds, that's when my art really started to flourish. It was probably the only silver lining to ever come out of my poor mental health. The more I posted my newer, darker art on Instagram, the more attention it got. My follower count shot up. I got offers of commissions. I actually managed to hook up with a T shirt merch company and make a few sales that way too. Like I drew this pizza demon thing one time and that's made me a few hundred bucks from people wanting that thing on a T shirt too too. But when I saw dark I really do mean I started drawing some really messed up stuff. The pizza demon thing was probably the lightest hearted thing I put out there in that time and even then people said it was super messed up. So as you might imagine, my new followers included some pretty messed up people too. I don't say that to be rude or mean either. I say that because one of them in particular made my life pretty difficult. So I get a DM off this guy who says he's really loved my work and wanted a piece commissioned. Of course I say yes, so he follows up by asking what my rates are. I had no idea what I was doing in terms of dollar amounts at the time, so when I quoted him like 80 bucks for a picture, he started explaining that I needed to value my art more, how my work was just as valuable as any other, and how I should be charging a whole bunch more for my art. I had no idea what to up my amount to, so I kind of threw out a few ballpark figures before the guy makes my jaw hit the floor when he offers me a straight grand for an A3 sized picture of whatever I wanted to draw paint. I couldn't believe it. A thousand dollars for a picture. Which was way more money than I had ever made in my whole life. I got to work straight away and within a week I had poured my heart and soul out onto paper, sent it off and got my money via PayPal. Having that kind of affirmation actually lifted my mood to the highest it had been in months. I felt valued, like I could contribute something to the world. I was still dealing with my demons, but when I learned I could actually profit from them, that I could make use of something that plagued me, it was a great feeling. I stayed in touch with the guy. I had never been so grateful to anyone in my life until that point, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't think I'd be able to get more money out of him if he wanted something else commissioned. We used to talk back and forth a fair bit and he shared that he too was an artist. I asked him what kind of artist he was and he told me that he worked in some very unusual mediums. Naturally this only got me all the more curious as I got super dark with my art too, but he seemed pretty timid to talk about it. I get that people can be shy about showing off their artwork. I was pretty shy too at one point, but this guy needed some serious coaxing in order to show me anything. When he finally agreed to show me anything, he told me he would only do it via one of those self destructing messages that Insta now does. I didn't question anything. Like I knew he'd send one of those self destructing pictures, maybe so he could pretend his intellectual property or something. I was a little confused as to why he didn't seem to trust me. But hey, I pretty much adored this guy. So like I said, I didn't ask too many questions. I waited patiently for him to send me a picture of some of his work. It took a minute or two, but he sends me this three second self destructing picture that I was honestly super excited to see by that point. But when I actually saw what it was, even if it was for a real brief time, I really, really wished I hadn't. It looked like a goat's head in a jar of some kind and the fluid it was floating in looked sort of greenish black and I'm pretty sure it was formaldehyde. But it wasn't just that. The guy had opted to make a few little additions to the goat's head, additions that I could not all catch because of how quick the picture flashed before my eyes, but they were horrible. It looked like he had carved the lips away so that all the creature's teeth were showing, and on each one was carved or written a little symbol. I am also pretty sure he had either chemically changed the creature's eyes or replaced them entirely with a kind of metal or semiprecious stone. They had this weird glint to them. Like I said, there wasn't enough time for me to drink the whole thing in, but there was plenty more about the creature's head that had been messed with. It wasn't the details which really got me, it was the idea that the corpse of an animal had been so horribly disrespected just so he could try to make some kind of art out of it. I had questions, a lot of questions, but the first thing I had to ask him was if it was really real or just some kind of mock up. He told me it was very, very real, that he had gotten a hold of a goat's head from a butcher, preserved it, and then basically surgically edited the whole thing over time, mostly using dental tools apparently for the sake of precision. I personally thought the whole thing was a disgrace. I'm vegan and I try to stay as ethical as possible, but at the same time I didn't want to go imposing my own worldview on the guy, especially since I liked him so much. I also didn't want to offend him. So I told him his work was interesting and jaw dropping, then asked if he worked with ink and paper or any variation on that. He told me no, that he only worked with skulls, how they were the capsule that held all the hopes and dreams and fears and needs of the once living creature they belonged to, and that working with them was kind of sacred. I didn't really know what to say to that. He was right in a way. He sounded absolutely crazy for saying it out loud, but I couldn't entirely refute his point. It was like talking to some kind of insane genius. Not long after, he asked me if I thought he was cruel to work in such a medium. I told him people might find his work provocative, maybe even objectionable, but that it was fascinating nevertheless. Then he asked if I wanted to see more. Unlike the first time, there was no doubt in me that I most definitely did not want to see any more of this guy's work. But like I said before, I also really didn't want to offend him. So what could I do? It took me much longer to reply to his message that time, but in the end I told him sure, and he replied, saying he would use another self destructing message again. I waited a minute or two for the message to come through, and when it did, I opened up the message thread and tapped the little reveal message thing with some reluctance. The first time around for that goat's head thing, I at least had some degree of curiosity, but that time I was just plain horrified by what I saw. It was a monkey's head, or at least it looked like it was some kind of primate. And if I thought the goat's head had received some disturbing additions, this latest one turned out to be a thousand times worse. It was so bad I only caught the briefest glimpse of it and had to just look away and lock my phone screen to get away from it. I was a little more confrontational with him after that, telling him that this one was considerably more disturbing than the first and that I thought I was maybe too sensitive to see any more of his work. He asks why and I broke it down to him that I had been vegan for a few years, that I was a real animal lover, and although I could stomach the goat's head thing, I really couldn't handle the monkey as it looked far too human to me. That's when he replied to me, it's interesting you should say that, and goes on to explain that it's his dream to work with the human skull, how he has put up a few ads on 4chan and stuff asking if anyone would be willing to donate their head should they die, but hadn't gotten any replies. When he told me he was getting really impatient and that he was worried he wouldn't get a chance to realize his dream. The whole exchange had reached peak creepiness by that point as you can imagine, and it was fast getting to the point when I was reaching for that block option as I just didn't feel safe talking to him anymore. So by the time he actually messaged me another self destructing message asking if I would be willing to help him get a hold of a human head, I just noped out of there and stopped replying to him. Like I am not sure he was actually asking me to like kill someone with him or for him, but just the idea of going about procuring an actual human head? No. But I couldn't bring myself to block him. Like he was a potential source of safety sales after all and I could make a lot of money from the guy if I kept him interested in my work. I try not to think about it, but I get these really bad feelings from time to time. Like what if he catches on to the fact that I just ignore him and what if he decides that it's my head that he would like to use to complete his magnum opus? I try to be very careful with what I post now making sure it's only ever pictures of my art and that the handful of landscape photos I had posted on my profile have been deleted. Just so whoever it is can't get an idea of where I live. Because if they do work out where I'm at, there's just no way I'd be able to go around feeling safe, not which someone whose ambition it is to work with severed human heads knowing where I lay mine at night back in 2003 I was a struggling college student who had grown up in a very expensive California beach town. Rent was even back then ridiculous. I have no idea how anybody can actually go to college in this town anymore. But in order to survive with both college loans and full time jobs, my girlfriend and I ended up living in quite a few interesting situations. One time we rented half of a restroom in a trailer park for example, because it was only $600 a month 20 years ago. So when this apparent gem of a situation came up on our radar, we were more than excited. It was a small trailer that had been converted to a house at the back of one of the only farms within walking distance of the downtown area as well as our school. It's hard to describe this place, but I'll try. There was a gorgeous porch that looked over a yard that contained the only functional bath on the property, a huge aloe vera plant, and beyond a grove of trees was an entire organic garden. Again within walking distance of the downtown area and school, but it was still very secluded and there was no phone in the house for example. And back then we could not get cell reception while in the house. We would have to walk about five minutes down the long driveway. But that wasn't the main reason it was so affordable. The main reason was the unfortunate fact that this property was not just very isolated but at the base of a well known forest area that was frequented by the homeless and drug addicted community of the area with no neighbors anywhere nearby. But it was affordable and gorgeous. So me and my 19 year old girlfriend moved in. Did I mention her nickname in high school was Pamela because of her resemblance to the Baywatch star Pamela Anderson? She would argue that she is actually way prettier because she has Reese Witherspoon's face. I would argue neither because this girlfriend eventually became my ex wife, but that is a different story. So we moved in. We were extremely excited to live in such a unique location that was both remote yet extremely close to everything and somehow affordable. Who cared if it was a bit funky. We were very used to living in funky Houses in this area, anything not funky would require us selling our internal organs or something. Another bad joke. But rent in this house was, and still is, extremely ridiculous. We had only spent a handful of days at this rental before two of her friends came over to visit and to go for a walk in the nearby forest area. I should add, they both also looked and dressed very similar to my girlfriend. Looking back, the four of us wandering through an area well known to be the home to a large population of the county's homeless and addicted population was probably a terrible idea. But it was a gorgeous area and we had no way of knowing what would happen later that night. After dinner, her friends left and we probably watched a movie and then headed back to the back of the house to the bedroom area. Now, I should describe that the way this house was set up was that you walk into the house via two double doors that opened into the living room. The bedroom area was just a half sized wall that separated the bed from the living room, and the kitchen and bathroom was off to the side of this main area. Sometime in the middle of the night, I awoke to the two double doors opening. In a flash of an instant, I knew there was somebody in our house. I was in extremely good physical shape, and within an instant, I knew that the only weapon I had access to was my skateboard. It was at the foot of my bed. Something I can only describe as teenage mutant ninja skills took over me and I knew that I could roll, grab the board and strike the metal trucks over whoever was coming at us. And so I jumped for my board and started screaming at the top of my lungs, who is this? Who are you? What do you want? He probably thought I had some actual weapon. I looked straight at this guy in my living room. He was a very large male dressed in all black with a black wool cap. He said, there's been a terrible accident. I needed to use your phone. He's dying outside. Then the guy ran out of the same doors he came in. My girlfriend was obviously in shock at this point. We sat there for what seemed like a very long time, but probably only a couple minutes. Then we went outside with our cell phones to begin the long walk down the dark driveway. In order to get into cell reception and call the police. I guess we didn't realize that we could have probably dialed 911 and got reception via the emergency service network, though I don't know if that was even a thing. Back in 2003, as we walked down the long driveway and the only road in the area we saw no accident. There were no signs of anyone having been there at all at the end of the driveway. Once we got cell reception, we called the police and we waited there for them to arrive. When they arrived, they took a look around the property and gave us the sad truth. There really wasn't anything they could do. He probably ran off into the woods. They apologized but said the only thing they could do would to be come back if he returned. Yeah, it's not the most comforting message. So we drove to my parents house, told them the whole story and slept in my childhood bedroom that night. The following day we returned because all our stuff was there, including the two cats. My girlfriend refused to stay the night, but I decided to stay. I ended up sitting in the living room chair with a baseball bat in my hand the entire night. It was the last night that we even attempted to stay there. I am not exactly sure how many days later I saw the following story on the COVID of our local paper, but it was within the following week or two. Apparently there was a serial predator in our town. He frequented the exact area of our rental. And this sketch was exactly how I would have described the individual that I saw in my living room that night. It started the first time I caught the bus to work. I had been having some major car trouble and it looked like my car was going to be in the shop for up to two whole weeks. That meant for 10 whole days I'd have to take the bus to and from work. It was an inconvenience, sure, but I am not so stuck up or sheltered that I was dreading taking public transport or anything. My main concern was getting caught in a rainstorm or something, but investing in a sturdy umbrella pretty much put those fears to bed. If I had only known that the trouble with taking the bus wasn't the time spent or the exposure to the crazy weather we get here in the Pacific Northwest. It was the people I'd be riding with, or more specifically, one person in particular. So another thing that sucked about having to take the bus was how much earlier I had to wake up. Okay, 30 minutes earlier isn't all that bad, but it still sucked. Seeing 6:30 instead of 7:00am I would have to be at the bus stop by 7:15 in order to be at work by 8am sharp. And given the area I was living in at the time, this usually meant I had to stop to myself. But then, either the third or fourth day I arrived at the stop, I discovered I wasn't alone. At first the guy just looked like A construction worker. As he was wearing heavy boots, jeans, and one of those big warm looking highlighter pen jackets with the reflective strips on it, I didn't pay him any mind. It was way too early to interact with anyone, so I just stood there under the shelter, just listening to my podcast. The next thing I know, I feel someone tapping on my shoulder. There was literally no one else around, so of course it was the guy in the construction jacket. So then I take out my earbud, turn to him and ask him if I can help him. To which the guy repeats Good morning in this passive aggressive way I assumed he thought I was just ignoring him, so I apologized and made it clear that I just couldn't hear him. Only right in that moment, I swear I smelled one of the single grossest smells ever. It was a mix of the guy's breath and his general odor, which I guess I hadn't picked up on at first because it was so cold outside. If I had to guess, I would say the guy probably hadn't brushed his teeth in a decade, and this was sharply evidenced by the state of his mouth. Honestly, it looked like his mouth had died and was just waiting for the rest of him to catch up. It was truly awful, and I found myself severely pitying the people who had to work with him, not to mention myself who had to share a bus with the guy. I tried sitting as far away as possible from him, but I swear he literally followed me right to the back of the bus to sit in the opposite seat. And yes, you guessed it, he tried talking to me the entire time. I know what some of you might be thinking at this point. Just take an Uber or stagger your schedule to avoid the guy. Well, I had already spent $45 on a month's orca pass, and I wasn't exactly in the best of financial situations at the time, so that was definitely guiding my poor decision making. That and the guy wasn't at the stop every morning. Not at first, anyway. So I figured I would just suck it up and keep using my orca card. But then he was there. Another morning, then another, always trying to talk to me until it was on the verge of being harassment. Then one day I get the call saying my car would be ready the following afternoon, meaning I would only have to take the bus one more time. I was elated, but naturally, my not so secret admirer was waiting for me that final morning. I had already asked the guy to leave me alone by that point, but he just wasn't taking the hint. So to Try and get back at him. I decided to give his employer a call to see if they knew what he was up to while in uniform. And when I saw in uniform he had a company pass hanging around his neck and his jacket had the company name on it too. So I looked them up, gave them a call, and told them one of their employees wouldn't leave me alone. I know that these days that probably seems like a super Karen thing to do, but to me it was preferable to getting the cops involved. And all I wanted to do was just scare the guy. Not like actually get him fired or anything. But none of that mattered anyway, because when I called the company and described the guy the secretary hit me with, oh, we fired him months ago. He didn't return his uniform, so we took it out of his paycheck. That's when it hit me that after that first chance meeting, the first week I was riding the bus, he had only been there to harass me. He sure wasn't catching the bus to work. At least not to work for the company whose pass he had. So the idea that I was totally oblivious to the fact I was being stalked legitimately one of the worst feelings of my life. The only thing is, as bad as things seemed right then, they were about to get so much worse. So I was back to using my car. About two weeks had gone by and I was halfway to forgetting about this guy and the whole thing. Then this one evening, I finish up late at work and get home at like 6:45. It's dark, it's cold, I'm starving and all I want to do is just curl up on the couch and go to sleep. My apartment at the time had two locks, each requiring a different type of key. You unlocked the first one so you could use the second to actually open the door. But when I go to unlock the first lock, it seems like my key is jammed. It wasn't. It's just that the lock hadn't been locked at all. It wasn't out of the question that I had just forgotten to lock it that morning, but it was like a built in part of my routine. It seemed really odd that I had just neglected to do it. Anyway. I shrug it off too, focused on my planned pre dinner of coffee and molten hot pop tarts, then walk into my apartment. That's when I smell was that same rotten mouth smell that had clung to this bus guy like a dark cloud. It's weird how your brain just files those kinds of smells away and the moment you smell them again, certain Memories just come flooding back. Well, it was exactly like that. As I stood in the dark hallway of my apartment, hand on my heart, I think that's the most terrified I have ever been in my life. Knowing that he was close, without being able to see him, I just bolted back out of my apartment, back down into the parking lot of my building, jumped into my car and called the cops. The whole time I am locking up the second floor windows of my apartment, just waiting to see him moving around my apartment or something, but there was nothing. It got to the point where I thought I might be going crazy, that maybe it was backed up sewage or something. And I just had the dumbest panic attack in the history of panic attacks. But still the cops show up and I let them into the building and then direct them up to where my apartment was, telling them that the door should still be open. By that point, I figured they would go in, find a dead rat in my toilet bowl or whatever it was, and then just leave. What happened next will stay with me for the rest of my life. So if you remember, I'm watching my own apartment windows from my car while the cops are on their way to search my place. I think that the next thing I'm going to see is the cops walking around my apartment, probably complaining about this crazy person downstairs who is scared, scared of bad smells. Only the next person I see is him, the man from the bus. He's not wearing his jacket or anything, but his greasy gray hair gave him away from a mile off. He literally ducks behind my apartment curtains, probably after the cops had announced themselves. And he tries to stand as thin and still as possible. I couldn't believe he had done something so dumb. They were pretty thin curtains too, so it wasn't like he was fooling anyone. But the moment one of the cops appeared in my window, I watched the guy pull something out of his jacket. I don't know if it was a knife or something else, but the cop was basically wise to the whole thing and tasered him before he could make a move. But the whole time I am watching the whole thing unfold, feeling completely and utterly helpless, all while screaming, look out. He's got something. With no one around to hear me, I stayed in my car for everything that followed. And I actually watched the cops leading the guy out of my apartment building in handcuffs. It was like an actual nightmare knowing that he had been waiting in my apartment for me all after. I thought I was totally rid of the guy. The only good news was that he had violated probation and was headed back to prison to finish the latter half of an eight year sentence for the exact same crime only committed years before. It was a relief knowing there was no chance of running into him for another four years, but it was still haunting to know how close I had come to whatever it was he was planning for me. In a way, I should be weirdly thankful that he didn't take care of himself, because if I hadn't been able to smell him as soon as I walked in, I might not be telling this story right now. In late 2008, I came one night to find my mom sitting in the kitchen all alone in floods of tears. When I asked her what was wrong, her answer made my jaw drop. My dad had left her. There was absolutely no indication that anything was wrong with their marriage or that he was remotely unhappy. But that afternoon while I was out, he had apparently packed a few things into his suitcase, told her he was leaving, and just disappeared. I only mention this because it explains why my mom and little sister just didn't want to be in the house over Christmas and New Year's. That kind of family oriented time of year would have just been way too hard on them, so they basically buggered off to Mexico for a month to just decompress or whatever. The point being I was all alone for Christmas and New Year. Christmas Day sucked and I realized they were right about not wanting to be alone in the house at that time of year. So for New Year's Eve I decided to throw a little get together for me and a load of my friends, hoping that a little party might take away some of the sadness I felt as a result of my dad leaving. So on the night itself it ends up being about 20, 30 of us getting together in my parents place, getting drunk, listening to music, playing Xbox. Just a big hangout among some of the people I was closest to. It was a really good night to start off with and it really did help take my mind off things for a little while. We did the whole New Year's countdown thing, set off fireworks, generally having a brilliant little night together. But the drunker we all got, the messier things became until it was just a medley of people throwing up or arguing among themselves. Two of the people who ended up fighting were my friend Chris and his girlfriend at the time, a girl named Katie. From what I could gather, Katie thought Chris had been flirting with a mutual friend of ours and had taken issue with it. Chris was insisting that they were just being friendly and it was nothing to worry about. But Katie Was adamant that something was going on, that he was cheating on her, blah blah, blah. You know how it is. Teenage drama. Now I know Chris really did love her her. So it wasn't like a stand up argument. It was more like him begging for her to see reason and to not get too mad and dump him over some perceived bit of flirting. He swore he would never do anything like that, that she was the only girl for him, how much he loved her, all this romantic theatrical stuff that you might expect from two young lovers. It wasn't really any of my business though, so me and the other party guests just sort of left them to it while we got on with trying to have fun. Then a little while later I find Chris sitting in the back garden swigging off a bottle of raw vodka on his own. I go up to him and ask if he's okay, only to find that he's crying completely drunk, saying that Katie dumped him and left. I tried to be a good friend and console him as best I could, saying that she was probably just drunk and over emotional and saying there was a good chance they'd get back together over the next couple of days when she realized this was a mistake. But he was insistent that she was gone for good and that they wouldn't be getting back together. All I could do was get him on his feet and hug it out with him. The poor guy really was in one bad state. I managed to convince him to hand over the vodka, drink some water and then get some sleep in my bed so he can maybe sober up a little bit before heading home. He agrees and I tuck him in and then leave him to get some rest. About an hour or so later, the party is winding down and the remainder of us are just chilling in the TV room when someone goes off to use the toilet. They return like seconds later saying someone's in the bathroom growing up and then asking if they can go pee in the back garden. Of course I tell them no, I didn't want them peeing all over my mom's flower beds and that I will run upstairs to see if I can get whoever it is out of the bathroom. So I get to the bathroom upstairs and I can hear someone gagging and retching on the other side of the locked door. My friend Julia joins me, a little concerned and starts trying to help me talk to the person who's locked themselves in the bathroom. It's sometime then that I noticed that two doors are open. The first being my bedroom, the second being a little cupboard on the first Floor landing. I check my bedroom and see that the bed is empty. So it's obviously Chris that's in the bathroom puking his guts out because of all the vodka he drank. I shut the door to the bedroom, then go to close the door to the other room, which happens to be a little cupboard that my mom kept cleaning supplies in. My first thought was that Chris had opened up that door, thinking it was the bathroom in his drunken haze, then ran to the right bathroom in his desperation to puke. But I noticed something that at first I didn't really understand. The significance of. The cleaning supplies that my mom usually kept all neat in a little plastic box were spilled all over the floor. Not like open fluid spilling out, they were just all out of the box, like someone had been rooting through them. As I'm wondering why someone would do something like that, Julia calls out that the person who had locked themselves in the bathroom, presumably Chris, had gone quiet all of a sudden and that they weren't responding. That's when I put two and two together. Violent vomiting, cleaning supplies missing, deep drunken depression. Chris was trying to end it all. I flew to the bathroom door and started to kick the doors off the hinges. Julia screams in shock at what I'm doing and the people from the living room start piling out towards the bottom of the stairs in utter confusion. I had been really protective of the house all night, not wanting people to smoke inside, not wanting people peeing anywhere they shouldn't, trying to stop spillages and all that. Then there I was, booting down my own bathroom door. It was way too heavy to actually kick off the hinges, but I did manage to kick a hole in the wood paneling. And that's when I got a look inside. Chris was laying there, a bottle of bleach next to him, and there was a pink fluid all over the floor and his clothes. Clothes. It was pink because he had drank the bleach and it had corroded or burned the inside of him so much that he had vomited up blood. We were distraught, terrified, almost sure he was gone, but we were extremely quick to call an ambulance. Chris had his stomach pumped and he survived, but it took a long time for him to be back to normal because he puked. The fumes had damaged his lungs or something. So he had trouble eating, drinking and breathing for at least a month after that. 12 years, and I have never forgotten that. And I am sure neither has he. Because as far as I know, Chris never drank vodka again. Because if the smell of it makes me think of that night. Who knows what horrible memories it brings back for him?