Scary Stories For A Rainy Night - Ep. 346 - The Man In The Yard

Summary

Scary Stories and Rain
Episode 346: Scary Stories For A Rainy Night – The Man In The Yard
Host: Being Scared
Date: March 24, 2026

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Episode Overview

This episode of "Scary Stories and Rain" features a series of unsettling, true accounts narrated in the host’s signature calm but haunting style, with the soothing backdrop of rain to enhance the eerie atmosphere. From historical maritime horror and underwater mishaps to a terrifying encounter in the Highlands, each story delivers a unique form of real-life terror. The episode’s main theme is the unpredictable and sometimes fatal nature of the unknown—whether in the depths of the ocean, deserted landscapes, family mysteries, or late-night encounters.

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Key Discussion Points & Stories

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1. The USS Indianapolis Shark Attack Tragedy

00:30–14:45

• Summary: The harrowing history of the USS Indianapolis, which after delivering parts for the first atomic bomb, was sunk by a Japanese submarine. Survivors endured days at sea, exposed to elements—and to relentless shark attacks, marking it as the deadliest shark attack in recorded history.
• Notable Details:
  • The Navy failed to respond to distress signals, leading to prolonged suffering (02:30).
  • Sharks initially preyed on the dead but soon targeted the living, killing “three or four men every single day” (05:01).
  • The heat by day, freezing cold by night, psychological horror, and hallucinations set in among survivors.
  • Captain Charles McVay, ironically court-martialed, was blamed by some families despite widespread belief his actions weren’t responsible. He died by suicide in 1968 after years of torment (13:30).
• Memorable Quote:
  • "Imagine it, hearing the man next to you let out an ear splitting, blood curdling scream before disappearing beneath the waves, never to be seen again." (06:23)

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2. Underwater Walking in Bali Gone Wrong

14:46–18:40

• Summary: A scuba instructor describes a terrifying personal experience trying “underwater walking” for the first time with a group of tourists. Despite initial novelty and fun, a sudden equipment failure nearly leads to suffocation beneath the surface.
• Key Points:
  • The peculiarity of the “heavy sci-fi looking helmets,” unfamiliar equipment, and strong currents escalate anxiety.
  • Air supply repeatedly cuts off—culminating in a tense, nearly fatal pause (17:40).
  • Rational thought slips away as panic rises, but training prevails, and the narrator narrowly escapes (18:25).
• Memorable Moment:
  • “Breathing had never felt better. It was definitely the scariest experience of my life, and I categorically would not recommend underwater walking to anyone. Ever.” (18:38)

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3. The Man with the Machete: Scottish Highlands Bus Stop Terror

21:45–26:33

• Summary: Exhausted after a hiking trip in the Highlands, a group of friends faces a machete-wielding stranger near their village bus stop. As the ordeal unfolds, they must choose between confronting real physical danger or risking being stranded.
• Key Beats:
  • The grunting, drunken man is first detected by his frightening noises in the dark (21:52).
  • The group hides, but the armed stranger finds them and gives chase.
  • A tense standoff ensues: “…we stood our ground. We roared back at him, pulled out our pathetically small Swiss Army knives and dared him to try us.” (26:11).
  • Salvation arrives in the form of local police, who tackle the attacker just as the bus arrives, allowing the group’s narrow escape.
• Notable Quote:
  • “We went from terrified vermin scattering through the streets to full on warriors willing to defend their ground.” (26:21)

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4. The Family House and a Haunting Discovery

29:00–34:00

• Summary: The narrator and their aunt visit a decaying family estate that holds secrets. What starts as curiosity and nostalgia turns traumatic with the discovery of a corpse—later revealed to be the narrator’s missing mother—in a locked upstairs room.
• Key Emotional Points:
  • The first impression of the house: a faded beauty masking tragedy (29:49).
  • The overwhelming smell and “time-capsule” interior build dread before the revelation.
  • The heartbreaking suicide note speaks to unresolved family estrangements and loss (33:40).
  • The narrator finds solace in restoring the mansion as a tribute.
• Memorable Excerpt:
  • “The last sentence asked that I not blame myself for her death and that I move on with my life. The ending read simply, goodbye, Mom.” (33:48)

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5. The Disappearance of Kenny Veach and the M Cave Mystery

34:01–44:50

• Summary: A chilling recount of YouTuber Kenny Veach’s disappearance following his search for a strange, vibrating cave near Area 51. Despite deep experience and multiple attempts, his final hike ends in mystery and spiraling conspiracy theories.
• Highlights:
  • Kenny’s encounter with the “M Cave” sparks widespread internet fascination (36:10).
  • Viewers warn him not to return; one cryptic comment remains unanswered: “No, do not go back there… You will never come out.” (38:30)
  • Kenny disappears; only his phone is found near a mine shaft. No trace is ever discovered despite extensive searches.
  • His girlfriend’s post hints at possible depression and suicide, but uncertainty lingers.
• Quote:
  • “It is most likely that Kenny simply fell victim to the elements, went a bridge too far in his search for the truth, and had died of dehydration or heatstroke. But… his body would have been found…” (44:11)
  • “We might never learn the truth of Kenny Veach's fate, but… it would be extremely unwise to go looking for that M shaped cave.” (44:50)

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6. Reflexes and Fate: Babysitting Horror

44:51–49:09

• Summary: A teenage babysitter’s split-second reflexes save a baby mid-fall during a family emergency, but the psychological aftermath leaves a lasting mark.
• Details:
  • The mother’s flip-flop breaks at the top of the stairs, resulting in a tumble and the baby being dropped (45:10).
  • In a remarkable act, the narrator unintentionally saves the child, escaping with only minor injuries.
  • The incident rattles the babysitter deeply, causing them to quit babysitting altogether (48:30).
• Quote:
  • “Sometimes I'd think about catching that baby out of the air and I'd feel like I was going to have a panic attack.” (48:43)

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Notable Quotes & Moments

• “Your planet is now marked for death.” (60:52 - Host, during atmospheric outro)
• “We will protect you as a family.” (60:59 - Host, theming the strength in unity even against horrific odds)

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Timestamps for Main Segments

• USS Indianapolis Shark Attack: 00:30–14:45
• Underwater Walking in Bali: 14:46–18:40
• Scottish Highlands Machete Encounter: 21:45–26:33
• Haunted Family House: 29:00–34:00
• Kenny Veach and the M Cave: 34:01–44:50
• Babysitting Horror: 44:51–49:09

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Overall Tone & Final Thoughts

The episode maintains a calm, soothing delivery even as the host narrates truly terrifying and tragic incidents. Through the mix of history, personal experience, internet mystery, and near supernatural chance, the central thread is the unpredictable boundary between safety and disaster—a constant tension between the ordinary and the uncanny.

Listeners are left with a resonant sense of awe, fear, and sober reflection, making it an ideal listen for a rainy night.

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(For more episodes, different background sounds, and exclusive content, check the podcast description.)

Transcript

[Commercial Narrator]

Olivia loves a challenge. It's why she lifts heavy weights and likes complicated recipes. But for booking her trip to Paris, Olivia chose the easy way with Expedia. She bundled her flight with a hotel to save more. Of course she still climbed all 674 steps to the top of the Eiffel Tower. You were made to take the easy route. We were made to easily package your trip. Expedia made to travel flight inclusive packages are atoll protected.

[Podcast Host]

Hey, welcome back to the podcast. I really hope you enjoy this episode. And if you'd like to hear more stories like these with a different background sound, please check the description to check out my other two podcasts. And if you want to get rid of all of the ads, you can subscribe for just $2.99 a month. Last thing, I really appreciate you being here and I'd really love if you would follow the podcast and come back again soon. Thank you so much. I hope you enjoy. The most deadly shark attack in recorded history began on July 30, 1945. The USS Indianapolis, a Portland class heavy cruiser of the United States Navy, was taking part in a top secret mission of the utmost importance. It was tasked with carrying enriched uranium to the island of Tinian in the South Pacific, along with other parts required for the assembly of the world's first deployable atomic bomb. As history shows, the crew of the Indianapolis were successful in their mission, completing the delivery in record speeds that are unbroken even by modern naval vessels. However, as they sailed back towards Leyte for training before the invasion of Okinawa, tragedy struck. Just after midnight on July 30, the Indianapolis was spotted by a Japanese submarine. Without any escorts to defend her, the Indianapolis was a prime target and the Japanese closed in for the kill. The Indianapolis did not have sonar to detect submarines. They were completely unaware of the danger in which they found themselves. At exactly 015am, two Type 95 torpedoes smashed into the right hand side of the vessel, instantly killing dozens of American sailors and causing obscene amounts of damage to the ship's structure. It took just 12 minutes of panic and terror for the ship to sink completely, taking down over 300 of the crew along with her. The surviving crew members, lacking life jackets and lifeboats, were set adrift among the waves in almost complete darkness. Many thought the worst was over, but their nightmare had only just begun. Naturally, the sailors floating among the debris were expecting to be rescued in a matter of hours, days at most. But the horrible fact was that no one was coming to their rescue. Despite sending several emergency signals before the ship went down The Navy had somehow lost track of the Indianapolis. Nothing was made of the fact that the ship failed to arrive it late and many of the emergency messages that were received by nearby ships and naval bases were completely ignored. Declassified records later showed at one such commander in the Philippines was drunk and had told his staff not to disturb him. Another wrongly assumed the SOS calls were some kind of Japanese trap. The roughly 900 men who had actually survived the torpedo attack were now exposed to a new, perhaps even deadlier danger. It was dawn when the survivors saw the first sharks in the waters around them. The pure carnage and chaos of the sinking had attracted hundreds of the oceanic whitetip and tiger sharks from miles around. Some were apparently as large as 15ft. It must have been absolutely terrifying for the survivors, seeing huge dorsal fins emerging from the water as the predators began to surround them, circling, picking out the weakest links, those too weak to struggle. At first, the sharks focused on the dead bodies floating in the water. Many men had died from exposure, salt poisoning or thirst, and it was these corpses that provided the easiest meals for the circling sharks. But soon the lifeless bodies among the survivors had been completely devoured by the hungry predators. It wasn't long before they turned their attention toward the living. The survivors later reported that they were losing at least three or four men to the sharks every single day. At some point, they counted 20 to 30 sharks in the water, their dorsal fins breaking the waves to form an almost impenetrable barrier around the surviving sailors. The sharks would often swim towards the survivors, bumping into them to test for signs of life. The sailors never knew exactly when the attacks would would come and this took a serious toll on their sanity. Men would kick and pound the water screaming bloody murder in an attempt to deter the sharks from attacking. But this only served to attract more and more of the fishy fiends as it mimicked the thrashing of a wounded sea creature that served as a natural dinner bell for the hungry beasts. Every so often, a shark would lose patience and strike without mercy, rushing up from the briny depths to drag down a screaming survivor. Imagine it hearing the man next to you let out an ear splitting, blood curdling scream before disappearing beneath the waves, never to be seen again. Some survivors recalled that the elements were perhaps just as deadly as the circling sharks. During the scorching heat of the daytime, men would pray for darkness, their faces blistering as the harsh Pacific sun beat down upon them. While at night the water grew so cold that their teeth would chatter as hypothermia. Set in, some would kick their legs and thrash their arms in futile attempts to keep warm. But again, this only mimicked the death throes of a wounded sea creature, making them a target for the circling sharks. As the floating sailors fought to survive, many of them succumbed to the horror of their experiences and began to lose their minds. Some men even began to hallucinate, seeing islands that weren't there, or claiming that they heard rescue planes searching in the skies above. One such surviving sailor recalls the heartbreaking moment that one of his shipmates finally lost his grip on sanity. The man claimed he could see the Indianapolis floating in the water just a few feet below them and that he could access the mess hall's stores of purified water. He made repeated trips beneath the surface, inviting his comrades to join him in drinking the cool, fresh water he had found. But the man was drinking salt water. He died shortly afterwards from the effects of saline poisoning. Then, on the fourth day of their harrowing survival, a Navy seaplane happened to be passing overhead when they spotted the groups of surviving sailors floating in the waters below. One of the aircraft's crew members leaned out of the central hatch, waving down at the men. That's when the tears came, tears of pure relief and salvation. They were saved. But out of the crew of almost 1,200 sailors, just 317 survived the ordeal. But for some, the horror, pain, and tragedy of the sinking would never end. Captain Charles McVeigh, commander of the Indianapolis, was one of the last to abandon the sinking ship. In November of 1945, he was court martialed for failing to order his men to abandon ship in time, resulting in the 300 or so sailors that sank with the ship to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. Cleared of this charge, he was instead convicted of hazarding the ship, a naval term which describes the failure of a captain to procure, properly maneuver his vessel to avoid the likelihood of a direct torpedo strike. Yet aspects of the trial were controversial, as even the commander of the Japanese sub that sank the ship said that zigzagging the Indianapolis wouldn't have made a bit of difference and that he'd have always found a way to sink her. The disgraced captain was cleared of all charges, was reinstated to his position, and retired as a rear admiral four years later in 1949. Yet while many of the Indianapolis survivors agreed that Captain McVay was not to blame for their ship sinking, the sentiment was not shared by some of the grieving families of the fallen sailors. Captain McVay would often receive Christmas cards from the relatives of his dead crew members, but they did not have a remotely festive tone about them. Merry Christmas. Our family's holiday would be a lot merrier if you hadn't have murdered my son, read one card that McVay has received. As late as the 1960s, despite being cleared of blame, Captain McVay never forgave himself for his failures as a commander, even if it was during the most brutal and decisive war that mankind has ever known. Eventually, in 1968, McVay picked up a small toy sailor that reminded him of his naval service, walked out into his front lawn and shot himself with the very same weapon that the navy had issued to him upon entry into the Service. He was 70 years old. Over 23 years later, the largest war in human history had senselessly claimed yet another life. I used to be a scuba instructor in Bali, Indonesia. Groups could book me for a casual lesson or for like a week's worth of diving where they could earn a provisional diving license. So this one group books me. They're a mixed group in their early 20s, couples and friends, good people, silver spoons galore. But I'm not one to judge. Our first activity was underwater walking. Now I had never tried underwater walking since it was relatively new at the time, but I was keen to try it. So we pile into a little boat and take the short trip out towards the mothership. Now this is just a naval term for a larger boat that smaller ones like ours can work from, but we go one step further to justify this. Having spray painted one of those huge gray alien heads onto the hull. It looked awesome and naturally the kids loved it. Underwater walking itself was similar to the time I did snooba. Scuba plus snorkeling equals snuba in the Caribbean in that the oxygen tanks float up on the surface of the water instead of being on the divers backs. The other major difference to regular diving is that instead of having a scuba mask to breathe out of, we had these big old sci fi looking helmets on. I mean they looked like they were props from that old lost in space show that used to be on tv. Real kitschy. I went first and the procedure was pretty simple. I hung onto the ladder with the majority of my body in the water. They placed a small foam rubber ring on my head to cushion the helmet and then they finally put the helmet on. The second that it was on my body, I felt its weight forcing me to the bottom of the ocean. It was kind of scary because I went down pretty fast, which caused the pressure to build up quickly. Quickly I Made sure to swallow and yawn a bunch to negate the effects of the pressure, and I was fine. Also, I could never really get a deep breath of air because as I breathed in, the helmet began to make a vacuum and I would have to stop to let it fill in with more air. Then two members of the mixed group of teens followed suit before a scuba diving man came down to be our guide. He handed us all a piece of bread in a plastic bag which drew all of the fish to us. That was a lot of fun, watching otherwise timid fish practically swarming us. There were metal guiding handrails in the ocean floor, which I followed. The two kids followed behind me. It was very difficult to walk because the current was surprisingly strong and the helmets were quite heavy. We found it all incredibly enjoyable, though. I had been diving for years and even to me it was a novelty. As I breathed, there was a constant loud whirring sound as the water put pressure on the oxygen tube. It was kind of annoying, but it meant that I was getting air, which was obviously good. That's why it was so scary. When the sound suddenly stopped, I was confused, but it quickly came back on after about two or three seconds and I could breathe again. It happened one more time and again it came back on very quickly. I rationalized it by assuming that my tank had run empty and they were switching it to a different one. No big deal. I didn't understand how they would run out so quickly, but I didn't think too hard about soon came back on and I could breathe. So no big deal. After about 10 minutes or so, the guide points at me and indicates that he wants me to climb over the railing. I was very confused, but I did it after he made it very clear that that was what he wanted. It was kind of hard to see out of your peripherals, out of the masks, so it was easy to get lost. I looked back behind me to make sure that the teenagers saw where I went and didn't get lost. We made eye contact, so I assumed we were all good and then turned back around to follow the guide. He had me walking in a very small path between two corals, so I went very slowly to make sure that I didn't cut my legs on them. It was hard due to the strong underwater current, my unwieldy helmet, and an occasional tug by the air tube as I pulled it taut. As I reached the guide, my air stopped again. I figured it was no big deal like the previous two times and continued on. I followed him a bit and it still didn't come on. Five seconds without oxygen, then 10. I started to get confused. Was this some kind of a joke? If so, it wasn't funny at all. 15 seconds. I thought to myself, don't panic. They always tell you not to panic. I was panicking. I started taking quicker and quicker breaths, but I forced myself to stop that. Thanks to previous training, I knew that was the worst thing I could do. I spun around to the guide and started pounding my fist on my chest. That was the sign for I can't breathe. He seemed to notice and started walking away. I could only hope that he was taking me to the boat. I thought maybe I should just try and shrug off the helmet and swim to the surface. I didn't know if I had enough air to make it. I didn't know if the boat was above me. I didn't want to hit my head. I didn't know if I could actually shrug it off. And I didn't want to get the bends, so I figured it wouldn't be a good idea. 30 seconds. I started to notice that I was getting less and less oxygen with each breath. Water was starting to seep into my helmet. I had to look up to breathe what little air I had left. I grabbed hold of the guide's arm so that I wouldn't lose him and also so that he would understand the gravity of the situation. I gave him quite the death grip. 40 seconds without oxygen. Now my lungs burned for air. I saw the ladder of the boat. I knew that all I had to do was make it there and I would be okay. I must have gotten some sort of adrenaline rush. With renewed hope, because I almost forgot about my lack of air, I fumbled for the ladder for a few seconds. It was hard to tell distances through the helmet because it had a bit of a magnifying aspect to it. Before I grabbed it, I started pulling myself up. As I broke the surface, air came rushing into my helmet and I took a nice deep breath. Breathing had never felt better. It was definitely the scariest experience of my life, and I categorically would not recommend underwater walking to anyone. Ever. A few years back, a few friends and I went on a camping trip to the Scottish Highlands. It was tough going, the weather was unforgiving and the terrain even more so. But the trip was an overall success. No one got hurt, no one got lost. Nothing remotely unnerving or scary happened at all. At least until the last night when we arrived back in the small Scottish village. We were due to catch a bus in. We were physically and emotionally exhausted by the time we arrived back in the small highland village that served as our line of departure. Five nights in the mountains will do that to you. We had barely slept and barely eaten, so the sight of a small greasy spoon cafe almost brought tears to our eyes. We drew stares from the locals and to be honest, I don't blame them. We were a mess of bloodshot eyes and greasy hair. All of our clothes reeked of smoke from huddling around a fire at night. They were curious, but still friendly. The owner questioned us on our trip and took a great deal of pleasure in our fascination with the Highlands. It always earns you brownie points with the locals when you tell them they must be tough, hard working people to live in such a barren place. We left with full stomachs and headed to the nearest and only pub in the village. They were equally welcoming and even stayed open an hour or so later than usual, just so we would have somewhere to keep warm until our late night bus was set to arrive. We left the pub with about 20 minutes before our bus was due, having heartily thanked the bar staff for accommodating us, then made our way along almost barely lit streets towards the village's one and only bus stop. Now it's important to note that the bus stop is located just next so

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to a small bridge which provides a crossing point over the river that runs through the village. So in the low light or semi functioning street lights, we knew there was a bridge. We just couldn't see what was on it at any one time. The minutes are ticking by and we are all clock watching. We can't wait to go home to hot showers, warm beds and properly cooked food. There must have been less than 10 minutes to wait when we heard something from the other side of the river. A grunting sound, but I think we were too buzzed and exhausted to make anything of it. But the sound continues, getting louder and more vocal, until we realize there's someone on the other side of the bridge. Someone who sounded drunk. Someone who sounded angry. I can't remember who, but someone was curious enough to gather the energy to go check it out. I wasn't watching, but I could hear their heavy boots against the metal bridge, moving slowly to the top. Then there was a humdrum of noise as they came down the bridge stairs faster than they had come up them. Grab the bags. Now. He hissed, trying to keep his voice down. Come on, move. We had no idea what was going on. In fact, I thought it might just be some sort of prank, some lame attempt to inject a little excitement into the final hour of our trip. But one look in his eyes told me he was serious. I'd never seen my friend that scared before. Ever. As if to confirm what he was saying, I began to hear the same kind of footstep noise on the metal bridge. Someone was moving fast across the bridge from the other side, making the same angry grunting noises we had been hearing. None of us wanted to take a chance, so we all grabbed our heavy packs and dragged them across the road and into a small, dark village street. We were fairly concealed in the darkness, but we still had a good look at our side of the bridge, each of us wanting to see just what had scared our mate so much. Then we saw it. A man staggering down the bridge's metal stairs with something in his grip. The glinting of stainless steel in the low light. Is that a machete no sooner had one of us exclaimed that the man honed in on the sound of our voices, he raised the huge blade in his fist, pointing it towards the dark alleyway that we had thought was concealing us.

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He roared in his rough Scottish accent, then began to bound down the bridge's stairs towards us, waving the machete as he ran. We bolted, hurtling down the small dark street. We had no idea where we were going, but anywhere that wasn't in the immediate vicinity of this drunken blade wielding maniac had to be better. Whoever was in the lead must have had the presence of mind to loop around the block. If we got too far away from the bus stop, we would miss our ride and the only other intercity bus to roll through the village wasn't due for another two days. He explained this to us the first chance he got and we all rued the situation we were faced with. Go back to the bus stop and risk getting stabbed, or stay away from the bus stop, miss our bus and end up stuck in the middle of nowhere in Scotland. It was like a military operation or something. We moved in pairs, covering each other's movement and watching for any sign of our potential murderer. Somehow we made it back towards the bus stop without running into him. We figured we had lost him and started to relax as best we could. It was about five minutes after the bus was due to arrive and we were starting to panic again. Some of us had gotten it into our heads that we had missed the bus entirely and we better start looking for a decent place to bed down before we ran into the machete wielder again. But they didn't have to wait long as a few moments later, a familiar looking figure emerged from one of the poorly lit side streets. Our collective hearts sank when we saw what he had in his grip. It was the machete. It was the same guy.

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[Podcast Host]

He roared again before slowly walking towards us. This time we took a different tack. I don't know if it was the adrenaline or the pure desperation to catch the bus and get out of there, but we stood our ground. We roared back at him, pulled out our pathetically small Swiss army knives and dared him to try us. Looking back on it, it was kind of glorious. We went from terrified vermin scattering through the streets to full on warriors willing to defend their ground. What happened next was like something out of a film. As we're facing the guy, he starts pacing back and forth in the street, zigzagging towards us, still waving his machete. He was obviously deterred slightly by our newfound aggression, but it obviously didn't deter him entirely. A horrible feeling came over me as I realized that one of us could well be about to suffer life changing injuries. But in the distance, near where the road pulled away from the river's course, a police van came trundling around the corner, revving towards the scene and to our rescue. It was like the cavalry showing up in an old western. We were saved. Our bravado doubled and we actually began to advance up to him, pushing him towards the approaching police that he was somehow completely oblivious of. He only realized what was happening when the van ski to a stop behind him and a trio of burly looking Scottish policemen jumped out and pounced on him. He got tackled hard, so hard you heard the sickening thud of his head slamming into the concrete. But he had zero sympathy. We cheered as the bedroom lights of nearby dwellings flickered on and faces began to appear in windows to watch the melee. Then, as all this is happening, the bus shows up coming around the same corner the police van just did. We continued to cheer, grabbing our bags and padding victoriously towards our ride home. The police wanted to talk to us about what had happened, but backed off once we explained that this was our one ride out of town. I told them we would be in touch to make telephone statements, but we never ended up getting in touch. We were all just so glad to get out of there in one piece. My grandparents had passed away within a few months of each other, leaving their house empty. There was talk of renting it out initially, but because of its poor state of disrepair, the family decided against it. It no consensus about what to do with it could be arrived at. Therefore it would be left to decay for another decade or more before I would stumble upon it. My aunt and I were going through my mother's things and discovered an old family photo album. Mom had gone off on one of her journeys and no one was sure if she would ever return. Her and I had been having an on and off relationship for years, so there was a lot about this family I didn't know. I came across a picture of her and I when I was just a baby, but I didn't recognize the house we were standing in front of. I inquired and my aunt told me about the old Wheeler family house that had once belonged to her parents. No one had been there in over a decade and she wasn't even sure if it was still standing. So after half an hour of badgering, she agreed to take me out to see it. That following morning, we headed out of town through 30 miles of cornfields until we came to a turnoff that led down a long, weedy gravel road. As we crested the hill, I was taken aback. The house I saw before me, despite being run down, was still breathtaking. Taking in its prime, it must have been the finest home in the county. My aunt pulled up within a few yards of it and we got out. From what I could see, nobody but the occasional mowing company had been there in a very long time. I couldn't help but be in awe of the place. The vibrant pink and blue paint had long faded from its soaring towers, and the massive porch was was beginning to sag in a few places before I entered. I wanted to take in every bit of the wonderful facade as I could. Around the back was the remnants of the old horseshoe pit and what I was told my grandfather's Ford pickup. Although the big house had long seen its best days, I knew that I hadn't seen anything that could have compared. Maybe one of those beautiful Victoria Victorian mansions in San Francisco. Even those would be dwarfed in comparison to this. When I was ready, we climbed the concrete steps and entered through the back entrance. From the moment we cracked the door, we were overwhelmed by a hideous smell coming from inside. We assumed it was a normal part of having a house sealed for so long and continued with our search. Everything appeared as if it had been left where it was on my grandmother's last day, almost like a time capsule or museum. The lights were even still working. Only later did I discover that my mother had been paying the bills all these years in hopes someone would return and live there someday. Walking from room to room and seeing all the beautiful antique furnishings, I couldn't stop wondering why I had never been told about the house. Regardless of our frequent estrangements, I would have helped my mother with the upkeep of was downright insane to me to leave such a beautiful place to rot. Then again, my mother's strange ways were the main reason for our frequent falling outs. As we made our way to the second floor, the smell only got worse. I suggested we cut our visit short and just take a quick look around. Every door was closed, so I went for the closest one and stuck my head in. This must have been a guest room or spare. Upon the bed laid a beautiful and elaborate quilt, easily over 100 years old. My aunt was going through a cedar chest in a room next to me. I joined her and we discovered another much older photo album and decided to bring it back with us to look at later. She closed the door behind us, and I made my way toward the last room. Unfortunately, the closer I got to the door, the stronger the smell got. I was reluctant to open it, but I thought if the poor critter was where I could get to it, I'd take it outside and give it a good burial. Cracking the door. The stench slapped me in the face and I lost focus for a moment. When I regained my composure, I was met with a terrible sight. Before me was not a dead forest creature, but a human being. The bloated body, now unrecognizable, lay curled up silently on the bed. I could feel my knees begin to buckle, so I turned as quickly as possible away and out of the room. My aunt was confused by my behavior and stuck her head in before yanking it out quickly again. We both ran down the stairs where the smell was less potent, and I called 911. The officer spent a few minutes in the room before coming back out with a small piece of paper and a driver's license. One of them joined us at the table where we were sitting and asked a few questions about my mother. This made me nervous, and I began demanding he explain himself. A serious look came across his face, and he told us that the body appeared to belong to my mother. I didn't want to believe it at first, but when he handed me her license, I knew it was true. My aunt and I held each other for a long time and cried. The officer gave us a few moments before interjecting himself again. Then he asked me if I knew why she would take her own life. I had naturally assumed mom had died in her sleep. She was an older woman, but the note he handed me made everything clear. She had been depressed for a long time because of our being at odds with each other, and the last time we spoke, some things were said she feared she couldn't take back. The morning after our argument, she decided to return to the only place she'd ever been happy. Although she claimed to not be sure of what she was going to do at the time, the poor state of the house just sent her over the edge. The last sentence asked that I not blame myself for her death and that I move on with my life. The ending read simply, goodbye, Mom. A couple of weeks later, after everyone had time to deal with their grief, I brought the remaining family members together. After seeing the old house and realizing the poor condition of it for hurt my mother, I proposed we try to raise the money to renovate it. In light of what had just occurred, I wanted to at least try to Create something positive from our tragedy. I was given their blessings and went to work. It took some time, but on the first day of spring 2018, the historical society allowed me to lead the first tour of the newly restored Wheeler Mansion. A great day could have been much better had my mother been there with me. No matter our differences, it was her who inspired me and the one who truly made it all possible. On November 10, 2014, YouTuber Kenny Veach set off on his last hike. He had informed some close relatives that he was going on a short overnight trip into the desert near Area 51, but it was one from which he would never return. Yet Kenny was hardly an inexperienced desert hiker or spelunker. He adventured into the arid, dry deserts of Nevada many times before. He claimed to have hiked solo across mountaintops that many people would have never dared to attempt and had lost count of the number of caves he had explored. But there was one particular cave that had terrified the veteran explorer, and it was during an additional visit to that particular subterranean cavern that he disappeared without a trace. Kenny was no amateur. He had been hiking and caving for 20 plus years, having encountered all sorts of life threatening dangers on his travels. From sheer cliffs and animal traps to rattlesnakes and freezing conditions, Kenny had faced some of the most terrifying threats the natural world has to offer. But he always made it back. He always got himself out of whatever jam he was in. He might have returned beat up and exhausted from his trips, but only once was he ever forced to call for help in an incident in which he had hurt his leg on a mountaintop and was forced to call a helicopter rescue. So it was well documented that he had an excellent safety record and was in no way reckless or foolish. One day, while Kenny was out exploring the desert near Nellis Air Force Base, he came across a cave system with an entrance shaped like a perfect capital M. Kenny entered every cave he came across, and naturally he was even more curious about this one, given its unusual shape. But on his approach, he found a strange feeling taking over his body. A bizarre vibrating feeling that shook him to his bones. The closer he got to the cave's entrance, the more intense the feeling became, until it was so strong that he became intensely terrified, fleeing the area without even attempting to explore it. He posted a YouTube video under the username Snakebite McGee, which was titled Son of an Area 51 Technician. This video detailing the events telling his viewers that it was by far the strangest experience he had ever had. Whilst out hiking in the desert and so began one of Nevada's most peculiar and puzzling urban legends. Obviously, the video sparked a huge amount of interest from his subscribers. A multitude of users enthusiastically encouraged Kenny to return to the cave to properly explore it, and to properly document its appearance and location as to provide proper evidence of his strange and terrifying discovery. Naturally, he obliged them. On this second trip to the M shaped cave, Kenny armed himself with a 9mm along with a video camera, so that he might show his subscribers exactly what he had seen. However, much to the disappointment and skepticism of the YouTube community, Kenny couldn't seem to be able to retrace his steps to the cave's location. Some called him out as having lied about what he had seen, calling him a fraud and a fabricator. However, in the video itself, Kenny is visibly shaken that he can't seem to locate what he'd easily stumbled across during his previous visit. His experience with hiking and navigation meant that he'd have no trouble finding it again if he wished to do so, and we can understand why people might think that made him a liar. But Kenny insisted that it was like his mind was playing tricks on him, and rebuked any who accused him of having made the story up. To save face, Kenny vowed to go back out into the desert a third time in order to prove that he was not simply lying about the whole thing. This seemed to satisfy the doubters and reassure his regular viewers. All except one. No, do not go back there. If you find that cave entrance, don't go in. You will never come out, read one user's comment on the video posted. Other commenters asked them exactly what they meant by the plea, imploring them to share what knowledge they had of the cave that would cause them to leave such a stark warning. The user never replied. Even in spite of the warning, Kenny was undeterred. He was determined to prove that he was not a liar, determined to prove that his hiking and navigating skills weren't slipping. At some point, he posted a comment telling his viewers that he was making a third trip and into the Mojave, one of the hottest and driest regions of the planet, in order to finally relocate the cave and to explore it. He told viewers that although he was not taking his video camera for mobility's sake, he would be making a detailed record of the cave's location so that he and his subscribers could easily find the MK for themselves. For the sake of making their own judgments, viewers awaited his return with bated breath, thrilled at the prospect of more information on a place that could well be connected with nearby Area 51, or at least have some kind of extraterrestrial or paranormal significance. Since Kenny would be making an overnight trip, they knew they would have to wait until the following day for a new post from their favorite desert explorer. But the day came and nothing was posted. Then another day went by and still nothing was posted on Kenny's YouTube channel regarding the M Cave. Eventually, concerned viewers alerted local authorities that Kenny might well be in some danger. And after the mandatory 72 hour period, Kenny Veach was officially listed as a missing person and the search for him began. On 22 November 2014, Search and Rescue volunteers found Kenny's cell phone lying in the dirt at the entrance to an abandoned mineshaft. This was the same mine shaft featured during the video entitled M Cave Hike, Kenny's second trip into the desert, in which he filmed himself being unable to locate the cave entrance. Much to his own anxious confusion. The search and rescue volunteer superficially explored the bottom of the shaft, but could not find Kenny or his body. Yet there was no other trail leading from the cave that would indicate that Kenny had headed off in any other direction. To the volunteers, it seemed like he had just straight up disappeared, plucked from the face of the earth by some unknown unseen force. Additional rescue teams were called in from surrounding areas, and on the advice of Kenny's girlfriend and sometime hiking partner, they found his truck in its unusual parking spot. But again, Kenny was nowhere to be found and any trails they found went cold. Near the abandoned mine shaft, Kenny's sudden disappearance fueled all manner of conspiracy theories which speculated on his fate. Some insisted that Kenny had fallen down the mine shaft, even in spite of the search and rescue team's insistence that there was no corpses to be found down there. Others asserted that Kenny had found a hidden entrance to Area 51 or had come across some kind of military secret that had led him to being detained by the US military. While more outlandish theories abounded that the M Cave was some kind of extraterrestrial structure, and that Kenny had either been abducted or killed by visitors from other worlds, it is most likely that Kenny simply fell victim to the elements, went a bridge too far in his search for the truth, and had died of dehydration or heatstroke. But if this was the case, there is very little doubt that his body would not be found and recovered by the search and rescue teams, who at one point used a helicopter to scour the area for any signs of him. But a post from Kenny's girlfriend. In the months that followed his disappearance might shed a little more light on what became of him. She mentioned that her boyfriend had been battling with depression for many years by that point, and that he may well have gone out into the desert one last time to end his own life. At least that's the only logical explanation she could think of. Yet, as much as we can rely on her for an insight into his personality, it ties into our previous point that surely someone somewhere would have found his body. We might never learn the truth of Kenny Veach's fate, but if we can learn anything from his disappearance, it's that it would be extremely unwise to go looking for that M shaped cave. During my teenage years, my family and I lived in military housing here in the us. A few doors down there was a new couple with two kids who were referred to me since I made a little weekend cash working as a babysitter for some families who lived in base housing. Their house was pretty bare and undecorated since they had only been moved in there for like a week or so. When I arrived, the mom was showing me around the house with a three month old baby in her arms, showing me where the baby's formula was kept, where I could get myself a bite to eat, stuff like that. I had to admit that I was a little worried about that particular job. Three months old was by far the youngest baby I had ever sat for and I'd be lying if I said I didn't think that the mom was having similar thoughts. However, they were only going to go to their welcoming event for a couple of hours and it was right there on the base though, so not very far at all. I mean, what could possibly go wrong in such a short space of time? Well, something did go wrong and it occurred at the very top of the staircase as her three year old called her and she was following me down. A strap on the mom's flip flop snapped off to realize the future America needs. We understand what's needed from us to face each threat head on. We've earned our place in the fight for our nation's future. We are Marines. We were made for this. And she suffered a terrible fall, completely taking me out as she toppled hopelessly down to the bottom. And as she did, she ended up dropping the baby from her arms. Honestly, I'm not sure how it happened as I am not exactly famous amongst friends for my agility. Quite the opposite in fact. But as I was being sacked, I reached up and just sort of snatched the baby out of the air, grabbing a hold of her onesie and holding her up high as we hurtled to the bottom. I ended up with a black eye and some serious bruises where the mom essentially bowled me over. But thankfully, whenever I think about this, the baby was luckily completely unscathed. Whereas the mom, she ended up with an open fracture of one leg right above her knee and a pretty solid concussion. I mean, the wounds looked horrendous. She was bleeding all over that new cream carpet. But she did not act as if anything hurt at all though. She just kept on saying thank you. You saved my baby. You saved my baby over and over again as the kid's dad called 911 and rushed an ambulance crew over to the house. They ended up paying me like $200 for a four hour gig that night, which in 1987 was practically a king's ransom, especially to a teenager like me. But I don't think my pulse slowed down for a week. I'm serious about that. Sometimes I'd think about catching that baby out of the air and I'd feel like I was going to have a panic attack. I pretty much stopped babysitting shortly after that because that freaked me out so much. Not just the event, but word getting around like I was some superhero with cat like reflexes when I'm pretty sure if that happened again, I could not grab that baby if I tried. I know that sounds crazy that I probably just should have soaked up the praise and used it to make a ton more money. But it was all just way too much pressure for a young person like me.

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