← Scary Stories and Rain
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good, so good, so good.
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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. I'm an emt, have been for almost three years now. I live and work in Southern California and this particular transport happened when I was a brand new EMS worker at four months at a private ambulance company. This company was a private BLS or Basic Life Support company, primarily meaning we typically transported patients whose care provider had a contract with us however, sometimes we would run 911 calls out of prisons. This is where my story begins. It was late into the night at our station when I heard the tone from my radio. Unit 221, priority response to State Prison for an unknown medical copy. Wheels up in two, I replied. I walked over to my partner who was sleeping on our rec area couch. Rise. A life needs saving. I sarcastically exclaimed. We hopped into the rig, the engine roared to life and we set off, lights blazing, sirens wailing as we approached the prison. We killed the lights and sirens and proceeded with a routine security check. Once the guards were satisfied with the search, we were given access and led through the gates and parked outside the medical bay. Gurney and medical equipment in tow, we entered the prison hospital. Now, because my partner was the patient person for the last call, I was going to be primary care provider for this patient. Though I had been a pretty new emt, I had done a lot of prison transports in a small period of time, I have had inmates scream at me, try to bribe me, and yes, even tried to hurt me. So as you can imagine, I really wasn't looking for fight night on unit 221 at 4 in the morning. Regardless, I always prepared for the worst. We were escorted in by guards as usual and led into the main area of the hospital's rooms which were still fitted as cells. I was approached by a nurse who gave me a sheet of paper with his information and most recent vitals. I began to ask for the turnover report and why this patient required transport and where we were transporting to. The nurse stared blankly for a moment before he said, you're going to Scripps Mercy Shores Hospital, room 329. He's going because he doesn't feel well and he needs some tests done. He shouldn't be a problem for you. Already a few silent alarms were going off in my head. Scripps Mercy Shores is a rich people hospital. I have never heard of anyone other than someone wealthy going there, let alone a prisoner. Second, not feeling well and needs tests don't really paint me a great picture for why he needs to go and what I'll be dealing with. And finally, what does he shouldn't be a problem for you. Me. If he's a violent inmate or even an at risk patient, they would normally just say so. Getting an actual report on this patient's health and medical condition was like getting blood from a stone. I decided to just relent and go ahead with the transport. The prison guards brought the shackled patient out to us another oddity. Every other time I would go in and talk with them before getting them onto the gurney. Standing before me was a tall, rather frail looking man with dark complexion. His eyes were red and sunken. His overall demeanor was a fearful one. He was constantly shivering. He looked horrible. I introduced myself and began my whole checklist of things to ask and address. We'll call him David. He answered all my questions with a small and quivering voice. When I asked what the problem was tonight, he gave a quick and frightened glance towards the guards and the nurse. I don't feel well. His reply sounded forced and rehearsed. Abuse from the staff came to mind first, but I would address that later. I decided to just go ahead and get this guy going and I would wrap everything up in the ambulance
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I'm right here.
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So what's next?
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They're hunting us. It's time we started hunting them.
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I can work with them.
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This should be tons of fun.
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Marvel Television's Daredevil born Now streaming only on Disney plus Before loading him in, I asked him the same question I asked all inmate patients. Be straight with me and I'll be straight with you. Are you gonna cause problems once we get going? He quickly shook his head no and we were off. When transporting prisoners, one guard accompanies in the ambulance and another follows in what's called a tail car. This is for everyone's safety and ensuring that if the patient tries anything, an official guard is there to address it. I was busy writing up my report when I realized that between the confusion of the call and the late hour, I had forgotten to get my own set of vitals. A rookie mistake. We were about halfway to our destination and the patient had remained silent this whole time. I told him I was going to take his vitals and instructed him to give me his arm so I could begin. He did so immediately, like he was trained to obey anything demanded of him, and did so with that haunting look of fear. I wrapped my blood pressure cuff around his arm and that's when I felt him for the first time. His skin was ice cold. There wasn't even a slight warmth to his skin. I asked him if he would like a blanket, but he declined. I continued with my evaluation. I inflated the cuff, pressed my stethoscope to his brachial artery and listened for the pulse to come back to show me his blood pressure. It did not come back. At first I thought my stethoscope was broken, so I grabbed a spare one. Same result. No pulse. I removed all my equipment and and felt for his pulse myself. Nothing. I looked at him and asked if he felt alright. He replied with his simple quiet, I'm okay. Thank you. Caught off guard, I grabbed my pulse oximetry, which is used to find a heart rate and blood oxygen level and put it on his finger. After a moment of the machine reading, the heart rate came came back at zero and the blood oxygen level came back at zero. My heart dropped. I took another set of vitals to see if I misread anything, but they all came back the same. Heart rate, zero. Blood pressure, zero. Blood oxygen level, zero. The only thing consistent was his respiratory rate, which was 24 breaths a minute. A bit higher than resting rate, but not alarming in itself. I looked back again and asked him once more if he's okay. He looked me in the eyes and nodded his head yes as tears welled up in his eyes. Then he looked away. He was completely alert. He responded perfectly to all my questions. His eyes were equal and reactive. All signs of good brain function, but no signs of a pulse or any vascular activity. At this point, I don't know what to think. Scientifically, there is no reason this guy should be alive. Even if he had an artificial heart, he would be showing vital signs and have a battery pack with a filter kit. But he is right in front of me. Alert, breathing, talking. When addressed, it makes absolutely no sense. I decided to continue investigating. I listened to his heart with my stethoscope. There was no beating, no thumping, just the muffled sounds of his breathing. While I was there, I listened to his lungs. All clear, all normal. I had just finished listening to his chest when we pulled into our destination. We offloaded him from the ambulance, took him to the room we were instructed to. Then he hopped off the gurney and was escorted to the hospital bed by the guards. I began giving my almost unbelievable turnover report to the nurse, who surprisingly did not seem alarmed by any of it. I wrapped up my turnover and then sat down in a nearby chair to finish up my report. As I sat typing away at my computer, I am interrupted by the sound of a hospital gurney rolling down the hallway. It was accompanied by four people in surgical gowns who entered the inmate's room with said gurney. After a few minutes, the team in surgical attire emerges from the room, inmates strapped down to the gurney with restraints. He is audibly crying and they wheel him down the hall and around the corner. That was the last I saw of him. I told my partner once we were back in the ambulance. He didn't believe me at first, which I can understand. I joke around a lot, but with the look I gave him, he knew I wasn't kidding. This story may not have been what you were expecting. It's not violent or particularly frightening, but this was hands down the most disturbing call I have ever had. I don't know what I saw, I don't know what I transported. I have my theories, such as experimental treatments being carried out on inmates. But with skin like ice, hardly any vital signs, and such a fearful demeanor, I can only wonder what kind of experiments and what kind of horrors this man had faced. This story is 100% real. Here is a little bit about me. I live with my mom, dad, young younger brother and our dog in a very rural area in Germany. When this happened, I was about 13 years old. We don't have any close neighbors. It was a very cold Saturday in December. I remember the day because my mother only worked on Saturdays. My brother, father and I spent our afternoon watching movies. It was close to 5pm at the point this happened happened since it was winter. It was nearly dark outside. The room was lit by the TV and our fireplace. At one point my brother looked outside the window because it started to snow heavily. We all looked outside the window when all of a sudden my dog began to growl. He ran up and down the room very alert. This was very unusual for him to do. My dad stood up and looked around, but he didn't see anything. After a few minutes, he began to calm down again. We returned to our movie and everything was fine for a few minutes. Then he started doing it again. I noticed my brother was staring out the window next to our back door. I asked him what he saw and he shook his head. Then all of a sudden, we saw an elderly lady approaching our back door. We were baffled because hardly anyone comes out here. Especially not an older lady like this. She looked to be around 80 or 90, wearing one of those typical grandma aprons and a headscarf. Mind you, it was below zero outside. She tapped on the backdoor glass and started to smile. Really weak. Weird. Meanwhile, my dog hid under the table, whimpering and growling. My brother came close to me and my dad walked to the back door and opened it a bit. In a confused tone, he asked what she was doing in our backyard. She smiled and looked directly past him at us. She never even looked at my dad. She took a step forward to the door, shoving her foot inside. My dad immediately pushed her foot back and shut the door on her. She glared at him and then at us before she started to laugh maniacally. Then she just calmly walked away like nothing had happened. We looked at each other in confusion, not knowing what to say. My brother and I looked outside the window behind us. We couldn't see her. The only way in and out of our backyard was the small path next to the house. From the window behind us, we would have seen her leaving, but she never passed by the window. My dad stepped outside and couldn't see her anywhere. Neither could he see any footprints in the snow. There was absolutely no way the tracks would have been covered by snow already since only a couple of minutes had passed between her leaving and my dad going outside. To this day, we don't know what happened that day. I don't know if this was something paranormal or not. It may not seem so creepy to you, but to us as kids, this was the most terrifying thing we have ever witnessed. This happened in college, maybe seven years ago. the time, I was living with one of my best friends and we were very into the bar scene and partying and such. We lived in a city that was very much inundated with college kids, so it was never hard to find a party. And I am ashamed to admit it, but probably every other night I was out partying. So this story starts on a night very much like every other. She and I got all dressed up and went on a bar crawl. We ended up at this club. It was one of the more popular ones in the area and we meet up with my ex roommate. The three of us are having a great night, but periodically we were all interacting with this one guy. None of us remember his name name, but he seemed normal enough. He sat next to us on the smoking porch and bummed a cig from me. He bought my friend a drink and he was dancing next to us. We even all had a little conversation together, although I can't for the life of me remember what it was about. But he was there in the periphery all night. Around 1am the three of us decided that we were drunk enough and done dancing and my ex roommate invites me and the bestie to her place to smoke. None of us have cars at this point, but it's a nice night and she only lives a couple of miles away. So we start walking. The downtown streets quickly turn into a semi residential, semi warehouse district area. Not the best part of town or the most populated, but not a bad area by any means. And usually the streets are full, fully empty. We are maybe halfway to the house when we notice there's someone behind us, trailing along and getting closer. We really don't think anything of it until we pause to light up some cigarettes and he catches up and we realize it's the guy who had been hanging around us at the bar. He's kind of stumbly, clearly drunk, and he greets us like old friends. We don't want to be rude, but it strikes the all all of us is kind of weird that he's there to begin with, but we shrug it off because he's drunk and seemingly harmless I should say right now he's a real scrawny guy on the taller side, but thin, very thin, with a baby face and very big eyes. He just looks generally harmless and drunk. He asks if he can bum a smoke and walk with us until he gets where he's going, which isn't far, and he's clearly very unsteady on his feet so we say sure, why not? So we're walking and chatting and we're getting closer to our destination, but he doesn't make any indication of where he's going. So finally I ask him, where do you live anyway? And he gives me this funny look like I had asked something really stupid and says, oh, I don't live anywhere, anywhere near here. This kind of creeps us all out and we sort of stop where we are and I say okay, well then where are you going? And he replies oh, I'm following you at this point, I think that maybe there's been like a misunderstanding in his mind. So I respond with something along the lines of, okay, well no offense, but we don't even know your name so you're not coming with us. And he gets this look, like hurt, but also angry and a little manic, and he gets kind of loud and says, but I told you all my name. I told each of you my name. How do none of you remember my name? At this point, my ex roommate steps in and says, look man, I know you're drunk, but you really need to calm down. And the guy stops and gets real calm real fast and he gets this really serious look and says, no, I'm not drunk. I'm fine. I just knew you'd trust me more if you thought I was drunk. At that point I'm like, no, I'm out. But my roommate doesn't believe him and says something like, you've been stumbling this whole time, of course, of course you're drunk. And he shakes his head and in a completely calm tone, with no slurring whatsoever, he goes, no, I'm sober. I just wanted to see if you'd let me in your house. And my friend responds, why? And the guy gets this huge smile and his big eyes get even wider and he says, I just wanted to see how close I could get to killing you. At that point I had had enough and I put on my authority voice and I told him that that is enough and that we are leaving and he needs to go the other direction now before I call the cops. He just shrugs and says, fine, and we scurry away.
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is there and leave him leaning up against a stop sign just smoking a cig and watching us go. As soon as we are around the corner we we all break into a dead sprint and run for a few blocks and then stop and freak out. We are in the middle of a panic whisper huddle when my friend looks over my shoulder and lets out this little scream. We turn around and there he is. It's dark so we can't really see his face, just his silhouette against the street lamps, but it was enough to know it was definitely him. He is striding down the road if you few blocks down, hands in his pockets, not a trace of a stumble and he's not exactly running, but he's walking at this real brisk pace and he had been on us in less than a minute. Luckily we're only about a block away from my friend's place so we start booking it there. We are almost at the front door when I realize oh crap, we don't want him to know where we're going. Not the three of us alone. That seems dangerous. Fortune shines on us as up the block I can see the telltale signs of a garage party and we book it over there instead. We come up to the lawn and there's a bunch of guys out front and we are breathlessly trying to explain ourselves. But when we turn around to point out the guy, he's gone. The partiers sympathize and let us hang out for a few hours and a few of them even walked us back to the house. Thankfully we never saw the guy again and needless to say my friends and I lost our taste for partying for quite a while after that. I don't know what compelled me to find finally share this, but I have been thinking about it a lot the past few days. I have a lot of thoughts about this as it was the first and only time I felt legitimately afraid for my life. When I was about 8 years old my parents were going through a divorce and me and my older sister used to spend a lot of time at our grandparents house. It's a long ranch style home on a corner in a very Nice Neighborhood that's a 10 minute walk from a gas station, grocery store and a few fast food restaurants. The streets are long and lined with well manicured houses cradled by big scenic California valley hills all around. We were never very wealthy, but my grandpa bought it as a fixer upper many years ago and the property value has skyrocketed since then. As you can imagine, it's a very safe spot. And although there weren't many other kids in the neighborhood, it wasn't uncommon to see neighbors walking their dogs or pushing a stroller down the sidewalk outside of our house. Although my mom was especially protective. All our lives, this particular neighborhood was densely populated and my family knew just about everyone who lived there. She grew up in that neighborhood herself, so she was understandably trapped. Trusting she would once in a while let me and my sister walk to the Rotten Robbie gas station on the other end of the block to grab a snack. I would always get a Ring Pop and my sister would grab a three musketeers before we made our way back home. My sister was about 11 at the time and this small amount of freedom was a really big deal to us. Nothing compared to walking down that street all by ourselves in the summertime, laughing and joking around, a couple dollar bills in our pockets. I felt like I owned the world. The one oddity I ever noticed around the neighborhood was a small camper that was parked on the side of the road opposite to the gas station, right along the backside of the fence of another house. It sat there in the shade like a permanent fixture, all the windows constantly covered by opaque beige curtains. I can't explain why, but it always gave me this deep sense of foreboding. When I would pass it. I was almost positive someone was living inside it because at times I would hear the air conditioning running as it sat stagnant in the same spot. The hairs on my neck would always stand on end as I passed it, particularly as I passed the camper door. And I'd always keep an eye on it for for the fear that one day it would swing open just as I came to pass by. I think what bothered me the most was a drawing taped to the door from the inside. It was extremely messy, a sketch of odd lines in a brown colored pencil that was frustratingly indiscernible. I could see the outline of something, a vague shape, but could never make out what it was in intended to be. I never had the nerves to stop and stare long enough to really investigate. But each time I walked by, I would steal a glance a year prior to the incident I'm about to describe, I was walking with my mom past the camper in the shade. We had just gone to the park nearby and unfortunately had to pass the camper before we could cross the street and continue walking. I didn't want to see seem afraid, so I kept on walking right behind her and did not object when she walked past it. This time I felt a little more brave. I was frustrated not being able to decipher the drawing for so long, and while my mom was feet away, I stopped in front of the camper door and took a moment to really look at the drawing. Upon closer inspection, the paper was filthy. I remember doing a project in elementary school where we soaked printer paper in black coffee to make it look aged, and that's what it reminded me of. My mom walked on without noticing that I had stopped following her, but my eyes stayed fixed on the indistinct mass of dirt caked scribbles until I could make out what looked to be a tiny malformed face. My stomach turned. I immediately felt cold and disgusted as my eyes trailed over the rest of the image. I didn't know what kind of creature it was at the time, but now I can look back and say the drawing was a badly deformed fetus inside a mass of large perfect circles like those made by a circular ring ruler. Its face was contorted as if in pain. It was so graphically disturbing and seemed to portray this odd sense of suffering that stuck with me for days as a child. I didn't know how to process it, and the mental image still makes me sick to think about. I had never seen anything like it before. Adrenaline flooded my body and my chest hurt with fear, but I selfishly thought of my glorious little trips for Ring Pops and said absolutely nothing as I followed behind my mom. This was, in retrospect, a classically terrible idea. It's one of those things you scream at main characters in movies for Ever since, my ill feelings towards the camper had been elevated by the drawing on the door. I thought about it every time we drove by, and about a month later my mom once again graced us with several bucks and purposes permission to walk down to Rotten Robbie and grab our respective snacks. I thought about telling my sister about what I had seen on the way there, but she was older and braver and I was terrified she would make me cross the street with her to check it out. It was a bright sunny day and I told myself with false certainty that nothing was going to happen if I didn't acknowledge it. Maybe it would go away. We walked past the the camper and it was thankfully uneventful. On the walk back I was feeling more comfortable and was focused on fighting open my candy wrapper until my sister walked alongside me. We passed the camper a second time, but I didn't give it half as much thought as the first time. I don't remember what we were talking about, but I recall being interrupted mid sentence as my sister softly yelled, yet firmly said my name. There was a distinct fear in her voice that immediately set me on edge like a bucket of ice water. All my senses heightened and I became aware of everything, including the sound of haphazard footsteps about 10ft behind us. It was accompanied by a heavy rustling sound like a heavy backpack, and nervously I half turned my head to the look. A man with a long, unkempt beard and wearing many layers of ragged clothing stood behind us, eyes unmistakably burning into our backs as he walked. His movements weren't normal. It was a drunken shuffle, like each of his feet were unimaginably heavy and needed to be moved one grand effort at a time. His shoulders were skewed, head tilted downward with a strange arc of his neck. I could hear his shoes scraping the gravel with every step, but rather than seeming genuinely intoxicated, it was as if he was intentionally meandering our direction like a zombie with a direct effort to frighten us. Behind him, I saw that the camper door was wide open for the first time in all the years we had spent living there and realized realized this was the man who had been living inside. He's following us. I choked out, my eyes filling with tears. My mind was spinning as I stared straight ahead again and the wide street and sidewalks abnormally empty all around. My sister grabbed my hand. She squeezed it hard enough to hurt without looking my way, speaking carefully under her breath. On the count of three, we race home, she told me in a very serious tone of voice. I couldn't reply through the growing lump in my throat, but every single cell in my body understood that we had to put some distance between us and this man as quickly as possible. She began to count steadily while we walked faster, and the most terrifying part is that he started running before we even had a chance to. He must have heard her directions to me and tried to get a head start by sprinting our direction before she got to three, but his footsteps were noisy and we bolted like deer the instant we heard him behind us. I'll never forget it. The chase felt exactly like you imagined in your nightmares, the fear your pursuer is inches away from grabbing your own arm or a fistful of your hair. I pictured myself being dragged into the van with nobody around to see or hear me. We ran so fast we didn't even have the breath to scream and peering back behind me about 10 seconds later I saw him running in our direction with absolutely none of the impairment he showed with those zombie like steps moments before. I think back on it now and he may have been deliberately protected, pretending to be handicapped to lower our guard so we wouldn't start running. The thought is terrifying but I can't rationalize it any other way. We made it to our grandparents house and without looking behind us, yanked open the stubborn old door before slamming it closed and scrambling past their excited dogs to get as deep into the house as possible. I don't even think we locked it as our main goal was getting within the line of sight of any adults as quickly as possible. My mom was talking to my grandpa at the table and gave us an amused look when we bounded into the living room. Since we were kids, running around wasn't anything out of the ordinary and she didn't ask what happened as we collapsed on the couch and tried to catch our breath. The inside of the house felt safe and felt in such good spirits that I didn't even want to bring up what just happened. Like waking up from a nightmare you don't want to talk about. I was desperate to go back to normalcy. I wanted to forget it entirely, to unwrap my candy and act like everything was completely normal for the sake of my own sanity. And that's exactly what I did. I asked my sister a few years back if she remembered this incident and her response was was strange. She remembered immediately, without the need for me to provide details, but she quickly waved it off and insisted he had to have been a bored homeless man looking to spook some kids walking home with no real intent to harm anyone. I don't know. I'd like to believe it's some innocent misunderstanding, but like they always say about gut feelings, they are rarely wrong. I feel in my soul that he wanted to hurt me and my sister that day. I never told her or anyone else about the strange drawing on the door and I'm not sure if my sister saw the open door and connected him to the camper or not. It's one of my biggest regrets as I would hate for any other children to have been less fortunate. After innocently walking past the camper in the shade, I believe he may have chosen this spot between the park and gas station deliberately due to the number of children walking around the area. I never saw the camper again a day or so after this. I am not proud of how I handled this and would encourage anyone who finds themselves in a similar situation to contact authorities immediately for the safety of others around. I don't know if maybe this whole story comes off as melodramatic, but it was very real and very frightening in a way that I cannot forget. I work at a non profit home that works with people experiencing mental health or substance use barriers. We have an in home location for services and also offer a warm line for individuals to call. In my line of work you experience beautiful life changing moments. Do you hear that? Sounds like breakfast is ready because Quakers coming in hot with morning nutrition 100% whole grain oats and a good source of fiber to fuel the rhythm of your morning and kickstart your day. And that sounds absolutely delicious. Fuel to start whatever's next Quaker Official Sponsor of FIFA World Cup 26.
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Switch upfront payment of $45 for 3 month plan equivalent to $15 per month required intro rate first 3 months only, then full price plan options available, taxes and fees extra fee full terms@mintmobile.com chronic migraine 15 or more headache days a month, each lasting four hours or more can make me feel like a spectator in my own life. Botox Anabotulinum Toxin a prevents headaches in adults with chronic migraine. It's not for those with 14 or fewer headache days a month. It's the one prescribed branded chronic Migraine
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preventive treatment prescription Botox is injected by your doctor. Effects of Botox may spread hours to weeks after injection, causing serious symptoms Alert your doctor right away as difficulty swallowing, speaking, breathing, eye problems or muscle weakness can be signs of a life threatening condition. Patients with these conditions before injection are at highest risk. Side effects may include allergic reactions, neck and injection site pain, fatigue and headache. Allergic reactions can include rash, welts, asthma symptoms and dizziness. Don't receive Botox if there's a skin infection. Tell your doctor your medical history, muscle or nerve conditions including als, Lou Gehrig's disease, Myasthenia gravis or Lambert Eaton Syndrome and medications including botulinum toxins as these may increase the risk of serious side effects.
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- [41:35]
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Heart wrenching traumas, overdoses, recovery stories and everything in between. Needless to say, myself and many others in my field can attest that very little tends to surprise you. However, this story was one of those that completely took me off guard. A few years back we had a gentleman with a very unique voice that would call almost every day with a private number. The subject matter of his calls seemed harmless at first, but slowly seemed to escalate. He started by talking about worries that he had at home, but as his call frequency increased, so did his tendency to overshare. He began telling our female team members completely inappropriate things. He eventually told us that he enjoyed super gluing women to chairs to watch them struggle to get out of the seat. The first time I heard this, my face became simultaneously cold and hot. I could not believe what I had heard. I was in an angry state of shock and said that I had to end the call due to the apparent lack of words that had stricken me. Weeks went on and we had heard very little from our secretive super glue aficionado until it was a quiet day at the office and our midship person had called in. Usually we would try to find someone to replace this shift, but since we had no guests currently. We decided at best that I just hold the fort down on my own. I would soon find out what a mistake that was. I tried to keep myself busy and while I was doing some paperwork and cleaning around the office space, I heard a knock at the front door. At this point I was not expecting anyone and potential guests are expected to call before coming to stay or to see the location as to best protect everyone's safety and confidentiality. I approached the frosted glass pane in the center of the door and saw a large shape of a man eclipsing our equally large doorway. I cracked the door open and sternly greeted the man and asked, what can I do for you? He stared at me in a way that wasn't completely predatory, but also did not feel safe. He remained silent for a few seconds before a very eerily familiar voice said, I need to talk. He pushed the door fully open and let himself in. As I stared in a state of disbelief, he continued on from his earlier statement and chuckled out so let's talk. As close calmly as I could, I offered him a seat at the table in the dining room area and sat across from him. His eyes stayed locked on mine and if I was not almost completely positive that this was our mystery caller, what he said next fully confirmed it. While remaining his cold eye contact, he said in a seemingly amused way, I have this problem. I don't know if it's a problem really, but I can't stop doing it and I don't really know what to do. You see, I like to glue women to chairs. I like knowing that I'm causing them discomfort and that they are stuck because of me. I like watching them struggle and it makes me feel better than anything else I've ever done. The feeling is completely euphoric. It was taking everything in me to not cry on the spot. This was causing every alarm signal in my body to scream at me to get out or get harmed. I slowly slid my hand towards the work phone while looking at every possible exit and finding a flaw in every potential escape route and hoping that he would not notice. As my pinky edged the case of the phone, I saw his dark eyes flick over to where my hand was. Am I making you uncover uncomfortable? I assure you I'm not going to harm you. I just want to talk. Just talk. He teasingly said as I stammered out a falsely confident I'm not uncomfortable. My boss will be here soon so I was just trying to see if she had messaged the work phone. He continued staring ice cold daggers into my eyes that caused me to sit up straighter in an attempt to mask the involuntary shiver that had taken over my body. Is that so? Well, I wouldn't want to keep you occupied any longer. As he stood up, my heart began to pound impossibly more. I had no idea if he was going to harm me, leave or both. He began walking towards me and as he towered over me, my heart was practically fully in my flesh throat. At that point he extended a hand out and said, thanks for the chat. I quietly grabbed the tips of his fingers and choked out a you're welcome. He smirked at me as he began walking to the door. As soon as he shut the door behind him, I locked the deadbolt and called my director. After the incident, I installed a panic button app on the phone and put chain locks on each entrance to allow us to open the door when needing, but to hopefully help us avoid people pushing the door fully open and finding ourselves uncomfortable and in potentially dangerous situations in the future. A week went by and I was at the office with a fairly new midshift team member and she received a call from a private number. I watched as her face dropped after answering the call. I took the phone from her and introduced myself. I heard that same nauseatingly familiar voice say hello, I just want to talk. I can't stop asking women their bra sizes in public. I was done. I barked out, sir, this is not that kind of warmline. The Addict Anonymous meetings are every Thursday and I can give you their number, but the reason that we are here is because we have our own lived experience and traumas that do not need to be reactivated. Thank you for calling and have a good day. Months went by without seeing or hearing that voice until I was waiting for some takeout in the waiting area of a restaurant and once again heard that spine chilling voice enter my ears. I looked up and met those same dark eyes that caused me and my team so much panic and distress just months prior. They were there in front of me yet again. He looked panicked and taken by surprise, in contrast to his amused and cocky Persona that he portrayed before he swept up the food in a hurried rush and found his way to his vehicle and tried to speed off, but not before I managed to photograph his vehicle, make and model. So if he ever decided to make an impromptu visit again or drive by, we would have the information. I love my job and I cannot stress enough that the taboo around mental health needs to be lessened. It's very unfortunate that someone was not even properly utilizing our services and they had made such a lasting impression of myself and my other team members. I still become incredibly anxious every time I hear the doorbell ring or a knock at the door when I am alone at work. Be kind to those that are unwell and need compassion, but always be mindful of your own well being and listen to your gut feelings because some people, with or without diagnosis or labels, can be dangerous. Be safe out there. After my freshman year of high school I moved states with my parents. Being split up, I moved with my mom so once a month I would fly down to where I used to live and visit my dad. I would fly alone seeing as I am 16. When I got to the airport I went to my terminal waiting to get onto my flight. I looked up from where I was sitting to see a man staring at me. He wasn't shaggy or rough looking, he looked like a middle class older man. The man looked to be in his mid-40s. I didn't really think anything of it because usually I space out the airport when they called my number to board the plane. I looked back to see the man staring at me again and this time time he grinned at me. I was very uncomfortable at this point, but since there was free seating on this airline, I figured I would just sit in the very back hoping he wouldn't follow me. When I got to my seat I looked out for the man hoping he would take one of the front seats because they were all open. Instead, I see him make his way to the back and he sits right next to me. I was near the window and the middle and aisle seat were both open and you guessed it, he sat in the middle seat. At this point I was really freaking out because I did not get good vibes off this guy at all. He smiled at me and I gave him a weak smile and turned my head to the window hoping he would not talk. Hey, my name is Jack, what's yours? I looked at him in panic. Riley, I said. I gave him my real name. As it left my lips it ventured into his. Riley. What a beautiful name. I just said thanks and continued to look out the window. What school do you go to Riley? The way that he said my name made me scream on the inside. I wanted him far away from me. I said back, I don't see how that's important. He looked at me and put his hands up and apologized, chuckling. He then started talking to me about his job. He was a college football ref and asked me if I was a cheerleader, which I was wearing my cheerleading jacket so I assumed he already knew. I just nodded, not wanting to engage in conversation anymore. Thankfully, this man came and sat in the aisle seat and Jack stopped talking to me. However, constantly staring at me, I faced my head opposite to his and put my head down pretending to be asleep. I did eventually fall asleep and I was awakened to the plane landing. Relief spread throughout my entire body. You're such a cute sleeper. I wish you would have never woken up, he says with the most sinister grin. My eyes widened and my blood ran cold. I didn't say anything and just unbuckled my seat giving him the impression I was trying to get off. When the aisle started to disperse out of the plane, he walked off and paused looking back at me. I let four people pass me before stepping onto the isle and I saw rage in his eyes. He continued walking down the aisle with his head down. When I got to the front of the plane, I went to say thank you to the flight attendants and pilot like I always do. However, the flight attendant pulled me aside. She said, hey, do you know that man that was sitting next to you? I shook my head no. Her face went white. When you fell asleep, he was taking pictures of you and telling us how cute his daughter was when she was sleeping. I was very puzzled because your body language was off. I asked her to walk me down to baggage claim and she agreed since she had time to kill. When we walked out of the plane and into the airport, Jack was standing there waiting for me. She told me to keep walking and I did. I ran into my dad's arms. When I finally saw him, the man saw this and went the opposite direction. I don't know what his intentions were, but I am glad I never found out. I also realized that my school's initials were on my jacket, which makes me very nervous.
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Capture your favorite summer feeling with Pandora Jewelry. Discover a collection inspired by the sunshine, freedom and moments that make the season unforgettable. From sun kissed metals to personalized pieces ready to be engraved with your summer mantra, each design moves with you. From beach days to golden nights and every memory in between. Shop Pandora Jewelry's new summer collection in store or online at pandora.net and let
- [54:31]
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your summer unfold@blyze.com it's not just about window treatments. It's about you. Your style, your space, your way. Whether you DIY or want the pros to handle it all, you'll have the confidence of knowing it's done right. From free expert design help to our 100% satisfaction guarantee, everything we do is made to fit your life and your windows. Shop up to 40% off with minimum purchase and a free professional measure right now@blinds.com plus pay at your own pace starting at 0% APR with a firm terms apply. This happened a long time ago when I was about 4 or 5 years old and I'm 15 now. Looking back at the situation, I really think I should have seen the red flags about this guy. But since I was really young and stupid, I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. I thought he was just a nice guy. The whole thing happened in a mall in plain sight in front of hundreds of people. I had gone with my mother, shopping, a girl's day out kind of thing. At some point I got lost. Typical. Everyone has a story like that, right? So far, no red flags at all. I remember seeing a guy with a very southeastern accent. He was dressed like a junkie, but in my five year old old mind I thought he looked fine. So since I was a lost 5 year old girl who didn't know any better, I walked up to him and asked him for directions and if he had seen my mommy, etc. He ignored my questions and when he saw me his eyes lit up. He immediately started showering me with compliments, some of them inappropriate to say to a five year old kid. He came, gave me a pink and black bracelet and told me how well it looked on me. Of course I was oblivious to the situation and ignoring all the red flags. So at some point he offers to take me to his private jet and fly me to Jamaica to relax and play with the dolphins. Basically made it sound like a child's paradise. All I had to do was get in his car. Of course, of course, since it sounded like a dream come true, I trusted him. I kid you not. At the exact moment I was about to leave the mall, some guy wearing a suit and tie stopped us dead in our tracks and asked him where he was going with a five year old girl. You could easily tell that we weren't related. The guy responded with his raspy southeastern accent and said that I was his daughter's kid and he was taking me home. We were clearly not related and so the guy in the suit asked me where my mom was. I told him she was still in the mall and from that point on there was some arguing between the two men. I didn't get the most of it, but I ended up going with the man in the suit and the junkie cursed him out. We went to the lobby of the mall and found my mom there telling the worker behind the desk. My description she had clearly picked up by this point that I was gone. It turned out that the guy in the suit was a security guard at the mall and had picked up on how wrong the situation was. When my mom saw me with this guy, she picked me up and hugged me. This story is in fact very old, but I recently was reminded of it because a couple of my friends told me they were planning on going to Jamaica for vacation and the memories just came flooding back. So, security guard who noticed how wrong the situation was. Thank you. Thank you so much. It's, It's, it's, It's.
- [66:29]
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- [67:28]
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kids, summer isn't just time off. It's time building confidence and curiosity. But when school meals pause, millions of children lose the food they count on. Your support helps the Feeding America Network
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nourish every child's potential.
- [67:40]
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Give now@feedingamerica.org Summerhunger. It's, It's, It's.