← Southern Cannibal's Scary Stories
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- [00:03]
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- [00:30]
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- [01:06]
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So picture this. It's about 4 in the morning. One of those cold, damp London weekdays where the air feels heavy and clings to you. I'd fallen down. A video game rabbit hole surfaced hours later and I realized two things. One, it was obscenely late, and two, I'd completely forgotten to eat dinner. A quick, desperate scan of the kitchen confirmed the worst. Nothing. Damn it. My only Hope was the 24 hour McDonald's drive thru down the road. It's maybe a 10 minute walk, mostly through quiet suburban streets that feel almost unnervingly still at that hour. Coat on, I headed into the pre dawn gloom. Habit took over and I immediately stuck in my earphones, scrolling through my phone to catch up on the messages and notifications I'd blissfully ignored for the past several hours. In hindsight, I know exactly how that looks. Headphones in, face lit by a phone screen, completely oblivious to the world at 4am prime target material. Basically, I was about halfway there when I had registered movement just behind me. I glanced back. There was a guy swallowed by an oversized hoodie, riding a bicycle. Except it wasn't a normal bike. It was painfully obviously a child's pink bicycle. The tiny frame looked ridiculous underneath him. He wasn't going anywhere specific, just doing slow wide loops on the empty street, always ending up slightly behind me. Now, I've lived in London for about three years. You see weird stuff. It's part of the background noise. My default programming kicked in. Head down, keep walking. Don't make eye contact. He'll get bored eventually, you know. Standard operating procedure for navigating the city's low level strangeness. But then, he wasn't behind me anymore. He Smoothly cycled up right alongside me, matching my pace. The ignore it strategy suddenly felt very thin. He was muttering something. It was clear he wanted my attention. Reluctantly, I pulled out one earbud. Still walking, trying for casual indifference. My automatic defense mechanism fired off before I even properly heard him. I'm sorry. I don't have any change. That's when I made the mistake of actually looking at him. He wasn't asking for change. His eyes locked onto mine and there was a hard, focused intensity there that immediately set off alarm bells. My gaze flickered down. His right hand was shoved deep into the front pocket of his hoodie, pushing the fabric outwards. Oh. It wasn't a slow, dawning realization, more like a sudden plunge into ice water. The casual weirdness evaporated, replaced by cold, sharp edged fear. That's when I properly registered his words, spoken low but clear. Give me your phone. My feet kept moving, seemingly on autopilot, but the rest of me felt frozen. My brain felt like it was buffering, trying to process the demand against the very real possibility of what was in that pocket. Is he bluffing? Is that a knife? Is this phone, this phone I literally just got and definitely can't afford to replace, worth getting stabbed over? The mental calculus was frantic and terrifying. We were still moving forward, side by side in this bizarre, terrifying mobile standoff. Me staring straight ahead, hyper aware of him right beside me and my mind racing. And then a sound. The distinct rumble of a car engine growing louder. Headlights swept across the end of the street, illuminating the junction just yards ahead. A brief moment of blinding light. I shot a look back at the guy on the tiny pink bike. The thought flashed Run. Make a break for the car, for the light. But before the thought could even translate into action, he abruptly swerved. He pushed off hard on the tiny pedals, cycling rapidly down the street, disappearing back into the shadows as quickly as he'd appeared. I just stood there for a second, hard hammering against my ribs. Then the next thought hit me. Crap. I still have to walk home. Needless to say, the McDonald's craving vanished instantly on the way back. The headphones stayed off and my phone stayed deep in my pocket, clutched in my hand. I also gave the quiet suburban streets a wide berth. Instead, I took the long way round, sticking to the main A road. It's noisy, choked with fumes, even at this hour, and the pavement is basically a narrow, neglected strip inches away from speeding traffic. It felt horrible, but infinitely safer. The constant stream of headlights, the drone of vengeance. It was unpleasant, but it was a presence. Company of a sort. Thankfully, the rest of the walk was uneventful. No more unexpected cyclists emerged from the dark. But yeah, I'm just really glad that it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Guy on a tiny Pink bike at 4am demanding my phone. Hopefully I don't ever encounter you again it was July 2011. I had just turned 21 and was living in the Piedmont region of North Carolina. Dating apps were still in their infancy and I found myself gravitating towards Craigslist personals. It was raw, anonymous and wide open, each post a gamble. Users would write short ads with vague descriptions. Sometimes they included a blurry photo. Most of the time it was just a few bold sentences, dangling mystery and danger. Young and naive. I wasn't looking for love, just a quick, exciting connection. I responded to one listing that immediately caught my eye. A woman replied almost instantly, which both surprised and excited me. Our chat started off innocent enough greetings, interests, light flirting, but soon we were diving into fantasies of what we might do if we Met. It was PG13, at least for that era, and I was buzzing with adrenaline. After about 30 minutes she asked for a picture. I sent her a selfie and requested one in return. What I received was a woman who looked to be in her mid-40s. She had shoulder length blonde hair, hazel eyes, a warm smile and breasts that seemed designed to scramble in the mind of a 21 year old boy. Her body wasn't toned, but she appeared healthy, normal, like someone's attractive suburban mom. I was hooked. Then she asked, are you generous? I didn't know what she meant. Generous? Hell time compliments. But I didn't want to sound dumb and risk ruining the moment, so I answered, of course I am. She then responded with perfect, then gave me her address. She lived about 30 minutes away from me. I told her I'd head out right away. She replied, great, I'll get ready for you. The drive was a cocktail of excitement and nerves. I couldn't believe my luck. The idea that a woman like her wanted to meet me. Me, just some skinny guy from the area, felt so surreal. But the closer I got, the quicker my confidence evaporated. The houses grew more run down, the yards cluttered with discarded furniture and trash bags. Street lights flickered over cragged sidewalks and shuttered windows. I told myself not to judge her by where she lived. People fall on hard times, right? Still, the butterflies in my stomach started swarming into something darker. I arrived at a two story house. It wasn't as dilapidated as the others, which gave me a sliver of hope. I surveyed my surroundings, carefully, marking anything that felt off. The street was quiet. No voices, no movement, just the hum of distant traffic and the occasional bark from a dog down the block. Before getting out. I had all of my belongings in the car, so there would be nothing tempting to steal. I carried only my phone and more shoes I could run in, just in case. I climbed the steps and knocked. A woman's voice answered from inside. Come in. The door creaked as I entered and my senses were immediately assaulted. The inside was absolute chaos. Newspapers stagged to the ceiling, crusty takeout containers balanced on shelves, boxes stuffed with random junk, and cereal spilling all across the floor. The smell wasn't overpowering, but carried the unmistakable scent of decay. Straight ahead was a staircase leading to the second floor. To the left, a living room bathed in flashing TV light. A tall man sat on the couch, arms stretched across the backrest, staring at the screen like he was waiting for something or someone. A chill ran through me. Who was he? Why didn't she mention anyone else being here? I called out, hey, where are you? Her voice answered again, soft and sultry this time. From a room down the hallway. The man never once turned or spoke, just kept watching the screen like a silent gatekeeper. I moved cautiously, weaving through the towers of trash and grime. The hallway narrowed with debris and the air grew heavier with each step. I peeked into the doorway and just froze. There she was. But she wasn't the woman from the photos. This woman was large, massive even. Her greasy brown hair hung limp and the top of her scalp was patchy. Her face bore uneven makeup with a few prominent moles barely masked. When she smiled, I only saw a handful of teeth behind streaks of red lipstick. She sat on what I assumed was a queen size mattress, though most of it was buried under the trash. Her breasts barely sat inside a sheer stained nightgown. They hung to her knees as she sat wide legged, motioning for me to come closer. But what truly turned my stomach wasn't her appearance. It was the environment. The bed she sat on looked molded, collapsing beneath her weight. Rocha scurried out from the mounds of trash. She shifted to make space. The room was a biohazard. She gestured for me to sit beside her. I took one hesitant step in, still unsure how to exit without escalating things. She asked, what would you like to see, dear? While fondling herself. Then she said, so how generous are you going to be tonight? Confused, I asked, um, what do you mean exactly? She giggled. How generous are you going to be with your payment. Suddenly it clicked. Generous was code. This wasn't a hookup. This was a transaction. I began backing out of the room, apologizing profusely. I'm sorry, I didn't understand. I didn't know this was that kind of arrangement. I was halfway down the hallway when the man from the couch stood up now, blocking the door. I felt the walls closing in. He was huge, easily 6 foot 8, broad and unmoving. Behind me, the woman stormed into the doorway. You wasted my time and you're not even going to pay for it, she hissed. The man crossed his arms and spoke in a voice like steel. It's either you pay for the time you wasted or I'll take the payment from you, little man. Fear pulsed in my chest. I was alone in a strange house, cornered. I had no backup. But then I thought of a way out. I stood tall. Well, as tall as a 5 foot 5 guy could at 120 pounds. I then said, if you really think I came out here without telling someone where I'm going, you're absolutely stupid. I told my friend before I left to expect a call within 45 minutes. If they don't hear from me, they're calling the cops. He squinted at me. You're bluffing. You sure you want to take that gamble? I said, pointing toward the window, because I smelled weed from the sidewalk. And the cops will, too. You let me walk out right now and I'll forget this ever happened. But if you make this hard, you'll have two squad cars parked here in less than ten. Dead silence followed. Then the man turned to her and shrugged. Look, this one's not worth it. Don't you have someone else coming later on? She nodded, and without another word, the man stepped aside. I didn't wait. I walked out that door calmly controlled, never turning back, never saying a word. I got in my car and drove off. The moment I was out of sight, I screamed. Relief. Shock. Anger. I was lucky and I never went on Craigslist again. The story happened roughly 15 years ago, and I just had to share it. Now that the company has dissolved, I shouldn't get into any trouble for sharing. I used to work for a company that built cars. I won't name the brand name or its location for privacy reasons. I worked in the finishing two department. Now it's important to know the layout of our department. In our department, the actual frame of the car would be brought through on a massive assembly line. We had three lines in our department, each for a different make of vehicle. There were two high pots on each line. These high pots were massive, probably the size of a pole barn and basically a building within the building. The first high pot on each line was a giant washer that would spray the unpainted frame down with sicca, which is a very toxic chemical many factories use at a boiling 500 degrees Fahrenheit. This was done to clean off any impurities in the frame, and the sika made the paint stick to the frame better. After leaving the first hipot, it would go to the second one, where the frame was dunked, flipped over, dragged, and pulled out of the giant pool of paint by a robot and then send down the line after going through the dryer. Anyway, these ipods have certain safety features on them. One being if you open a door while it's running, it trips the E stop and sets off the alarms. However, the machine has to be stopped from the outside before the doors to it will unlock and there's no stop button inside them. This will be important later. Anyway, we had this supervisor named Christy, and let me tell you, she was a bitch. Christy was a redhead in her 30s who didn't really care about anything. I literally heard her tell someone, look, I don't care if you have a heart attack and die. Yeah, she's that kind of person. She didn't really bother me too much. However, there was one employee over at the other high potline that she had it out for Armando. Armando was a Mexican guy in his 40s who had apparently immigrated to the United States only four years prior. He had been working there for roughly one year at this point. He was quiet, but he did a good job. Christy wouldn't leave him alone, though, and whenever she thought nobody was listening, she would walk by him and just make really awful comments. One day, I heard her walk by him and make an awful joke that I won't even repeat here. Little did she know this would set Armando over the edge. Later that day, I was running my line when I heard the alarms for the hipot washer on Armando's line go off. It probably just faulted out again, which actually happens regularly to all of our equipment. I didn't think much of it and just went back to my own line. Ten minutes later, I hear the alarms go off again, this time in a different tone, signaling the high pod is starting up. Then I hear screaming. Christie is muffled screaming. I look over and I see Christy in one of those plexiglass windows of the high pot washer screaming and banging on the door as the hot Sikka is being sprayed on her. I then look over to Armando and I'm expecting him to hit the E stop or do something, but he doesn't. He just stands there watching with his arms crossed. I quickly run over the walkovers that cross over the conveyors. I have to cross three of those to get in his line, which takes about one minute. I run over to the control panel and press the E stop which unlocks all the doors on the hipot washer and sets off the alarms as well. Kristi stumbles out of the access door to the high pot and I'll never forget the horrifying scene of flesh melting away from her bones and blood beginning to ooze out that awaited me. Eventually paramedics arrived and Christy was taken away and Armando was taken away in handcuffs by the police. Apparently what happened is Armando stopped the washer and then just walked away. When Christy noticed it was down, she came over to investigate and then went inside it as well when she didn't see Armando around. Armando then shut the door behind her and locked it and then started it back up again, spraying her to death with scalding Hatsika. Apparently he was so sick of her harassment and apparently HR had done nothing about it that he just finally snapped. Armando was actually sentenced to life in prison for this and Christie ended up dying from her injuries. OSHA began an investigation. However, the company went bankrupt two years later before the investigation was even finished, and the building was eventually demolished. I still think about that to this day and I can't imagine a more horrifying way to die. Foreign I've been working at the same law firm in New Orleans for almost a year. I'm a fresh young female attorney who primarily works in sub box 1 mass torts lawsuits as of lately, things have been fairly unsettling at the workplace. What makes it worse is that nothing's being done. I want to keep my job without causing issues, but there's a man working here who makes it incredibly hard. His name is Anthony and he's a black nerdy paralegal who I assume is in his early 30s. You can say that I brought this abuse upon myself for being overly friendly with him, but I'm just that way with everyone. This all began back in November, when Anthony had really first started communicating with me. He came off as distant at first, but then he would always wave and stare at me. He would also do this strange salute type of gesture whenever he would see me. Nothing too crazy, but in hindsight it is a little weird. He would always be at the office very early and would hang out in the kitchen making the coffee. I came in early one day and decided to grab a hot cup of joe. Anthony was in the kitchen. I smiled and said hello and he just stared at me while I worked on making my own cup of coffee. I had trouble reaching a cup until I saw his hand reach up and grab it for me. He then talked to me for a little bit. He was very awkward and tended to sweat a lot. My guess was that he was just nervous. He then told me if I ever needed a hand with grabbing things out of reach to shoot him a team message. I laughed and got to work. As time went on, I noticed he would do very awkward and strange things like stand there awkwardly in silence whenever I was chit chatting with the other coworkers. I began to tell myself that he might just be a little on the spectrum and that he was just probably completely harmless. Our Christmas party is usually the first weekend in December and our firm goes all out for us. Our first night is a cocktail hour, the second is a formal dinner, and Sunday is a day of fun activities all around the city, all events paid for by the firm. That Friday at work, everyone was hanging out, opening bottles of wine, beer and booze and just enjoying each other's company. I noticed Anthony kept hovering around me as he tends to do to select people when we were all in the same room. For whatever reason, I was staying sober for the night because I didn't want to get sloppy at my first Christmas work event and be that guy. I noticed it ended up just being me, Anthony and a coworker of ours, Melanie, at a table, eating together. Melanie was probably in her mid-40s, a little older, but a very pretty and kind woman with a southern accent. We were both laughing at Anthony and how he was acting a little over the top for his usual calm self. He would talk loudly and say little things while jumping up and being very animated. He was sweating profusely while doing so as if he were on drugs or something. It was kind of like watching Chris Farley, but way less funny and more awkward and concerning. Although it was awkward, Melanie and I were still laughing. To be nice, Anthony went to the bathroom and Melanie started to gossip. You know, he seems nice, but he kind of gives me the creeps, she said. She told me how uncomfortable it makes her when he stands behind her and then says nothing and just slowly walks away. She said one time she swore that he was following her home in his car, but it was hard to tell because she said his car stopped at the end of her street. I laughed and just told her something like, you know, I think he's just a little under the umbrella. Anthony is harmless. I mean, are you sure it's him? The mood of the conversation then got a little more serious. She looked me dead in the eyes and told me, girl, I've been working my whole life in these types of environments. Do not give a man like that any reason to think you're easy to walk on because it'll be a stray dog situation and no one will believe you. I brushed it off and I kinda just told myself that Melanie was probably racist. Little did I know I was really giving food to a stray dog that just wouldn't go away. As the workday began to fade into the pre game before cocktail night, I thought maybe it was time to go home and get ready for the event. As I was walking out of the office, I saw Anthony sitting on the curb. He very obviously had too much to drink and he looked a little bored sitting on his phone. Hey man, what's up? I said. He looked at me with a grin and said he lived an hour and a half away and was just going to kill time before the cocktail eventually. Are you gonna meet up with friends? I asked. No, I'm just probably gonna sit here and play on my phone, but it might die. I felt very bad for him at the moment and felt like I almost needed to do something nice. Well, I live a few blocks down the road. Why don't you come hang out with me at my apartment while I get ready? I asked, hoping and expecting that he would say no. That sounds pretty cool, he said. I cringed as we walked to my car. The ride there wasn't so bad. It just talked a lot about video games, the gathering, and other nerdy stuff that I wasn't really familiar with. I just pretended to be interested. When we got to my apartment, my roommate wasn't home, but luckily I kept a baseball bat right under my bed in case anything weird happened. I told him we had a few seltzers and beers in the fridge and that he could help himself if he would like while I took a quick shower. While I was showering, I just kept thinking how stupid I was for getting myself into this. He was so weird and awkward. What if Melanie was right? What if he did stalk her? And then out of my peripheral vision, I saw him. I usually tend to gaslight myself into thinking I'm crazy, but this time I knew what I saw. It was a flash of light near the Bathroom door and a familiar flashing light. It was 100% an iPhone camera flash. I waited and then peeked out of the shower and saw nothing. I just stood there paralyzed in fear. I told myself he didn't get a picture of me, but I need to think of an emergency plan to get him the hell out of my house as calmly as possible. I hurried and got dressed as fast as I could, but then went out to speak with Anthony. Oh, man, you're not gonna believe this. My cousin had an emergency and needs me to go pick her up right now. I said. I didn't hear a response, but when I went to my room, Anthony was laying on the floor and appeared to have drunk at least seven beers. What? What? He said as he laid there completely hammered. She doesn't feel so good. I had too much to drink. Bro, did you just chug like six beers in 10 minutes? While I was in the shower, I knew that I had gotten myself into a real pickle and I was screwed. I couldn't tell if he was actually drunk or faking, but he wouldn't get off the floor of my bedroom. Anthony, dude, come on, You've got to get it together. I have to go. He just laid there and began to act like he was falling asleep. I went into the living room and pretended to call my cousin to let her know that I wouldn't be coming to help her. I sat in my living room in disbelief. What the hell do I do? Leave him here? Hang out with him here? I did not sign up for this. I just wanted to be nice. I did my makeup and decided that I would wait in the living room to see what he did. After a couple of hours of sleeping in my bed, an hour went by until he got out of my room. He seemed totally fine and we watched Netflix until it was time to head to the holiday work event. Dude, I didn't know you liked to drink that much. I said. You totally owe me more beer. He looked disappointed and told me he struggled with alcohol for years and he treats it as a coping mechanism to deal with never knowing his father. Then he began to cry as if this night couldn't get any worse. I have a big drunk weirdo coworker crying in my living room about his dad. I was texting my roommate the whole time and we came up with an idea to leave him at the work event while he came and picked me up to go do something else. My roommate is a young guy named Connor and we really have a great sibling type of relationship. I'm thankful he was able to help me slip out of this crappy situation. When Anthony arrived, I realized how weird it would look for us to show up together. So I asked him to just go inside while I made a phone call. No, thank you. I can wait for you, he said. I acted like I was calling someone and they didn't answer. When we walked in, everything was pretty fun and exciting. I don't think anyone even noticed we walked in together. Anthony finally got away from me. It was a real relief as I went off and talked to co workers that were actually my friends. At one point in the night, I would start to see Anthony pop up again and again, though I then began to notice him looking at me and pointing when he was talking to people. This made me uncomfortable. Then a woman attorney who I really admired came up to me and asked if I was okay. I lied and said yes, and she just stared at me blankly and then bluntly said, look, Anthony is saying the two of you are dating. My heart sank. What the fuck? No, that is the furthest thing from the truth, I said. I walked over and confronted him. He could barely stand and shouted, hey, babe. He reeks of liquor and was spitting with every word that left his mouth. I really like this song. Can we dance? I told him he needed to get an Uber home, stop drinking and relax. He was being insanely loud and it was making a scene. I walked out and went to a bar down the road until my roommate came to pick me up. My roommate and I met up at a bar and hung out while I explained to him what was going on. After about an hour, Melanie called me. Hey, girl, we're all leaving the cocktail hour, but we noticed that Anthony is in your car. What? I said, girl, yeah, he's in your car. Laid out in the seat, naked. I stood up from where I was sitting and I told her to bang on the car and make him fucking leave now. She then said, There are about 12 coworkers outside of your car right now trying to get him to open the door. I told her to please ask everyone to just carry on with their night. And then my roommate and I were heading over to handle this. When we arrived, my car was fine. No Anthony, nothing weird. Just my car parked. I went home that night with no issues, but was fucking terrified that he knew where I lived. He didn't show face to the holiday dinner, but I did. A few of the folks were pretty spooked about what had happened the night before. We all agreed to talk about this to someone in management on Monday. Monday came and I kid you not, no one would vouch for me besides Melanie. The other attorneys and co workers who I trusted all acted like they didn't even remember or thought it wasn't as bad as it had seemed that night. Oh, come on now. We all had a lot to drink. He's a weird guy and probably just didn't realize he was in your car. He had his clothes on in your car. You aren't remembering correctly. Our operations manager attorney refused to believe us. This is a man's career at stake. I can't just fire him without any proof. Melanie is a rumor starter and she has something against Anthony. Are you sure you didn't just sleep with him and now you're embarrassed? He said the two of you dated is what they told me. Since the incident, he has sent love notes to my address, called my cell phone from private numbers and would breathe on the line. And he's followed me home from work twice. Nothing has been done, but I'm in the process of getting his sorry ass fired. I just didn't know it would be this hard. For the record, I actually tested sliding my phone under the bathroom door and it could 100% get a clear shot of the bathroom. I guess to start off, my life up to 2005 was pretty traumatic and heartbreaking. That being said, not much really scared me. 20 years ago when this happened. The story is more creepy than anything else. I guess. I started working at a Burger King in my town and things went really well. However, there was this one co worker who called himself Tom. He looked normal enough and most people liked him. I don't know what it was about him, but I refused to work with him. He would give me these creepy dead eyed smiles and try to be near me whenever he could. I would get nauseous around him and my manager told me to get over it or be fired. About a week after talking with the manager, Tom disappeared and never again showed up for work. More time had passed and my coworkers and I found out that his name was in fact not even Tom. He was a child predator who was wanted in Kansas at the age of 17. I looked about 14. That creeps me out even further. I have many more stories about creepy encounters and various types of assaults from strangers, foster parents and blood family members alike. This was one of the first though, so I thought I'd share it. Please be safe out there everyone. This event didn't happen to me, but rather my mom will live in a pretty nice neighborhood with close to no crime whatsoever. However, in the Neighboring City, Newark, NJ Things are very different. In my opinion, it's probably the worst place in New Jersey, right behind Camden. My mom works at Prudential and the building she works at is located in Newark. She always told me about how seedy things were down there and that she hated driving around there. Yesterday in particular, things were extra scary and she barely escaped. She was driving to work in the early morning and traffic was heavier than usual. She reached Newark and to her left was a Dunkin Donuts drive thru. There was also a truck coming through that same drive thru. It apparently thought it could squeeze through the traffic to get into the main road. However, as it was speeding up to get through, the two cars in front of my mom were beginning to drive too. The two cars crashed right into the truck. My mom was screaming thinking it was for her as she was now the closest to the crash. Thankfully, with a bit of help, her car safely got around the wreckage and she escaped unscathed. It's crazy to think that if she was just two cars ahead, she could have crashed into the truck and been gravely injured or worse. She got to work safely and she let us know about the situation and that she was okay and at work. But the story doesn't end here. Her day ended about 3pm and she was getting ready to drive back home. When she drove to the main road, she noticed the traffic was even bigger than it was that morning. You might think that this was because of the crash, but it wasn't. She had passed the Dunkin Donuts already at this point. One of the lanes was empty so mom decided to drive into it hoping to get out of the traffic faster buying when she did, she heard screaming and men shouting he's dead. He's dead. She had just heard shouting when she crossed into the empty lane and that's when she was met with the gruesome sight of a dead corpse ridden with blood on the road right in front of her. And I mean that there was blood everywhere. The men who shouted earlier were dragging the corpse across the street and off the main road. The rest of my mom's drive went smoothly after that. As of today, we have absolutely no idea what came of these two occurrences. We don't know how that man died, but I assume he got ran over or something. My mom is going into work today and her day is a lot better, but she still hates going into new work. My name is Reed and I am a 25 year old male. This is about the time I had a stalker at my job at a restaurant where I worked as a bartender. I never thought much about the people I worked with at the restaurant. It was just a job, something to pay the bills while I figured out the rest of my life. I bartended every night, working the late shift. Most of the customers were regulars, old faces, late night drunks, the occasional couple on a date. Nothing ever really stood out. That is, until I met her. Her name was Clara. She started about three weeks after I did, filling in for shifts when we got slammed. She wasn't anything special at first, just another person trying to get by. Tall, dark hair, a little too much makeup for the job. I never paid her much attention, just another face behind the counter. But there was something about her that just started to feel off. It was little things at first, like how she always stood just a little too close when we talked, or how she'd smile just a bit too long when she handed me an order. I didn't think much of it. I just chalked it up to her being new, maybe a little nervous around me or the job. But then it kept happening. She'd linger around the bar when it wasn't her shift, watching me work, asking if I needed help when I clearly didn't. She'd comment on how I made drinks or how I interacted with the customers. Even though she wasn't exactly an expert herself. I caught her looking at me from across the room, her gaze lingering just a little too long. At first I figured I was just imagining it, but after a few nights I started to feel more like she was studying me. One evening I was wiping down the bar after the last call when she came over. She had this tight smile on her face, but it didn't reach her eyes. You're really good at what you do, she said, her voice soft but not exactly casual. You've got this ease about you. I smiled back, kind of unsure on how to respond. Thanks. I've been at it for a while. She nodded, her fingers lightly tapping the edge of the bar, almost absent mindedly. Then she said, maybe we could hang out sometime. You know, outside of this place. I didn't know how to respond. I wasn't rude, but I wasn't interested either. I don't really think that'd be a good idea, I said, trying to keep my tone friendly. I'm actually pretty busy outside of work. Her face faltered for a second, but she quickly recovered. Oh, no worries. Just thought I'd ask. The next night she had handed me a folded piece of paper when no one else was looking. She smiled like it was some kind of secret. Just in case you change your mind, she said softly, I'd like to spend more time with you. I opened the paper after she left. It was a phone number. I wasn't really sure what to make of it. I didn't want to be rude, so I pocketed it, figuring I could just ignore it if it came to that. But the whole interaction left a weird feeling in my stomach. Something didn't feel right. The following week, Clara's behavior escalated. She started showing up at the bar on nights when she wasn't scheduled to work. I'd be mixing drinks, and there she was, sitting at the counter with her usual drink, just watching me. At first I thought she was just a regular customer, but then I noticed how she'd order the same thing every night, sipping slowly, and watched me work as if she was analyzing every little thing I did. I'd catch her staring at me when I wasn't looking, and when I didn't look up, she'd quickly glance away, like she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't have. The worst part was how she never seemed to talk to anyone else. She'd just sit there, waiting for a moment when I wasn't busy to talk to me. I started to feel trapped, like I was walking a tightrope, unsure when she'd crossed the line between friendly and, well, something else. One night after the bar had slowed down, I was wiping down the counter when she slid into the seat right in front of me. Reed, she said softly, almost like she was telling me a secret. I've been thinking about you a lot lately. I froze the rag in my hand, pausing mid air. I tried to laugh it off. Well, it's not like we don't see each other enough here. She didn't smile. No, I mean, I really think we have something special. You're not like the other guys. You don't just see me as a bartender. You see me. I wasn't sure what to say to that. I didn't feel any special connection whatsoever. Nothing like that, anyways. I don't know what you mean, Clara. She reached into her purse and pulled out a small envelope, sliding it across the bar toward me. It's for you. Just a little something. I hesitated, then took it. Inside was a card. A personal one, the kind you give someone you had a history with, not someone you'd just met. The note was simple but chilling. We're meant to be together, Reid. I know you feel it too. I felt my stomach drop My thoughts raced, but before I could say anything, she stood up and left, leaving me with that feeling of unease deep in my bones. That's when it started. The weird notes, the unexpected visits to my apartment, the awkward, forced interactions where I'd try to be polite but she just wouldn't take the hint. She started to follow me after work, waiting outside the restaurant, sometimes watching me walk to my car. She'd smile and wave, but I'd get into my car as quickly as I could, my hands shaking on the wheel. I couldn't take it anymore. One night after I got off late, I found a note on my windshield. I know where you live, Reid. I'll be there soon. I went cold. I didn't know how she found out where I lived, but I couldn't ignore it. This wasn't some harmless crush anymore. She was stalking me. I had to talk to my manager. I told him everything. How Clara was making me uncomfortable, how I was scared to come to work, how I was feeling trapped by her constant presence. He listened, but I could see the doubt in his eyes. It was hard for him to believe me at first, but when I showed him the note on my windshield, his face dropped. The next day, Clara was fired. I'd heard from the other staff that she had been let go for unprofessional behavior. They didn't go into details, but I knew it was more than that. I wasn't the only one she had been bothering. Apparently, she'd been sending strange texts to a few other coworkers, too, but I didn't find that out until later. My manager called me into his office after her firing. He seemed genuinely sorry about what had happened. I know it's been rough, he said. And I just want you to know if you ever want your job back, it's yours. But I didn't want to come back. I couldn't. I didn't feel safe there anymore, not after everything that happened. The restaurant had been my escape, my routine. But it had turned into a place of anxiety. A place where I constantly looked over my shoulder. No amount of money was worth the constant fear I'd felt. I appreciate the offer, I told him, but I can't come back. It's just too much. I walked away from that job, and I never looked back. It wasn't easy. Money was tight for a while, but I eventually found something else. Something safer, quieter. But even now, there are moments when I'm walking down the street at night and I feel like I'm being watched. I'm always on edge always checking over my shoulder. I don't know where Clara is now, or if she's even still out there. Maybe she's moved on to someone else. But I've learned that some things just stay with you even after they're gone. And for me, the worst part isn't even the fear anymore. It's the question that keeps me up some nights. What if she's still out there, waiting for me to slip up again? But that's a problem for someone else now. For me. Well, I'm done.