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Ask for O'Reilly Veriscan today. Oh oh oh. O'REILLY AUTO PARTS about three years ago, I was 38 weeks pregnant. My husband and I lived in what we called our village. It was two dead end streets off a highway with forestry beyond the ends of the roads and a small local store at the corner of one street. We called it the Village because our trailer park neighbors were my aunt, uncle and cousin's trailer and then my husband's brother and nieces. Then my grandma's house was on the next street over. My other aunt, uncle and cousins lived with her. At the time, my husband and I were 21 years old then. My best friend Ray was visiting from college and had spent the night with me. The next day we decided to walk up my street, down the highway past the store, then down to my grandma's street and back through the woods to my house. This was to try to help get labor started as my pregnant belly was huge and my back really hurt often. Then we were talking while I hobbled with her down the highway when a white truck rode by rather slowly. I knew the speed limit was 55 and this dude had to be going like 30. Through the driver window I saw a bald white man, maybe in his 50s, rubbernecking at us. At this time it looked like there might have been someone else in the passenger seat. The truck was kind of old, but I didn't know the year, make or model or see the license plate. Ray was talking and unbothered until I said, hey, that guy just went by really slowly. I don't think that's anyone I know. She then replied with something like oh, I didn't even notice that. We were halfway to the store less than two minutes later when we saw him coming back from the other direction. I then said, that's him again. Get in the grass. Since we were on what would have been his right side, we went down the slope of the grass off the road. We're still in front of people's houses though because the section of highway is lined with residences between the dead end streets. He passes us slowly again and when I turn to look behind us, he's slowing down even more. He then finds a spot and starts to turn the truck around. I told Ray to run, so we ran. I was doing the best I could being super pregnant. We thought about going in the store but decided to just head for my grandma's up the other street instead. Her house was up the hill at the end, but it wasn't a long run. When we got up the hill, I had looked back again to see his truck pulling into the store parking lot. We continued to run, got to my grandma's where she and my aunt were sitting at the table and then told them what just happened. My aunt made a police report. I was afraid at first, thinking maybe I was paranoid. What if it was someone I knew and they were just trying to say hi and maybe it was a waste of the police's time. Turns out there had been other reports of a man creeping around the neighborhoods. Someone in another trailer park right down the highway reported that her kids were outside playing when a man emerged from the woods trying to lure one of them to him. They hollered for their mom and supposedly she came out and threatened him and he ran off. But it continues a few more times. We think we saw his truck, but we're not really sure if it was him since one of the residents also has a white truck. My family had yet to see the truck so they couldn't identify it. At some point when I wasn't home, a few of my cousins were playing outside. Their ages ranged from 10 to 15. This time the truck came rolling down our little street past them. He turned around at the end, came back up and stopped right next to them. They said that he was trying to lure my 11 year old cousin to the truck, but he said no and they all ran back to my aunt's house. We talked with the children about what was going on in the neighborhood lately. One more thing happened before the report stopped I had my baby at 40 weeks. My husband, his friend, the baby and I were home. The baby was about a week old. We got a call from my aunt at grandma's house that they had seen the man real up close and personal. My two female teen cousins were in their room. It was getting dark out, but for some reason my cousin went up to open the blinds to the window and there was the man squatting on the AC unit, just staring at them. They screamed and he jumped off and ran into the woods behind the house. My aunt called the police. My husband and his friends later went out with guns and flashlights to search for him, but they didn't find him. I believe he was parking his truck somewhere and then stalking the houses from the forest. My husband and I actually used to walk through those woods and we never had any issues as it was private land that we had permission to walk on. It also seems that this man didn't have a preference for age or gender. He was looking for anyone he could get for whatever sick reason. There had been police sent to patrol the highway or sit on the side of the road waiting, keeping an eye out for him throughout those weeks. But they never caught him. I still wonder sometimes if he was someone from out of town or I really hope that maybe somewhere he gets busted before something bad happens. We might not ever know. I forgot to mention that we contacted the store owner to see if he had caught the truck's plates on a security camera. But unfortunately you couldn't see the plates from the angle the man had pulled through. At the time I was a 25 year old woman. I was working at a very run down seafood restaurant on a lake out where I live in the middle of nowhere, literally 15 miles from the nearest store. I was working on an evening shift and it may have been around 7:00 at night. Before I go further, I would like to give some background for context. A majority of the clientele that frequented this restaurant were what many would consider trashy. There was a campground and a trailer park within a mile vicinity and many folks lived in the campground for months at a time. So I became quite accustomed to dealing with some less than savory people and their behaviors. So on this particular evening business was pretty slow. Two guys walk in, one older rough looking man and a younger equally rough looking man. I set them in and fetch them a couple of Coronas at their request from the get go. They're leering at me now. I'm used to this kind of awkward attention from male customers. So I Just roll with it, trying to at least earn a decent tip. The older man begins to not so subtly hit on me, telling me how beautiful I am and the things that he would do to me. I nervously laugh and tell the man that I have a boyfriend and that I'm not interested. I decided that it would be best if I tell my manager in the kitchen about this creeper. He comes out of the kitchen and happens to see their van, the only vehicle in the parking lot. A cliche creeper, white but filthy utility van with no back windows. He stands over me as I check on the men and their table and he tells me to be careful and aware. Sometime after their food has arrived and a couple more beers, I walk over to check on these men. The older man looks up at me and sways, clearly having one too many. And then he says this to me. If you aren't going to give me anything, then you should go into the kitchen and get a hot dog bunch. Then fill it with mayonnaise and microwave it for a few seconds for me. That way I have something warm and soft to stick my dick in tonight. What the absolute hell. I don't even remember what I said in response. At this point, my thin veneer of customer service niceness was now gone. I was mortified and I told my manager. He proceeds to stand at the doorway while I present the man with their check and they pay. Seeing my manager watching them closely, they say nothing else. They just get into their pedo van and drive away. Flash forward a few days. The same van is seen around the small rural town, cruising by school bus stops, trying to lure children over. Thank goodness they weren't successful in their attempts. Let's go back to when I was in the fourth to fifth grade. I'm turning 19 soon now. My grandma from Alaska had driven her motorhome down and she had brought her beagle, Ginger. We're in Florida. My friends, they were siblings, lived about 10, 15 minutes away from my house and I wanted to show them my grandma's dog since I was already taking her out for a walk. I had gotten about five minutes from my house, so literally just down the road a little bit and I cross the main drag. A little bit further down is a church. My house at the time and the church's property are bordering each other. I'm on the opposite side of the road where the church is and there's a small circle driveway. Ginger stopped to smell some bushes and I'm just like, okay, smell and we can go. Then a guy in A white truck with a small trailer pulls in and parks there. And I don't think anything of it. He gets out of the car and leaves the door open. I look over and there's a girl, maybe seven, eight years old, in the passenger seat. Her knees are against her chest and she looks scared. The guy hollers at me from across the street, so naturally I look over. He then says, hey there, I'm not gonna hurt you, over and over again. And he starts crossing the road. I started freaking out a little bit, and I start pulling Ginger's leash, but she's way into this bush and won't budge. He gets halfway across and there are no cars. And he then asked me the most bizarre thing I've ever heard. Do you know anybody that's selling babies? I look to the side, really anxiously, trying to think of some kind of lie to get him down the street or something just to get him away from me. I ended up just saying, uh, no, sorry, man. And Ginger was finally done, so I started to book it back home. He left, said nothing else, and drove away. I totally forgot all about the girl in the truck. I'm walking across the street back home and some guy in a bug exterminator truck tells me saw what happened. And he asked me if I'm okay. I just say yes. Still being creeped out about literally talking to anybody else. And now a second guy shows up. He left shortly after and I walked into my house and told my mom and grandmother. They were horrified that it happened so close and that they had no idea. My mom called the cops and they took a description from me via the phone. But it was really bad because all I really know was that he was a little bit taller than me at the time, maybe 30, was Hispanic, and he had a white truck and a trailer. I remember my stepdad pulling up people who got arrested recently. And he asked me if I recognized any of them. Of course I didn't, though. Years later, I really hope that girl's fine and doing okay. And I just hope that it was his daughter being really creeped out by him. Also, I really hope no other kids got to talk to him. It was a really nerve wracking experience. Longtime lurker, part time jerker. But the story involves my encounter with a serial killer in 1996. I was 22 years old and living in Terrebonne, Louisiana. I was living with my cousin and we were doing some construction work. And our existences revolved around getting trashed on the weekend. One Friday night, we went out with a co worker named Josh. We met Josh at his house in Houma and headed out. We hit the bars and I was determined to get laid this night. By 1am I had completely struck out for the night. I was at the point of my alcohol consumption that I wasn't going to have any success with the ladies. So we headed back to Josh's and couldn't really manage to find our way back in our drunken states and ended up in a section of town none of us had ever been to before. We come across another bar and Josh convinces us that it's a good idea to go inside. Well, within 30 seconds of entering the bar, it's very obvious that it's a gay bar. None of us were gay, but we agreed with some prodding from Josh, that we could stay and have a few drinks. I started getting advanced on by a heavyset man. I make it apparent as quickly as possible that I'm not gay and that he should leave. He seems to accept this, but continues to spark up a conversation with me. I find him somewhat interesting, mainly due to his open sexuality, which I was new to. And about half an hour goes by and the bar is dying down and we continue chatting. He says that he lives nearby and that all three of us can crash with him and head out in the morning. At this point, he hadn't really set off any alarm bells, especially not in my drunken state. I convinced Josh and my cousin that the guy's cool and that we can have a nice place to stay the night that's nearby. They eventually trust my judgment and we head out. We eventually found ourselves in a small trailer park. We get to his trailer park and things started getting really freaking weird. It had a giant bulletin board with pictures of men on it. Under the men's pictures is descriptions like rugged butt, white boy, tight ass, teeth, and just really weird crap. My cousin even comments on it and he states that he likes to remember his partners. Oh, okay. We're too drunk to give a crap and we just want to get this night over with. In the middle of the night at about 4am, we're woken up by him screaming about if you're gonna sleep in my house, you're gonna have to pay. We naturally ask him what the hell he's doing and he insists that we're tasing him and want a good screwing. We eventually get him calmed down and get the hell out of there. Seven years later, I realized that the man was Ronald Dominique, who was eventually convicted of 23 murders of homosexual men. This was in 1996. I often struggle with guilt over if I should have done something and contacted the police based on the weird vibes he gave off and his inappropriate behavior. At the time of his conviction. Though, I had long moved from Louisiana and I was living in Northern Oregon. It's still pretty crazy to find that out though. So the story takes place a few years ago. I grew up in a trailer park in an extremely low income part of California's Central Valley. The park itself was originally established as a retirement community for seniors, and my grandmother had bought a nice double wide upon her retirement. But as the years went by, the age and retirement requirement was dropped and the park filled in with all sorts of unsavory types. My mom and I moved in with my grandmother after she was diagnosed with cancer in 2001, and after she died, we had decided to stay in the trailer and try to fix it up and sell it. Life got in the way, plans fell by the wayside, and nine years later, we're still living there. Our neighbors were interesting, to say the least. The trailer to the right of ours shuffled through a bunch of different renters in the 10 years we lived there, including a guy who was arrested for throwing his girlfriend through one of the windows and another couple of dudes who never lived there but just used to grow marijuana. But the people to our left were really nice. They were a pretty typical trailer park couple, Cindy and Nurlat. She was this tiny lady with tattooed eyeliner and a Betty Boob trim stamp who collected Precious Moments figures and would often walk around with her fake teeth out. And he was a Vietnam vet, Berkeley grad, and former engineer who in his retirement, had decided to just settle down, drink beer, and work on his motorcycles. Neural was a really good guy who was pretty protective of my mom and myself, so we didn't feel like we were in much danger for most of the time we lived there. In the fall of 2009, however, things started to get weird. Nurl joined an outlaw motorcycle gang that had roots in drug trafficking. According to Cindy, he just wanted to ride with them, but he had started getting sucked into the subculture and it was scary. The park we lived in was fully fenced in and gated, and I used to go out running in the early morning or evening before it got too hot. One loop around the full park was a mile and I'd go do that three or four times. You had to carry a big stick or pepper spray in case someone's dog got loose. But somehow you got used to these things. I'd been doing this ever since I was 14 and had never run into anything weird or scary, aside from the aforementioned dogs. But around the time of his induction into this club, I had started seeing strange people on bikes stationed in various parts of the park. Not doing anything, just sitting. So one evening in late May, I'm out on my regular run. Headphones on, I've got my pepper spray and I'm totally in the zone. Near the end of my fourth loop, I turn the corner to head down my street, and I see three guys on bikes just sitting in the middle of the street, just staring. I know what Nurl's bikes look like. None of his were there. So I have basically two options. I can turn around and take a detour, or I can just keep going down the street. The smart thing to do is take the damn detour, because these guys look pretty damn sketchy to me. But I'm tired. Having just run four miles in 90 degree heat. And taking the detour would mean going past a house belonging to this old man who liked to hoot and holler at me whenever I'd go past. Well, being a moron, I keep jogging along down the street, obliviously heading toward the freaking black hat brigade. Like absolutely nothing here is out of the ordinary. What, those three scary guys on bikes parked in the middle of the street? Nope, nothing to see here. Happens every day. Just play it cool. When I get close, one of them revs their bike. You know, the vroom vroom noise? I know nothing about the correct terminology. Another then shouts, hey. I have my headphones in and pretend I can't hear them. So I just give a little wave and just keep going. Big mistake. Because as soon as the dude sees that I'm not going to stop for him, he peels out and turns around and starts to cruise after me down the street. Now I'm terrified. I may be 40ft from my house and the adrenaline is kicking in. I drop the pepper spray and start running faster than I've ever run before. It's like a Roadrunner cartoon in real life. My headphones come out of my ears and are dragging on the ground, but I don't even notice because the dude is gaining on me. I fly down the street, into my yard, up the stairs and into my house, locking and bolting the door behind me. And then I go running into my mom's room to tell her what's going on. She tells me to get down on the floor and not look out any windows. And just as she does, we hear this guy banging on our back door. Not saying anything, just banging. He does this for at least 20 minutes. Our back door was kind of flimsy and if you pulled on it the right way, you could tug it open even if it was locked. So we just sat in the bathroom in the very back of the trailer, praying that he wouldn't start pulling. Then my mom calls the cops. The cops take their sweet time to show up as per usual in our neighborhood, and by the time they arrive, the bikers are long gone. We gave a statement, but that was pretty much the end of it until two days later when Cindy comes over sobbing about how she just got a call that Nerl was stabbed in a fight with a rival biker gang at a tattoo parlor a few blocks away. I don't know exactly what these guys were doing in our neighborhood that day, or what they thought flagging down his teenage neighbor would accomplish, but those cracks and indentations from the dude's giant fists in our back doors scared the crap out of me every time I saw them. So for a few weeks after that, we had to deal with seeing random guys on bikes stationed around the neighborhood. Cindy just said they were neurals guys and taking care of things. I didn't go out running alone again for as long as I lived there. Oh, and the cherry on top of all this. About a year later we found out that a trailer just up the street from ours was being used as a meth lab. That was when we finally noped the hell out of there and moved to the East Coast. A little background information about me I have panic disorder. For those who don't know what that is, it's a mental illness that causes extreme anxiety, severe panic attacks, and a slew of problems. I've been suffering from this for over a year now, and while it is getting better, it's still very difficult to deal with. Keep this in mind. My husband and I have been married for a little over a year now. The time we were married, unfortunately, I was undergoing medical issues that no doctors could seem to explain. I was having panic attacks all the time and they would be so severe that I would have to be taken to the er, where they would have to literally sedate me to calm down. I was also losing weight at an exponential and scary rate, becoming sicker and sicker as time went on. Not even a month after we were married, I lost my job and was homebound while My husband worked second shift, which was 4pm to 3am he would arrive home at around 4am, leaving me alone most of the time. My parents and younger brother live close by, perhaps a 10 minute drive at most. But at the moment, my mother and father were unable to watch over me. My mom is a schoolteacher and my father worked in a factory. They called as frequently as they could, but that's all they could do. In May, I was told by doctors that I was literally at death's door and unless something happened quickly, my family was going to lose me. I was given medications to help with the panic attacks, to get me to eat, etc. They wanted to hospitalize me, but I refused. My parents decided that when they and my younger brother went to Florida the next month, they were taking me with them again. Keep in mind, I'm both anxious and extremely sick. Around this time, the real issues began not with me, but with our neighbors. See, we've never actually met our neighbors personally. My husband lived in a trailer for a month on his own before we married and he always said they were odd, but they didn't seem to be of any concern. However, once I came into the picture, that changed. The person who lived in the trailer before us was actually a cousin of mine who rented from another cousin and his wife who lived states away. Nora was a huge druggie and a drug dealer, so people got used to getting their fixes and drugs at the trailer we now live in. Then a few months before we moved in, she got in trouble with the lull and she landed in jail for some time. I guess our neighbors, who according to our landlords were drug addicts and raging alcoholics as well, thought that perhaps she was back. I'm not quite sure. I suppose this is because from where I was so sick and my husband slept when he could, from both working odd hours and taking care of me. So they never actually saw us, they just knew someone was there. They became active at night. During the day they were predominantly quiet. Every once in a while they would do something outside. But for the most part, nothing really happened. It was always after my husband left for work. My car was still there, which should have told them that at least someone was still home. It started off innocently enough, driving up and down in front of the house, parking in the road directly in front of it and waiting. They'd honked a horn, but I ignored them. Several times I called my parents asking them what to do. They said for the time to just ignore them because maybe they thought Norah was back and after some time they'd get the hint that it was new people and leave me alone. So I did just that. For a time. When they started driving up the driveway and stopping at the porch, that's when I first called the cops. All I was told was that as long as they didn't encroach on my actual property, there was nothing they could do. They advised me to turn on the lights to my house, signaling I was home. I couldn't sleep despite needing to. I had mono and panic disorder and depression and I desperately needed sleep. My husband had the weekends off and you can guess it, no issues during the weekends. It was insane and infuriating. Everyone believed me when I said I was having problems, but there was only so much they could do. My father in law brought me over one of his shotguns, a 12 gauge. Knowing that I was a good shot, he told me to use it if need be. Another background thing is that I shot trapped for years and when I was 18 I placed second in districts. I chose not to go to state, but knowing I was good enough for second was a proud moment for me. My father in law made me promise that I would use it if it came to it. So I did. One night my husband was at work and I guess my body finally shut off. I fell asleep for once, only to be woken up around 1am by the sound of our neighbor's truck tearing out from behind the trailer. I jumped up and looked outside to see them driving out of our driveway. They started speeding up and down the front of the house and I called the cops again. I called my dad and mom and my dad came over because I was in a full panic attack. My dad called my husband, who came home immediately. There were tire marks in the grass behind the trailer, but they couldn't necessarily prove it was them, despite me describing their truck down to the dents. My dad told the cops, this has been going on long enough, but again, not enough evidence or proof. A week. Just one more week until I could go with my family to Florida. I somehow managed to be a bridesmaid in my older brother's wedding despite being so sick. I was doped up on medications to keep me calm so I wouldn't have a panic attack. And to be honest, I don't really recall much about that day other than it poured rain. My husband naturally was at work. I was sitting at home, our two cats asleep rather soundly. I was playing my 3Ds with Markiplier on the TV for background noise. The time around midnight when my cat suddenly woke up and came unglued. They ran to the side door, then to the front door, growling and hissing Their hair on end. They had never behaved that way. So I started to get up to see what it was they were freaking out about. When I heard it. Yo, how we gonna do this? I froze. I heard them. I heard their footsteps as they walked up and down the front porch. I wasn't sure how many there were, but I know for a fact there were at least three men outside. My curtains were closed and most of the lights were off. But the TV was on and surely they could hear Markiplier's eccentric volume, right? They had gotten quieter. I heard their footsteps on the porch again. I grabbed my phone, shakily swiping until I found my dad's number and called him. I remember breathing hard, feeling a panic attack setting in. Hello? Dad, they're here. They're here. I remember sobbing. They're on the porch, dad. I'm on my way. Call the cops. I hung up with them. Then I heard them talking among themselves about how they wanted to break in, what they wanted, etc. I ran into the bedroom, grabbed the 12 gauge shotgun, opened the chamber to see it fully loaded, and called the cops. I left the lights off. I decided I was going to have them caught this time. I wasn't going to run them off. The dispatch answered and I told him what was going on. As sick as I was, I managed to hold that shotgun to my shoulder, pointed at the door, remembering everything my dad had taught me about shooting while I was a hunter and when I shot traps. But I was still scared out of my mind. Somehow I kept my panic attack down but was still breathing hard. Honey, calm down your breathing. You said they're outside, right? Yes. I heard one say they heard me and then the other one said that it wouldn't be a problem. Oh my God, they're coming. Sweetie, I promise I'm armed. I yelled, hoping they'd hear me. Armed? Armed with what, sweetheart? A 12 gauge. They want to hurt me and I'm not going to let them. She's armed. I heard him tell the police, who I suppose were on their way. I also heard armed from one of the guys outside, then silence. I then heard their footsteps leaving, then saw the lights to my dad's truck. Okay, my dad's here now, I told him. I lowered the shotgun and ran outside. My dad and younger brother were running out of the truck. My dad had the judge in his hand, which is a pistol that shoots 12 gauge rounds. It feels like a freaking hand cannon. You'd swear you'd just broken your wrist. While my younger brother was holding A knife. It's my dad and my brother. They're armed too, I told the dispatcher. Okay, then what of the men? I don't see them anymore. When the cops get there, disarm yourselves, okay? The dispatcher told me. I thanked the dispatcher for everything. And about this time, the cops pulled up. I told my dad and younger brother to disarm. So they put their weapons in the truck while I took my gun inside and sat it in the kitchen on top of our dinner table. My dad told me to get back in the house and for my younger brother to go with me. As soon as I stepped inside, the panic attack hit. My dad came inside for a moment and hugged me, telling me how brave I had been especially for holding it as long as I did. Shaking, crying, gasping for breath, I listened as he went back outside. The cops found footprints in an area on the porch where the men had tried to break in at one point, but the men had scattered, leaving it difficult for the cops to trace where exactly they came from. My dad told them it was the neighbors, and my landlords actually called and told the cops it was more than likely our neighbors as well, who had apparently been giving my cousin who lives up the road a difficult time as well. The cops noticed some of the footprints went into the neighbor's yard, but they weren't home. Of course. I remember my dad and younger brother standing outside just as the cops pulled up, yelling as loudly as they could that they would drop them if they ever so much saw them around me again. Enough is enough. My dad yelled over and over. She's sick and she needs rest. Leave her the hell alone or I swear to God I'll kill all of you. I'm not playing. Leave my daughter alone. And I noticed he was crying. My dad isn't the type of person to do that. My whole life I've seen my dad cry a handful of times when he talked about his deceased father. When my mom's mom died, when the doctors told me I was on death's door when my younger brother was born. There's a 10 years difference between me and him, 12 between him and his older brother. My dad had been scared that he wouldn't get there in time and maybe, just maybe, I would hesitate to protect myself. But I had made up my mind. I wasn't going to let them get away with it anymore. That night, my husband came home from work and hugged me so tightly I thought that my lungs would burst. My younger brother texted him what was going on, but reassured him I was okay. A week later I went to Florida. Time went on and I'm still getting better. As for my neighbors, I've never had problems from them again. I'm not sure if it was the cops actually going to their house or if it was my dad and younger brother threatening them. Or maybe it was me them hearing me saying I was armed. I don't know. I don't care. They're still there, but I know they won't do anything ever again. We've moved from that place and it's been a few years since then. While I still have depression, anxiety and random panic attacks from time to time, I'm now doing much better mentally and physically. We are so glad to have that chapter out of our lives behind us. My parents have basically been divorced all my life, so every other weekend I would go visit my dad. He, my stepmom and two of my stepsisters lived in a trailer and that's where I would go for the weekend. A lot of the people in the park are actually pretty normal and there are a lot of old people that live there, to be honest. But there are some major freaking weirdos, I'll tell you anyways. I was probably around 7 years old at the time and one of my stepsisters was around 9. We lived next door to a family and usually hung out with the daughter in the family, Shiloh. The three of us would stay out until like 2am God knows why our parents let us do that in the sketchy neighborhood and we would also hang out at Shiloh's house a lot. Her dad was always home and he would play with us, watch TV with us, etc. I never thought that he was one of the creepy sickos of the neighborhood. There is, or was a clear shot view from Shiloh's living room through our kitchen window and into my stepsister's room. Now my stepsister had a habit of leaving doors open when she would go to the bathroom, go change, etc. You can see where this is going. One day the two of us were playing out on the front line when Shiloh's dad came walking up to us. I clearly remember him standing near us and watching and we were looking up at him. He directly looked at my stepsister smiling and then said, hey Alex, I watched you change through your kitchen window last night as young kids would do. We flipped the hell out. I just didn't understand it at the time. I was just reacting to Alex freaking out. Alex ran inside crying, told our parents and they called the cops. I don't know what happened after that exactly. Shiloh and her brother Jimmy moved to Florida to live with their grandparents and their dad was arrested. Not exactly sure what for though. After them another family moved in and that dad was arrested too. Not sure why, but we weren't allowed to talk to any more neighbors after that. Finally they just took the damn cursed trailer out for good and the lot is still empty next to our house. All in all, I really don't want to see Jimmy's dad again. Freaking pedo for context, I live in a small trailer court in central Wisconsin and directly next to us is a railway that goes across the whole state and leads to a Wally World if you were to head down for about 20 minutes. I was a teenager in the eighth grade at the time with no car or transportation other than a bike. The railroad tracks go in a straight line directly leading to the Walmart, so if I were to take the bike to Walmart, it takes me about the same time as if I walked straight down the tracks. So more often than not I would walk as I never really was a big fan of riding bikes as I've had back issues ever since I was very young. On this date in particular, I decided to head to Walmart for dumb kid stuff shortly before the sun was about to set. This detail will come into play later. Basically I just went into the store and got distracted just looking around. I bought some food and a drink and some trading cards, but I left as the sun was going down. It was about a 2025 minute walk home and I decided to head down to the tracks again at about a 10 minute mark. It was getting very dark and I was generally a fearful and anxious child due to my autism. I was scared of the dark until I was about 14 and a half and would often have nightmares or say things that weren't there in my closet or dark corners. So as it became too dark to see, I was getting extremely nervous and hypervigilant. Five minutes later I could swear I was hearing footsteps crunching in the rocks lining these tracks that weren't mine. I stopped a few times to listen and confirmed someone was walking towards me from a significant distance away. I couldn't see them at this point because of the darkness and lack of lighting across the railroad tracks. I had no phone or flashlight of any kind. At this point I had started freaking out and turn away. At first I didn't know what to do, but as the sound of the footsteps got closer I decided to call out and let them know that I was Coming towards them. I stopped as I did this and said something along the lines of, is someone there? While I know this might seem silly as an adult, but I was so used to my brain playing tricks on me in darkness, and I was convinced I was hearing things. No response. At this point, the footsteps were getting closer, but still difficult to distinguish over my own, so I stopped. The footsteps continued for a brief moment and then they stopped too. I called out again and said, hello, is anyone there? No response yet again. I was still prepubescent and I had a child's voice. I feel like any reasonable adult would have responded and said, yeah, I'm just walking, or whatever, as I had genuine, noticeable fear in my voice. After I received no response again, I told myself I was just imagining the whole thing and just continued on my journey, at this point being just under 15 minutes from my house. And then I heard them again, Footsteps coming closer. As soon as I started walking at this point, the fear took over and I started yelling and making whooping sounds, thinking it might be some sort of animal. And I yelled things like, hey, I know you're there and I have a knife on me, which was total bullcrap, but I thought I might encourage this person to respond. Still nothing. A few times as I was speaking, I would hear the footsteps stop again. Finally, about three, five minutes later, stopping multiple times and hearing footsteps stop. I was in total fight or flight at this point, scared out of my mind. So it gets a little hazy from here. I start seeing this guy materialize right out of the darkness. He had on blue jeans and a dark hoodie with the hood completely masking his face from a distance. I was instantly relieved, for whatever reason, relieved to know I wasn't crazy, I guess. I don't know. But I began verbally vomiting to this guy that I was just scared. I don't know that he was on the tracks for sure. He again didn't respond, and this was before mainstream Bluetooth audio, and I didn't notice any headphone cables when I passed him because he didn't respond. I was eyeing him wearily as he approached, and then we locked eyes. I will never forget the chill that ran down my spine in that moment. He was staring at me coldly and blankly with a menacing look in his eyes, like he was thinking about what to do next. He had his hands shoved in his pockets, and as I was passing him, it looked like he was gonna pull something out of them in his right hand. I was a very scrawny kid back then, and even though I have back problems. I was fast as hell. I just hurt from running for too long. From then on, going down the tracks at a full sprint, it was all a blur. I tripped and fell twice as well as soaked myself in mud when I tried to get across the small ditch separating the track from the trailer park. But I did finally get home. I never told my mom and I never walked on those tracks at night again. After reading through this again, I thought I would describe the tracks a bit for context. They're on an elevated hill next to the trailers and you can either walk a minute in the wrong direction or get on the main road that I live on, or you can cut through this one small spot where some people had to put a board down for that exact purpose, you know, to get across the ditch and onto the tracks. The board was broken in half and partially submerged, so it was kind of like you had to jump and land on the board with one foot and then kick off to the other side. The ditch is maybe three feet across, so it's not a huge jump, but it always has nasty standing water in it. Once you get on the tracks, there's a super long stretch with absolutely no way off other than private property of a factory that the railway delivers goods to, which you can get in trouble for trespassing on. Then there's a junction about 20 minutes down and another five minutes from there, which is where the Walmart is. Due to this, I couldn't just get off the tracks when I ran away. I had to get to the ditch before I would be able to.