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When I was around 6 years old, my parents divorced and my dad was soon given full custody. At that point, my mom was an alcoholic and had racked up a few DUIs and such. Anyway, my younger sister and I moved in with our father and we moved to a new neighborhood, us kids, then transferred to the nearby elementary school. The school was pretty close to our new house, maybe only 5 or 6 blocks away, close enough to walk, but my sister and I were too young to walk alone.
Sometimes our dad would walk us to school in the morning and then walk back himself. And less commonly, he'd walk to pick us up in the afternoon. Although most of the time, he picked us up in his black Mazda. The way pickups worked at my school was pretty common. We went out with our class, stood by our teacher and classmates, and when a car pulled up, designated staff members would ask who the student was that they were there picking up before going to find them with their class and escorting the kids to their car.
Seeing as my mom was in jail at this time, the only person who ever picked us up was my dad. This one particular day while I was in third grade and my sister was in first, we were outside waiting to be picked up after being outside for only a few minutes. My little sister came running over to me and said someone who wasn't our dad was in a car to pick us up. The man had located my sister first and said both of our names. She said that he'd smiled at her and told her our dad had told him to come pick us up that afternoon.
but she said she wanted to find me first before she got into the car since she didn't recognize him as one of our dad's friends. Thank god she did that. Our dad had always told us not to talk to strangers, so I grabbed my teacher and told her what happened. She got a supremely alarmed look on her face and told us to stay where we were while she told another teacher or something to that effect. Our dad arrived to pick us up a few minutes later, and we ultimately got home safely. We told him about what had happened,
and we all had a long talk about safety protocol. He asked my sister to describe the man and the car, and that's when he called the police and gave them the best description he could, although my sister was very young and wasn't very focused on important details like that. A few weeks later, it happened again, but this time the man pulled up and he said my name. Now, my dad had given the school the same info that he'd given to the police, but presumably, whoever this man was, he had multiple vehicles,
because my sister said that he'd been in a red car, and this one was black, similar to my father's. I saw the black car and instinctively ran up to it, but luckily, I caught a glimpse of the face sitting behind the steering wheel before I opened the door and hopped right in. He was middle-aged, extremely pale, with a really angular face. We made eye contact, and his mouth was smiling, but the smile didn't quite make it to his eyes. They looked really wrong to me,
squinty, and almost angry. I quickly turned back to the carpool assistant who delivered me to the car in an effort to alert her, but by the time I did this, that man was already pulling away from the curb, and just like my little sister, I couldn't give many more details. My dad contacted the police again, but without any license plate information, they weren't able to do much. The last time I saw this man was until months later, near the end of the school year.
I was walking home with a big group of kids that lived in my neighborhood and he drove by us before slowing the car down and attempting to talk to us. I recognized his face immediately and alerted the other kids around me to run. Luckily, we were only about three houses down from where one of my friends lived, concerning her parents significantly as we explained the situation. I never saw him again after that. My dad started dating my now stepmom and we moved to her neighborhood and switched schools shortly thereafter.
I still think about this man occasionally though. His face was actually in a dream of mine a few nights back, which gave me the inspiration to share my experience. I'm in my 20s now, full grown adult, and to this day, I don't know how he knew our names, how he knew anything about us really. It's pretty terrifying to think about what would have happened to my tiny little sister if she'd gotten in that car with that man instead of coming to find me. It's equally as terrifying thinking about what might have happened to me if I had done the same.
I don't have kids of my own yet. I don't know if pickup protocol is the same at elementary schools now as it was then, but I encourage all parents out there to have a code word or some system with their child so they know not to just climb into a car with some strange adult claiming to be friends with their parents. This is a story that I'm not supposed to be telling. It's a family secret that I'm not even supposed to know about.
When my grandfather was younger, he became the principal of an elementary school. He was in his late 20s or early 30s at the time. And despite being young, my grandfather was a born leader. He was a great principal, and everyone loved him. I can attest to that, as I attended multiple award ceremonies for him, and the respect and admiration that he received was true and heartfelt. There was this young boy at the school who was having behavioral issues in class.
and my grandfather saw that the kid didn't have a lot of parental support. So he called in the boy's father and had a talk with him about spending more time with his son and just a general parenting session. It turned out that all the boy needed was his dad's attention, and after a few weeks, he was a happy and model student. He would see the dad playing basketball with his son in the schoolyard after he got home from work. It was one of those moments that he took pride in, being able to make a difference in people's lives.
However, not everything had such an easy solution, and my grandfather found himself having to deal with a particular employee, Stanley, the janitor, who had quite the knack for showing up to work drunk. You see, Stanley was an alcoholic, and one with a mean streak. My grandfather tried on multiple occasions to deal with Stanley's behavior, when finally one day, Stanley showed up to work so drunk
Then my grandpa sent him home and called the superintendent to let him know that he was going to fire Stanley the next morning. My grandfather then asked the superintendent to let him deal with Stanley when he was sober because otherwise, Stanley wasn't a stable person. As it goes in these kind of stories, the superintendent was furious and decided that he was going to call Stanley himself and fire him then and there, despite my grandfather's warning. The superintendent acted independently.
and didn't even think to call my grandpa to tell him about it either. So he was completely in the dark, thinking that he would be left to deal with Stanley in the morning. Upon hearing the news, Stanley was enraged and drove back to the school that evening. He searched the offices, my grandfather's included, tore the entire school apart until he finally found what he wanted. He was in a blaze of fury on his way out, and that's when he saw the father and his son still playing basketball in the yard. That's when he walked towards them,
pulling something out of his trousers. It was a gun. He then proceeded to shoot the little boy, killing him instantly. And even though the father was devastated, hysterically crying out, he somehow managed to get the gun away from Stanley before shooting him. My grandfather was called back to school immediately because the police said that there were two dead bodies on the grounds. The little boy and Stanley were dead. What my grandfather was met with once he got back to the school was a heavy police presence.
Two white sheets from the coroner draped over the bodies of the deceased and the gut-wrenching cries from the father, no doubt emanating from the fact that he couldn't save his son. It was clear there and then that that father would never forgive himself for that day. My grandpa was pulled aside by one of the police officers who had searched Stanley for evidence. They had found a list on him, a hit list, made up of the people that he was going to kill.
along with all of the addresses of those people that he had retrieved when he searched the offices. My grandpa was number one on that list. So, if it weren't for that father, it's likely that I would have never been able to meet my grandfather, and just as likely that my mother and grandmother would have been killed if Stanley had been able to complete his mission. Even now, I get goosebumps whenever I hear that story, and it's just so chilling.
My grandfather never uttered a single word about this after his initial recount, and my mother made me swear to never tell him that I knew about it. He carried the weight of that boy's death on him until the day that he died. My grandfather was an amazing man. He never wished harm on anyone. He only extended his hand to assist others. I know that if he could have had that day over, instead of walking to his car after leaving the building just witnessing that father and son duo, he would have stopped on the courts
and told them both with love to go home for the night. We can't go back to these moments, and we can't change the choices that we make. And it's a stark reminder that one choice, whether made by us or by others, can be the difference between life and death. Edit. I just looked up some records online after finally finding information about this case. Apparently, there was another man who Stanley killed that night when Stanley had showed back up to school
He took the life of another janitor that evening, and during the commission of this crime, he thought that the boy and his father had seen him. So when Stanley emerged from the school building, he tried to shoot the father, but while trying to wrestle the gun away from Stanley, it went off, striking the young boy. I wanted to make sure that I clarified this, because leaving out these details, including the extra loss of life, feels as if it almost makes the crime worse.
I know that Stanley took his last breath that day, but I can't help but feel as if he got off easy for what he had done. The search for truth never ends. Introducing June's Journey, a hidden object mobile game with a captivating story. Connect with friends, explore the roaring 20s, and enjoy thrilling activities and challenges while supporting environmental causes.
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It's me, the Quenchies. I'm that late afternoon craving you just can't shake. Wait, what's that? Welch's grape aid? No! Made with real fruit and no added sugar, nothing answers the call of the Quenchies like grape aid. Got the Quenchies? Grab a grape aid in your juice aisle. I recently learned of some chilling details about a person that was heavily involved in my life as a child. I thought this would be appropriate to share.
Throughout my childhood, I was extremely shy and didn't find myself going out of my way to make friends in new settings. I had recently started preschool at my grandmother's church, and I remember being on the playground playing by myself when a woman introduced herself to me. Her name was Candy, and she looked like any other sweet old woman. She almost reminded me of my own grandmother, with her abundance of white curls on her head. Candy was a volunteer at the church and typically watched over the children while they played,
so we would see each other fairly often. I can't remember much about the start of this friendship, but I presume one thing led to another before I was frequently spending time with her, both in and out of school. My parents were grateful to have someone who was interested in watching me, as I was the youngest of three kids, and my parents worked full-time while also taking my brother and sister to and from school, sports, or friends' houses, so having a helping hand was an absolute blessing for them.
To be honest, I don't remember too many details about spending time with Candy, but I suppose we spent our time frequenting ice cream shops, parks, and the like. I do have one memory of going to her house where I'd never been before, and as she was showing me around, I remember passing through the dining room and seeing a little girl who looked to be around 10 to 12 years old. Candy introduced me to her and told me that she lived down the street.
and would spend a lot of time at her house. I'm not sure why, but I remember being jealous. I guess I was jealous that Candy also cared for and spent time with another child. I had never felt that way before, and I'm not sure why I remember that so clearly. For some reason, this was the only time I ever went to her house. At least, that I can remember. Fast forward a few years. I'm in first grade at this point. I had totally forgotten about Candy.
and hadn't seen her since I "graduated" preschool two years prior. My neighbors, who I carpooled with to school, had dropped me off at my house one afternoon, and that's when I spotted a Target grocery bag hooked to our front door. I wasn't sure what it could be, or why my brother or sister didn't bring it inside when they arrived home from school an hour or so before me. Once I took it inside, I noticed writing on the bag, indicating that there was a gift inside for me, from Candy. I ran up the stairs to my room,
And to my surprise, there were several adorable brand new outfits inside, just for me. I immediately tried each of them on and was so excited to show my mom when she got home from work. Once my mom was home, I eagerly showed her the outfits that Candy had left for me. Unfortunately, my mom wasn't as excited as I was. In fact, she was quite angry. She yelled at me to take them off and that she'd be returning them to Candy immediately. I was so confused as to why she was upset with me.
What did I do wrong? These were free clothes. A gift. Wouldn't it be rude to return a gift to someone? To avoid being punished? I put the clothes back in the bag and handed them to my mom. We never spoke of this again. And candy? Slipped my mind again for the next several years. Well, a few years back, my sister was home visiting from college. With nothing else to do that day, we decided to go to Target to shop for useless things that we didn't need.
As we were walking through the parking lot, the thought of the Target bag from Candy randomly dawned on me. I proceeded to laugh and asked my sister if she remembered and if she knew why Mom was in such an awful mood that day that forced me to give the clothes back to Candy. My sister stopped dead in her tracks and said, "Wait, do you not remember what Candy did to us?" Taken aback, I shook my head and begged her to tell me what I didn't remember. She refused to talk about it.
and told me that I'd be better off asking mom. The rest of our day together was far from normal. It was as if a giant rain cloud followed us wherever we went. I guess the weirdness of that day caused the thought of candy to slip my mind once again, and I didn't remember to ask my mother about anything that happened until I was in college a few years later. We were saying goodbye to my grandmother after grabbing lunch one day when she mentioned to my mom that someone's funeral was that weekend.
They sat in silence for a few minutes just staring at each other. When, after my grandmother left, I asked my mom who it was they were talking about. And that's when she informed me about Candy's death. The realization that I had never heard the true stories about this woman crossed my mind. And I asked my mom about what my sister refused to speak on. My mother proceeded to relay the horrible stories to me about the little old woman that tried to take me away from my family. You see, at the beginning of the friendship,
Candy genuinely was a big help to my family and was someone that they trusted. However, Candy's intentions were questioned by my grandmother, who shared a few of her concerns with my father after hearing some odd stories from her friends at church. She felt as though something was off with Candy and she didn't like that I spent so much time with her. Coming from a woman who never had a negative thing to say about anyone, my father became slightly wary of Candy, but he assumed that my grandmother was just being overly cautious.
After some time of Candy watching over and babysitting me, her demeanor began to change, and she started acting possessive of me and becoming hostile towards my parents. She would show up unannounced to our house asking for me, and if I wasn't there, she would become incredibly angry and yell at my parents about how awful they were. She would continuously tell them that they didn't deserve me and only she was worthy of taking care of me. This happened several times before my parents told her to stop coming to the house or they would involve the police.
This inclined Candy to start calling the house and leaving messages for me, which my parents obviously wouldn't tell me about. In these voicemails, she would cry to me and try to convince me to leave with her and leave my family. She would talk about how awful my parents were and how she could give me a much better life than they could. The voicemails that were intended for me soon turned to threats directed at my parents. She threatened to call the police or child services to have me removed from the home and placed into her care.
She threatened to tell the police about my parents' violence and abuse towards me and my siblings, none of which was true. Once she realized that her phone calls weren't working, she began making efforts to show up at the house again. She started by driving up and down our street, day after day. She would ask our neighbors and then the neighbor's children if anyone knew if I was home or where I was. She would park her car several houses down and train her eyes on our home.
Eventually, our neighbors began recognizing her car and what was going on. They would then inform my parents when she came around, asking about me. After some time of doing this, she took it upon herself to come to the front door, while only my brother, who was likely 12 years old at the time, and I were at home. She started banging on the door, begging to see me. My brother opened one of the front doors, keeping our metal storm door between them shut, while simultaneously telling her that she needed to leave.
Candy proceeded to plead with him to let her in, and he replied that I wasn't home, despite me napping soundly upstairs. Candy partially forced herself through the door when my brother put his hand to her face, shoving her out the door and telling her that the police had been called. She left after that and distanced herself for a while before she encountered the final straw with my mother. One day, my mom and I were backing out of the driveway to attend a birthday party when Candy pulled in behind our car.
blocking us from leaving. She came up to the window and my mother rolled it down, ready to unload on this woman. Candy ignored her, looked right past my mom, into the back seat where I was sitting. She said to me, "Wouldn't you rather come with me and never see your mom again? I love you so much more than they ever did and can give you everything you want if you just come with me." This pushed my mother over the brink. She never thought that she would upset or fight with an old woman.
But the day had finally come when it was absolutely necessary. She screamed and yelled at her, making sure to include that Candy would regret the day that she ever came into contact with me or my family if my mom ever saw her again. Something she said must have actually scared Candy because she drove off and didn't appear in our lives again until the Target Bag incident. I'm not sure how I never knew any of this happened and never thought anything was weird about her when I was a child.
But I guess my parents did a good job of shielding me from the horrors of the situation. After hearing about everything that took place, I assumed that there must have been a reason she came to be so obsessed with me. Did she not have her own family? Did she lose children or grandchildren and was looking for some way to fill the void? According to my mom, Candy had several children that were much older than me, as well as young grandchildren. Thus, I'm not sure what would have sparked her interest in me, but thankfully,
We no longer have to worry about her. Part of me still wonders if I repressed any memories or conversations with her that were upsetting. Did she ever privately talk to me about how awful my parents were or how she wanted to take me away from my family? Did I ever agree to leave with her? I also wonder if, as I grew older and joined social media like Facebook, did she ever search my name? Did she ever watch me when I was in middle school, high school, or when I went away for college? I have so many questions.
but I'm glad that we never had to find out if she was going to follow through with any of her threats. As a word of advice, I'd suggest always trusting your grandmother's instincts about other grandmothers, and maybe not being so inclined to befriend the old woman volunteering on the playground. At your job, do you ever have to deal with a nose roller? How about a snub pulley?
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