ATRD Ep. 134 - Creepy Moving, Campfire, and Dark Family Secret Stories
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As a quick warning, these stories may contain subject matter that some viewers may find distressing or triggering, and as such, viewer discretion is advised. About a decade ago, my college buddies and I decided to reunite for a weekend camping trip. So, four people total. We had all kind of gotten lost in the craziness of adult life, and as such, we hadn't had time to really see each other or get together.

And what better way to catch up after a few years than to spend some time in the wilderness, right? We lived near some pretty decent lakes, and determined that spending some time out there was the best idea. A couple nights spent around a campfire, under the stars, in the middle of pretty much nowhere was going to be a good time. We arrived on the planned Friday afternoon. It was a decently warm day, and we found our spot, where we were going to set up,

just off the main trail in a clearing in the open forest, a perfect spot for us to set up our tents. We did so, and after a few hours, decided to get the fire going, even though it was still fairly warm out. The sun was mostly set, the sky was that nice orange-pink that it gets when the night comes, and we were just sitting there reminiscing about the good old days. As the night progressed, we were all sitting around and starting to grow tired,

when one of the guys, Kevin, jumped up a bit and asked, "Hey, did you guys hear that?" I turned to him and asked what he meant. He then said that there was a sound in the woods. I listened for a moment but didn't hear anything out of the ordinary, just the sounds of a night in the woods. Crickets, owls, nothing too crazy. I mentioned that he may have just heard a deer or something, but I could tell by his face that he didn't think it was a deer.

We got back to the conversation, but I could tell that Kevin was a bit on edge. After about five or so more minutes, I heard the sound, and I turned to Kev and saw him with the same look on his face from earlier, which told me that I had heard what he heard. I turned around to see if I could see anything, and much to my surprise, I did. I saw some movement off to the side. Someone was walking toward us.

I mentioned that there was someone walking our way to the group, and everyone else turned towards where I was looking, all of us squinting to see who was approaching from the darkness of the woods. One of the guys even asked, "Who's there?" A man stepped into the light where we could finally see him, and he looked like a fairly normal guy. He was wearing jeans and a hoodie. He looked clean-shaven and like he was just an everyday dude.

My initial thought was that he was another camper that maybe had heard us talking, and he was coming over to visit, or something. He didn't seem threatening at first, just a bit out of place. Marcus stood up and asked, "'Hey man, can we help you?' He sounded friendly but cautious, which told me that he was thinking the same thing I was. At first, the guy didn't respond. He just looked at all of us for a moment, kind of taking all of us in individually."

Then he said, "I'm just passing through. Mind if I warm up by the fire for a moment?" Something about him put me on edge, but Marcus responded quickly with, "Yeah man, that's fine." The guy smirked and sat down by the fire, kind of away from the rest of us, and he just stared at the flames. Like, intensely stared. The four of us tried to keep the conversation going, but it felt kind of awkward.

Like we were all talking over an uninvited guest. After a couple of minutes of just staring at the fire, the man stood up and said, "Thanks for letting me sit here. You folks have a good night." Without even a glance. He just started walking back the way he'd come. As he walked off, Kev kinda chuckled and said, "Well, that was weird, huh?"

We all sort of laughed and agreed, but thought it was just a thing that maybe happened, and that we were going to move on. Just as we were starting to ease back into our relaxation, the sound some earlier came back, but this time it was louder and more prominent. We all turned in the direction we thought it was coming from, and were all taken aback when we saw three guys all walking our ways, all wearing masks, and all of them armed.

One of them spoke up as they approached. "Alright everyone, nice and easy. We don't want trouble. Just give us your valuables and no one has to get hurt." We all stood up and kind of huddled together. Normally the four of us weren't cowardly, but these guys all had guns, and they clearly meant business. Marcus tried to tell them that we didn't have much on us, that we were just camping for a couple of days,

But one of the guys raised his weapon and said, "I didn't ask what you had. I told you to give us all of your belongings. Now empty your pockets and your bags." We all did as we were told, our hands shaking in the thought that we may actually not make it out of this alive, plaguing us. They took our wallets, our cell phones, and literally everything else they could find. They even grabbed the cooler and took all of our food.

After a few moments of them rifling through what we had, one of them nodded at the others and said something about that being good enough. The third guy then said something that made me nearly piss myself. "Should we go ahead and just put him down?" When he said this, I couldn't help but go into pleading mode. "Whoa, guys, come on now. You got our stuff. We're in the middle of nowhere. We all have families that'll miss us. Can we just call it good?"

"You got what you wanted, right? No need to turn this into a full-blown homicide." I wasn't really sure what I was saying. I was just talking and trying to get them to move on without pulling the trigger. They all paused and turned to look at each other for a few moments, and then back at us.

The one that asked if they should put us down kind of shrugged at the other two, and then one of them said, "'All right, fine, but you all need to leave. If I ever see you around here again, you won't be so lucky.' With that, they all started walking away with our stuff, and after a few seconds they had melted into the night and were completely gone, leaving us shaken but mostly unharmed."

We sat there for a moment in silence, the four of us just thinking about what to do when Kev finally said, uh, we should probably go. We all agreed. We put out the fire and packed up our tents, literally the only things we had left, and made our way back to where the car was parked. Thankfully, Marcus had the car's key in his pocket, and since it was an older car, it was just a plain metal key with no fob.

and was small enough that they didn't notice he had it on him, because they likely would have taken that too. We got to the car, and when Marcus asked where we should go, I mentioned that a police station was probably the best bet, or at least somewhere close by with a phone so we could call 911 to report the incident. To this day, we still talk about that night whenever we get together. We've all pretty much refused to go camping since it happened,

Even though it's been over a decade at this point, none of our stuff was ever recovered, and I don't think the guys were ever found. I don't know if they were willing to go through with the plan of actually killing us, or if that was just a scare tactic, but if so, it definitely worked. We were scared. The whole thing felt like a wrong place, wrong time kind of situation, and my guess is that the first guy was the scout for the other three.

Or, I guess he could have been one of them and he was trying to see if we were worth the time. In the end, I'm just glad that we all made it out alive. Terrified, but alive, nonetheless. I don't know if you'd be interested in this, but it's the most bizarre, kind of alarming and maybe even sad story. I'm married to a wonderful man and as of last year we had our first kid together.

However, I used to be married to a previous guy who turned out to not be a very good person, and we also had a kid together. But my current husband has been so kind to her and treated her as his own since they met when she was four, and I'm just incredibly lucky to have such a great guy. We've always been very open and honest with each other. However, he is not and never has been the type to indulge in gossip.

So, in this case, I knew it wasn't him hiding information from me, but more so him forgetting to tell me, or giving me a warning in advance. I don't blame him, but I certainly give him a hard time occasionally because of it. Anyway, on to the story. His side of the family likes to do a lot of gatherings, for not only holidays, but people's birthdays, sports games...

Any reason they could think of to celebrate, they took advantage of it. They always invited us, but we didn't always go. A few times we went, it was fine. No issues. And I got along with a lot of his relatives. I was nervous about bringing my daughter with me. Not wanting them to judge me or treat me differently, but to my relief, they all welcomed her with open arms. Just as my husband did.

She had so many kids to play with. His parents adored her. Everything went well. So, when they invited us to another barbecue, we made plans to go, and my daughter would be going with us. It was at his parents' house, and a lot of people were already there when we showed up. We made our way to the backyard, and my daughter immediately ran off to go swimming with the other kids that were there. Everyone was talking when someone showed up that I hadn't met before.

We'd been to a few of these parties, but we also missed some of them. But I had never met this woman before. My husband introduced me to her, saying it was his aunt Gail. She found a seat by his mom, her sister, and we continued our conversation. She asked a few questions about me, and that was it. After some time, my daughter ran up to me, asking for something when Gail looked at me in shock. "'That's your kid?'

I proudly confirmed and told my daughter to introduce herself. As she normally does, she says her name, her age, and her favorite animal. Gail seemed to have a fake smile on her face as she responded to her, and after a brief back and forth, my daughter ran back off. Gail then asked how long we'd been dating, and I could see that she was trying to do the math in her head. Before I could respond, my husband answered and explained that my daughter was from a previous marriage.

She seemed to eye me for a while as if I was lying, and she could see through me, but it wasn't a lie. If I have to explain any further, I do it similar to what I did above, without giving much detail. But my husband's mom changed the subject and got Gail talking about something else. Awkward conversations seemingly averted.

When the food was done, I made my daughter's plate and helped the other kids. And when they were all settled, I made my own and joined my husband and some others in eating. Again, everyone was doing their own thing. And sometime after everyone had eaten, the kids started playing around with some fake swords and water guns. My daughter ran over to me like she wanted to spray me, so I gave her the normal parental look. The parents out there will understand what I mean.

Just a playful look of don't you dare. But she also had her just as equally evil grin, and I knew it was going to happen. So I braced myself as I got splashed with water. I stood up to play with her and made the comment, as some parents do, I brought you into this world, little girl, don't make me take you out of it. She screamed and I went to chase her. Some people were laughing and my husband even told her to run. But when I caught her, she tried to play dead, laying still with her tongue sticking out.

So my husband went to grab her when she jumped up. He always played around with her like that, and it's one of the reasons we both love him. Anyways, after a bit of playful back and forth, my husband helped me up, and we went back to the deck. My daughter, now preoccupied. As we approached, I noticed Gale had a pretty angry look on her face, while his mom kind of had the look of concern. Her eyes were wide, and she was looking back between my husband and Gale.

I didn't know what was wrong, I certainly wasn't going to pretend like it was any of my business, so I just grabbed my drink and watched the kids. His mom started to say something when Gale loudly said, "'That's not funny, Sandra.' I looked over at her confused and at a loss for words. "'I'm sorry?' His mom touched her knee and tried saying something like, "'She was just playing around, Gale, but she seemed to lose it.' She adjusted her chair."

"'Playing around?' Then my husband's dad chimed in from over by the fire pit. "'She was just joking with her kid, Gail. Let it go.' Obviously annoyed with her. "'Well, it wasn't very funny to me,' Gail said. She stormed off inside. I immediately started apologizing profusely. I didn't know what I did, but apparently I had done something. His mom said it was fine and ran off after her.'

My husband told me everything was okay, and his father did too. No one would tell me what had set her off, and why, but they just tried to assure me that it wasn't my fault. No matter how much they said it, though, I felt like I really messed up and ruined the night. Apparently Gail left shortly after that, and everyone else tried to and successfully lifted the mood again, but I was dwelling on it. Hard.

I don't know what happened, nor what I did or said. Once we got back home and my daughter was in bed, I finally asked what the heck had happened. My husband said that Gail just gets sensitive around kids, but that made even less sense, and I had to push him to tell me more. I feel bad, but as I was going to dwell on it forever until I figured out what I had done and how to avoid it in the future, but what he told me was not what I was expecting.

Apparently back when my husband was still a child, Gail also had a child. But she was not the best parent. His words, not mine. She did not want the kid, but yet she kept it. But over time she got better at it and seemed to show her love for her daughter. Then one day there was a lot of talking between his parents that he couldn't hear and the next thing he knew, Gail was staying with them for a few days. Until she wasn't.

and then he didn't see her for a while. Turns out, Gail's daughter died, but she didn't report it until the day after. That alone caused a lot of suspicion, as anyone would presume. There was a huge court case about it, and eventually it was ruled an accident. Again, my husband was still very young, so he didn't get to hear about this until he was older. Even then, he didn't probe into it, which was understandable.

Apparently my comment of taking you out set her off. And while it was just a saying and I was just playing around, it really affected her. And I honestly felt horrible for it. I had no idea and apparently no one thought it was necessary to bring it up, which I also understood. Hi, meet my Aunt Gail, she lost her kid, so watch what you say. Yeah, there's really no way to bring that up.

But apparently the whole thing caused quite a rift in their family because of the whole situation. Some family members feel like she did it on purpose, and she should have been charged to the full extent. I kind of got a vague rundown of what happened from my husband and left it at that. But when we found out I was pregnant and she started acting... strange around me, I decided to look into it more myself.

I found the articles about it online and at our local library, and let's just say... I can definitely see why so many people think there was something more that happened. I don't want to go into full details, because I don't want to reveal my family more than I already have. Which is also why I called her Gale. It's not her real name. But since learning this, I have kind of felt uncomfortable around her.

She's made some odd comments and would look at my infant in a way that would make anyone hold them tighter. I know there's really nothing I can do at this point, but it sits in my head and sometimes I think about it. Thankfully we only see her maybe twice a year at his parents' house, so we can avoid her for the most part. But having two kids now, and knowing that they mean the world to me and my husband, I can't imagine that kind of loss.

and I hope that she truly is innocent. I wanted to share a story of something that happened to me back as a kid. This was back in the early 2000s. I believe that I was seven years old at the time. My family was moving from Ohio to Pennsylvania, to be closer to my grandmother whose health had been declining at that point. Apparently both of my parents were from the state as well, so they were looking forward to moving back.

I had four older siblings and a baby brother. So while it affected my older siblings more, I was indifferent about it. I remember not really knowing what all moving meant or what it entailed, but I liked packing up all my stuff and the idea of getting a new bedroom. I shared a bedroom with two of my older sisters and where we were going, I would actually get my own room.

My parents said the house was much bigger, so maybe that's why I was so willing to go along with it too. We had been packing and cleaning for some time. My parents packed some of our clothing and toiletries in the trunk of my dad's car and the back of my mother's van. So we had stuff to immediately grab when we arrived at our new home. Then on the big moving day, we had two big moving trucks over.

loading up the boxes and bigger items such as the beds, couches, and chairs. My parents were delegating the moving people as to what needed to go where. My older sister and brother were helping my parents while the rest of us kids just played in the yard to stay out of the way. They were moving around a lot, and at times they seemed a bit stressed. I tried to ask my mom for a snack and she mentioned that she would have something in the car for us and to get in with my sister.

I went back outside and told my sisters that we needed to get into the car, so they made their way over to our mom's van. They continued to play together as they got in their spots. After they were in, I went to grab my carry-along toys from the yard. As I grabbed them, I watched one of the moving guys carry my mattress and bed frame into the truck. Being a kid, I was excited seeing my bed because I loved it.

and I got this crazy idea of checking it out while I was in the truck. I had been in the bed of my uncle's truck before, and I thought it was fun, so I thought being in the back of the moving truck with my bed would be a blast. I walked to the back of the truck and saw my bed sticking out of the back, behind some boxes. I walked to the back and found my bed being used to hold up the mattress behind it.

It was a small canopy bed, so I guess it was easier to use it as a stand instead of taking it apart. I also remember my parents struggling to put it together, so maybe they didn't want to have to take it apart either. None of that entered my mind at the time other than seeing my bed sitting there, so I jumped on it immediately. I had just been sitting on it when I heard someone walking up the truck ramp. I didn't want to be told to leave yet, so I laid on my bed thinking that I would be hidden.

They tossed a few more things in the truck, and when I heard them walk away, I looked over and saw that they brought in the old recliner, a bookshelf, and a few boxes. This pattern repeated once more, but this time, after they tossed a few more items in, I watched the truck grow dark as they closed the door. I stood up to look around to confirm what had happened. Shortly after, I heard my parents saying something I couldn't make out, and my baby brother crying.

Then I heard the truck starting. At first, I got excited. I was going to get to ride in the back of the truck after all. I ran back to sit on my bed ready for the ride, but immediately the truck lurched forward as it went over the steep curb in our driveway, and the boxes on the side toppled over onto me. I was a very small child, so those boxes were very heavy. I really couldn't move.

I'd been pinned under them and that's when I became scared. I watched the two stacks of boxes by my head sway as the driver hit every bump, fearing they were going to fall on my head and crush me. I didn't know what was in them or how heavy they were. I just laid there scared with tears in my eyes as my ankles started hurting. I laid there for what felt like hours as they drove with nothing I could do about it.

I had already cried some, and after playing for several hours and now this excitement, I grew tired, so I eventually fell asleep. I don't know how long I was asleep, but when I woke up, I felt the truck come to a stop. I could still hear other cars driving around us, and I could smell gas. I assumed we had stopped to refuel. I laid there hoping that they would open the back for some reason to check on me, but no one ever did.

I became upset all over again when, after some time, the truck started up, so I was left to lay there some more. We seemed to drive for some time. I was hot and thirsty as this was July, but with nothing else to do, I fell asleep again. The next time I woke up, it was just as dark, but this time the truck was off and still. For how long, though, I had no idea.

I tried to move the boxes, but I think with the heat and the exhaustion, I was even weaker than normal and could not budge them. The grooves in the truck floor were digging into my leg and making it even more difficult. I laid there as time passed again, singing and counting as high as I could, just trying to entertain myself, until I finally heard shuffling and the truck door flew open. I tried to pull myself up some to see who it was, but I couldn't see over the boxes in front of me.

But I didn't need to see who it was to figure it out. I heard my dad's familiar voice say, "Oh, damn it." Most likely seeing the mess of boxes in the truck. As he approached where I was, I raised my arm and with a scratchy voice I called out to him. I'll never forget the look of shock and relief on his face. Not to mention the yelp he let out when he realized I was in there.

He immediately started moving the boxes and pulled me out, scraping the back of my leg across the truck. I was happy to see him, definitely relieved to be out, but my dad was frantic. He was hugging me, apologizing, asking if I was okay. Then he said that they had been looking for me and asked, ''Didn't you hear us calling for you?'' But I didn't. I didn't hear my name once."

He shouted out into what I saw was an unfamiliar house, saying that he had found me. My mom quickly came running to the garage, followed by two of my siblings, and my mom began hugging me as they both talked about where I was and what happened. They brought me inside the house, where I learned that this was in fact our new home. I had traveled the whole four hour drive in the back of that truck. They explained things to me later that day, as I also told them what had happened.

As I got older, I could understand the severity of that situation too. When it was finally time for us to go, the moving guys closed and locked up the trucks, and they drove them as my parents drove their cars. My mom had told me to get in the car as both my parents packed us in. They assumed that I was with the other. My dad knew that there was more space in the van, so he assumed I was in there, while my mom assumed that I went with my dad because I'm so-called a daddy's girl.

They apparently didn't think to do a headcount. At some point, the driver of the truck I was in stopped for gas, and even went inside to get something to eat. He was alone. My parents continued on their drive, wanting to get there soon, not as worried about the trucks. There was an understanding that they may have to stop for gas or food, and maybe even a hotel for a night.

There was a possibility that the driver could have stopped at a hotel, and I could have been locked in there overnight. Thankfully, the man just needed to pick me up and carried on. Once they arrived, they discussed unloading that night or waiting until the next day, even though it would cost my parents another day. They decided to wait as everyone was tired and my baby brother was cranky.

They all went inside, and when they were deciding on dinner, that's when I noticed that I wasn't with them. They looked all over the house, thinking maybe I was exploring, but they couldn't find me. They looked in the yard, in the two vehicles again, and still nothing. And that's when they started to panic. The movers had already left to go to a hotel, and they called them to see if they had seen me, and they said they hadn't.

They even called one of our neighbors from our old place in Ohio, fearing that they could have possibly left me behind. But of course, the neighbor couldn't find me either. My parents had gone outside and started shouting my name and even called the police, all while I was asleep in the back of this truck. As they waited for the police to arrive, my dad went out to the truck as the one I was in had bedding and some kitchen boxes in it, searching for blankets and cups.

That's when he found me. I learned that they had been at the house, sorting out their next steps, dinner and sleeping arrangements and searching for me, all within about three hours. I had been in that hot dark truck for nearly seven hours. The police did show up, but they told them that they did find me, hiding in the truck, so nothing further ever happened with them, other than being greeted by the weird new family in town, I guess.

So, that's the story of my thrilling and pretty scary ride to our new place, and my first moving experience. I know that this was a long time ago, but my parents definitely learned their lesson that day. They constantly did head counts and checked on us, especially as my little brother started walking. I also learned my lesson, and I don't like to go into places that can lock me in alone.

I was lucky that it wasn't a longer period of time, or hotter, and that there was still some airflow. Because the outcome of this could have been a lot worse. I have a story about a secret that my family kept for a long time. And while I understand why it was kept from me, it's one of those things that when I found out what happened, it hit me hard.

My opinion on the people involved obviously changed by the end of it, and someone that I thought was a hero ended up being nothing more than a terrible person. For my entire childhood, I genuinely thought that my dad was a hero. I thought that he was in the military and fighting for my country. I was proud of him, even though I could barely remember what he looked like. I guess I should step back a slight bit,

When I was much younger, my dad was present. I have a couple photos of my dad with myself and my mom. I was the first and only kid that my mom and dad had. I can't even really give many memories of my father, because I was only around five when he disappeared from my life. Obviously, I didn't understand why he was no longer in my life at first. I just know that he wasn't there. I do have one memory, though.

I remember then it was at night. I was crying, and my dad gave me this tight hug saying something along the lines of, "Sorry buddy, I'll be back eventually. You'll be good, okay?" The only problem is that I'm not even sure if this memory is real. It's probably not. I think it's just one that I made up for some reason. One that I fabricated in my mind to make sense of my father's absence.

To go along with this, my mother told me that my father was in the military. She told me that he had been shipped out, and that he was fighting the "bad guys" to save the country. When I started to get older and more cognizant, it made sense that he wasn't home because he was a soldier. When he disappeared, it was 2001. I obviously didn't know what happened on 9/11 at the time, but again, as I got older and learned about it,

It made sense that he was overseas fighting a war. As I got older, I always made it a point to mention how much of a hero my dad was. I would tell my teachers, my friends, people that I barely spoke to. I would always say that my dad was in another country, fighting people that were evil. My mother started the lie, but my family kept it going. They would always go with what she told me.

I spent birthdays without my father, holidays without him, and it was hard as a little boy. I know I asked my mom numerous times why he wasn't able to come home for at least Christmas, and she would just tell me that he would be home soon, that he couldn't abandon his post. I would ask why he never called or wrote us letters, but she would just say that the calls would get really expensive, and then said that he had written me letters.

She would gaslight me into believing that he had sent letters for my birthday last year, or a few years ago. She had even told me that one of my presents from Christmas was from him. I believed every bit of it. I believed that the military wasn't letting him come home and that he had sent me the letters or presents. She kept this up until I was in my preteens, around 12 years old. When I was 12, things started to not add up.

It would have been 2008-ish, and I was old enough to watch the news, and I saw the world and events that were happening. It had hit a point where it didn't make sense for why he hadn't come home, and my pre-teen brain hit a point where I wanted to confront my mom and ask her for the truth. So I did. I confronted her at one point and asked her, "'Hey, Mom, you need to tell me the truth about Dad. He's not overseas. He would have come home by now.'

Where is he? At this point, my mom had the chance to tell me the truth, but instead, she broke down crying and told me something else. She told me that while my dad was overseas, he had been killed in action. She looked me dead in the eyes and told me that my father had died in 2003, that he was killed over in Iraq or Afghanistan or whatever,

and that she wanted to tell me, but she couldn't ever bring herself to do so. So, once again, she told me that my father was a hero, that he was killed defending the country, that he had died with honor. It's almost sad that I could wish that this was actually the truth, but what really happened was not this. I found out the real truth when I turned 20, about eight years ago. It was the day of my 20th birthday.

I had made it to my 20th birthday without my father. My mother had done her best to raise me, but I had to do a lot of growth myself. I had to watch the other boys be taught how to do things by their fathers, and wish that I could have that too. But I couldn't, right? Because my father was, according to my mother, killed in action overseas. All of it was so emotionally confusing.

I wanted my father to be in my life, but I was also proud of him for his sacrifice. But when I turned 20 and was having dinner with my mother and my grandma, something came up that involved my dad. My grandmother made a comment that confused me. "Well, it's sad what happened, but at least he won't be able to get to you two ever again." She said this, and I stared at her in confusion.

Then I saw my mom start to have that panicking face she had when she told me he was dead. It was then that it clicked that something was wrong. I wasn't being told something, or someone was lying. I asked my grandma what she meant by that, not even hesitating or giving myself time to think about it. She looked at me with her mouth open like she'd been caught in something, and then looked at my mom.

My mom started crying at this point, and my grandmother apologized, telling her that she thought I knew about the whole thing and that my mother had told me. My mom said that we would have a conversation after dinner, but I wasn't really hungry at this point. I could feel the pit in my stomach growing, knowing that they were hiding something. When we got home that night, my grandmother and mother sat me down, and at that point, I was told the truth.

A truth that I didn't want to hear. Back when I was four or five, when my father left my life, it wasn't because he was shipped overseas to fight terrorism. It was because he was an absolute monster. That night that he went away, he went away because he attempted to murder my mother. And he likely would have killed me too. For whatever reason, my father snapped that night.

and in a drunken rage had stabbed my mother three times and left her for dead. I was told that he attacked her because she tried to stop him from beating me, a five-year-old. He had hit me numerous times that night, apparently knocking me unconscious and then tried to kill my mother. My grandmother had been there that night, and she called the police when he was attacking me, and it's because of her that my father was stopped.

My mother's life was saved, and possibly my life was saved. For the entirety of my childhood, I thought my father was this amazing person, a hero. I told people I was proud of him, that I missed him and loved him, but the entire time he was actually an attempted murderer that would have likely killed my mother had the police not showed up.

The comment that my grandmother made was actually because my father had died in prison recently. He had apparently gone into cardiac arrest and was unable to be revived, and my mother had been notified of it a couple days prior to them telling me about all of this. This was probably the hardest day of my life. To find out that the man I wished had been there every day growing up had almost ended my life.

It's been a few years now, and I'd like to say that I've moved on from all this, but it's still something that tears at me from time to time. I don't blame my mother for keeping this all from me, but it's still so painful to know that she had lied. I'm sharing this now in hopes of letting some of it go, putting some of it out into the world, hoping it'll make it a bit easier. To those who knew me growing up, I'm sorry for lying to you about my father, but I'm

I believed all those lies myself, and I thought I was telling you all about this amazing man that was an honest hero, when, come to find out, he couldn't have been more of a villain. And to my younger self, I wish I could go back and give you a hug to prepare you for the pain you would feel when you're told that your dad is dead, both the first and the second time.

Back in 2016, I was shopping around for my own place. I'd been living with roommates, or with my parents, and I finally had a good paying job and enough savings put aside to get a place for myself. I was long overdue for some privacy. I looked into a few places, but there was one in particular that I was really interested in. It was a small two-bedroom house with a full basement.

It had plenty of room and I could already lay out how I wanted it to look. The owner seemed like a pretty laid back guy and the rent was right around where I was looking for. But when I did a walkthrough, I was surprised to still see someone's belongings in it, as well as a seemingly rushed attempt at cleaning the place. This was my first time looking for a place though, so I didn't really know what was normal. To show off a place while someone was still living there?

However, the owner explained that the previous tenant was in the process of moving out, so it would be empty and cleaned before I moved in. It made sense to me, and as long as I didn't have to deal with it, I had no reason to make a big deal about it. So, I shot for that place and was pretty ecstatic when the owner called me to tell me that all of my information and referrals checked out, so the place was as good as mine.

I secured the place, got the keys, and started the moving process. The owner met me there, and we did a move-in walkthrough to check for any damages or anything of that sort. The house was spotless. Everything was clean, and most importantly, it was empty, besides a sheet in the corner of the living room.

The owner grabbed it and mentioned that it was probably left behind by one of the painters, and he grabbed it and later tossed it in the bin out front. It smelled like paint in there, so it made sense. After we did our walkthrough, the owner left and I began the process of moving. I unpacked a few boxes that I had in my car and then left to get a small U-Haul.

I still had a decent amount of stuff to get from two different places, plus I wanted to use it to pick up the couch and chair that I had purchased previously. It took me all day as I did this all by myself, but I was able to get everything I had moved in in one day. I was going to need to buy some more things for my house, such as more tableware and lamps, but I at least had enough to be comfortable for the time being.

All I needed was a place to sleep, my TV, and my cat, Tom. I started unpacking a few boxes, such as Tom's box of food, bed, toys, and litter box, and then my box of bedding and toiletries. I wanted to shower before I went to bed that night, even with how exhausted I was. I got the stuff that I needed, got Tom situated in his bed next to mine, and went to shower.

While I was in there, I heard a few thuds that made me stop what I was doing. I had left the bathroom door open because Tom is very clingy, especially in new places, wanting to follow me everywhere so it's easier to leave the doors open for him. So when I heard scratching sounds and Tom's bell, I assumed he was either running around to play or maybe was getting on top of boxes and knocking them over. It was a simple enough explanation for me that made sense.

and I just let it go. I got out of the shower, saw Tom standing by the bathroom door looking into the living room, and I petted him, which diverted his attention back to me. We went back to our room to settle in for the night, and it took me a while to actually fall asleep. Part of me was a bit on edge, but I couldn't really understand why. I eventually convinced myself that it was just because I was sleeping in a new place, and just had some jitters because of that.

but after some time I was finally able to pass out. At some point in the night, I woke up needing to use the bathroom. I dragged myself out of bed, barely opening my eyes and opened the bathroom door, noticing the light coming through from under the door. When I opened the door, there was a man, standing at the sink and shaving his face. He looked over at me, startled, and I was the same way.

However, I started closing the door and apologizing when it finally clicked in my head. There was a stranger in my house. I swung the door back open, now fully awake, and started yelling at him. "What the hell are you doing in my house?!" But the man had yelled back to me, accusing me of being in his home. I ran back to the bedroom where Tom remained and I grabbed my phone to call the police.

As I talked to the operator to explain what was happening, the man walked into the room with a pair of scissors held high above his head. I dropped my phone, grabbed my alarm clock and threw it at the guy. It was enough to throw him off, I guess, and I was able to shove him backwards so I could close the door. I locked it but pushed my back to it so he couldn't try to break through it. Poor Tom looked terrified.

I was able to grab my phone with the operator still there and waited for the police to arrive as the man continued to bang on the door. I then heard knocking on the front door but there was nothing that I could do. He was still banging on the bedroom door until finally he seemed to stop to answer the front door. I could hear them talking or more like the man yelling and the police trying to talk to him. He was yelling at them that I had broken into his house and he was demanding that they go shoot me.

I was terrified. He got to talk to them first, so are they going to believe him? Are they going to shoot or tase me if I open the door? They asked me to come out, and I explained my side of things. I told them what happened and explained that I was the one that called for help. I even showed them copies of the papers I had just signed a few days prior and gave them the owner's phone number. I was still freaking out.

They were going to call the owner as well as to confirm, and I was stressing that my first night here, I was already involved with the police. What if he told me never mind and that I had to get out? Thankfully, to my relief, the police came back and told me that not only did the owner confirm that I was the new resident, but that the man was the previous tenant that had been kicked out. The owner actually showed up, and there was a huge discussion between the three of us and the cops.

Or more like between them and I listened and just confirmed. Apparently that guy hadn't paid rent for some time. The owner tried to work things out, but with the amount of complaints from the neighborhood about things he was doing, things they heard or could smell apparently, and the number of police events, he had to evict him. That's also why the police weren't quick to take his side. He was told that he had to leave, but refused to do so.

So, the owner ended up having to pack all of his stuff up to get him out. He apparently wasn't too happy about that, and decided to try to stay anyways. He had collected the key from the last guy, but wasn't aware that he had made a spare and never changed the locks. Thus, how he was able to get in that night while I was in the shower. He was going through my stuff I learned later because those were actually my scissors from my office box.

In the end, the guy was asked to leave peacefully. He refused and then tried to start a fight, so he got a free ride back to the police station at least. The owner apologized profusely and said that he would actually be back the next day to change all the locks, to make sure that no one else had the keys but us. So, my first night in my new place was pretty eventful, for all the wrong reasons, but it was still mine.

I actually still live in the same house with Tom by my side, as the rent is great and the owner is pretty cool. I've also never seen that man again, and I really hope that it stays that way. So this is something that I have been living with for almost a year now. Any names I give here will be made up to make things easier. I'm sure you will all understand why.

Last year, I thought it would be a really thoughtful and sentimental Christmas gift to my family to trace our family history and put it all together as something to show off. I've been wanting to learn more about our lineage, about my ancestors and family that I was never able to meet. I was all ready to pay for that family history website and DNA place. I'm sure you know which ones I'm talking about.

I was hoping to get some names and little details here and there from family members, so it was probably around August or September when I started asking. I got some pretty normal answers and a decent amount of information from people like my parents and aunts and uncles, but when it came to my maternal grandparents, things seemed to get strange.

The first time I asked, it was something simple such as where they grew up, their childhood home, city, and state. My grandma gave me a curious look at first, but when I said I was just interested in the houses, she became an open book. She told me the house that she lived in, the school that she went to, and even the names of her close friends. I always loved hearing the stories she told as she was always so animated about it.

But when I started pushing further into the years, the years they started having kids, she seemed to tone down her excitement. Her responses were vague and didn't really give me more than just the days my mom, aunt, and uncles were born, and that was it. She didn't even mention the hospitals. I just thought maybe she was tired after everything else she already told me, so I let it go.

With the information I had, I started putting it all together and started working on the site. While I went through the details, I started having issues linking my aunt Lisa. The site seemed to have trouble locating her. Unfortunately, unlike my other aunts and uncles, Lisa never had any kids, so I couldn't even backtrack to bring her up.

It did have a method to add someone manually, but I didn't have all the information, so I needed to go back and ask. I started with my mom, who was able to give some information, but said that my grandma would definitely know more. So, I went back to her. But asking specifically about Lisa seemed to shut her down. She asked me again why I needed to know, and as I continued to be vague, she continued to become more and more upset.

I really wanted this to be for her especially, but it was about to turn into a full-blown argument, so I gave up. I told her that I was just trying to put together a family tree for us, and just wanted to get as much information as I could. But that explanation only seemed to make her more anxious. She told me it was a waste of time, that those DNA tests aren't very accurate, and can't assure they will give you the right results back.

She then said the family could just give me any information I needed. That's when I reminded her that I just tried to and she had shut me down. She didn't really want to talk after that and said that she would work on it with me later. All I could do was drop it, but there was no way I could let this go. My grandmother, the woman that could normally talk your ear off, refused to talk about the birth of her first child. Something that should normally be a happy moment, right?

So, I took this to the genealogy center in my state. Surely there had to be information there, as my family, at least as far as my maternal great-grandparents, had always lived in this state. But they also had nothing. I could find information on my mom and her other seven siblings, but nothing for Aunt Lisa. How was this possible? She was born in the late 60s, so while it was some time ago, it wasn't that long.

My uncle Jack was second born and while it did take some time, I was able to find him. So why not Lisa? Something wasn't adding up. I started looking into reasons why this could happen, and some of the reasons I found included lack of records for birth, which typically happened with the homeless or migrating families, loss of records, adoptions, also some illegal adoptions, and other unsavory ways people get kids.

But none of these made sense. Lisa looked like the rest of us. Dark hair, brown eyes. In fact, she looked very similar to my mom, other than Lisa being super tall. Was it really possible that she was brought into the family? And if so, why was it such a big deal? This was turning into a situation bigger than just an ancestry and family tree thing, and I was determined to figure out what was happening.

I went and got my grandma's favorite little cakes, raked up her leaves in her yard and gave her little dog a bath. Anything to make her happy and put her in a good mood. As we sat in the living room eating cake, she finally sighed and said that she knew what I was doing. She's a very smart lady. She told me that there was a good reason why she didn't talk much about Lisa's birth and was surprised because I was the only person that ever really pushed it.

She took me to the basement, and had me go through some very old and warped boxes that had obvious water damage. She pulled out a few loose pieces of stationary as well as two pictures. One was of an infant, and the other was of the infant and my grandparents. On the back of the infant picture was a date, Lisa's birth date, and the one with my grandparents was dated about a week after.

but the picture of the infant had the name Elizabeth on it. My grandma confirmed that the infant was indeed Lisa, and the other was a picture when they met her and took her home. Lisa was born as Elizabeth, and she was not biologically hers. Okay, so she was adopted. No big deal, right? No reason to make it such a secret, but of course, it wasn't exactly legal.

At the time, my grandparents had been trying to have a kid with no luck. They were both in a very bad state of mind and had all but just given up. However, my grandpa had been working for someone, for a legitimate business, but the owner was a known member of a local and very dangerous mob. My grandpa always stayed loyal to the company, in fear that if he left, something could happen to them, but he also minded his own business.

But at some point, he was now within the view of this mob guy. And when his teenage son got another girl pregnant, they had to do something about it. Without my grandma actually saying it, she basically explained that the girl's family was threatened to give the baby up. But their solution was to give the kid to Abe and his wife, my grandparents, since they had been trying so hard for their own kid.

She was basically given to them by force. And my grandfather paid a nice sum of money to stay quiet and never mention them again. So when they brought her home, they had a mix of emotions. But one thing my grandma couldn't handle was that they were always watching them. My grandma loved her and knew that she was hers the moment she saw her, but she was worried about the what-ifs. So my grandpa was given the boss's blessing to leave the city.

So they did, and they changed my aunt's name. They just vowed to not tell anyone where she came from and told family they just hid the pregnancy in fear they may lose the baby. And no one questioned this. She thinks that taking Lisa in is what caused her to be able to have seven other kids. And she truly believes that she was a blessing to the family. Not that I would disagree. My aunt Lisa is a wonderful person.

She told me that my grandpa would have chewed her out if he knew she told me. He had actually passed away two years prior. I promised her that I wouldn't tell anyone, and she threatened that if I did, she would take me with her to the grave. Mostly joking, I think. So, here I am now with the knowledge that my aunt is not biologically related, and telling her that could cause potential safety concerns if anyone from my grandfather's working days is still around.

I have not said a word, but part of me wonders if her biological mother is out there, wondering what happened to her baby. I never did finish the tree for our family. I still plan to, but now I'm just trying to figure out if I want to keep it for myself, and maybe, just maybe I can find something related to her birth and give some people some closure."

In late autumn, my friends and I decided to have one last bonfire before the winter chill set in. One last chance to get out and be stupid at night before it got too cold or started snowing. None of us are fans of winter. We're definitely a summer flock, so we were wanting to squeeze one more good night out of the season.

We had a usual spot where we would get together, a part of the property owned by Sarah's grandparents, out behind their little cabin-like thing that they have going on. It's secluded, quiet, there aren't any city lights or people to deal with, just the four of us and the fire and the wilderness. That night started off great.

We set up our tents, got a decent pile of wood and sticks to burn, and got the fire going as the sun was starting to set. My boyfriend, Kenneth, did most of the work for setting up the fire as he was the most well-versed in survival tactics. Sarah's boyfriend, Les, was more interested in getting drunk, while Sarah and I helped where we could.

Once the fire was ready to go, we sat around just talking about whatever and roasting marshmallows, as cliche demands. After a while, Les drunkenly said that he wanted to tell a scary story, so we shifted to that. Les went, "I told some dumb urban legend story that I remembered." And then Sarah started telling us about this time that she swore she saw a figure at the foot of her bed as a kid. It was pretty creepy.

Even creepier when she mentioned that she didn't make it up, that one night she'd had this really weird sleep paralysis, and swore that there was basically a shadow demon at the foot of her bed, smiling at her and just watching her sleep. It was a good spooky time, but we were all laughing and just having a good time. About an hour or so later, we were all resigned to heading to sleep.

Kenneth and I started to get our stuff gathered, and when he went to put out the fire, Les asked what he was doing. He told him that we needed to put it out before we went to sleep, but Les told him to leave it for a while, that he didn't want to go to bed quite yet so he would put it out when he was tired. Kenneth told him that that didn't sound like a good idea, that he seemed a bit too drunk and that he should go to bed, but Les was adamant that he would be fine.

He stood up and started hopping on one foot, saying, See? Like that feat was something that only could be done by someone that was sober. And then laughed, saying that we could all go to sleep, but he wasn't tired. Sarah said that she wanted to go to sleep, and Les just waved her off, saying, I'll join you in a bit. I just want to enjoy the fire a little more. I could tell that he was starting to go from adamant to drunkenly annoyed. So...

I just told Kenneth that he'd be alright, mentioned the bucket of water to put it out to Les, and said that we should all get to sleep. They both hesitantly agreed, and we went into our respective tents, myself and Kenneth in one, and Sarah in theirs. I swear no sooner than I fell asleep did we hear a bone-chilling scream coming from outside, followed by a huge string of swearing, and... Help me!

At first, I thought I was just dreaming, but Kenneth jumped up too, and we both quickly shot out of the tent to see Les half in and half out of the fire pit, struggling to get up. His clothes were burning, he was singed, and his face had a look of pure agony. Kenneth yelled out and raced over to try and help him out of the fire.

I grabbed the bucket of water to pour on him to put out his clothes, and Sarah was just standing there asking what the hell had happened. Les was really badly burned all over his right arm and leg, and he was just moaning in pain. After a few moments, he was able to finally tell us what happened. Apparently, he had needed to empty his bladder, and he thought that it would be funny to pee on the fire.

He'd stood up and fully managed to trip over the stump that we used as a chair and landed straight into the fire pit. Since he was way too inebriated, he flailed and struggled to get out of the fire, not able to focus on his movements with the pain that was surging through his body at that time. That's when he screamed. He'd been in the fire, a well-built fire that was still pretty large for several moments, before it occurred to him that he could scream for help.

Kenneth said that we needed to get him to the hospital immediately, that the burns on his leg were severe. Sarah grabbed a blanket and wrapped him up in it, careful to avoid his arm. I put out the fire with the remaining water. Thankfully, this was property that belonged to Sarah's grandparents, so we could leave the tents and not have to spend time packing up. We all got in the jeep, Les and Sarah sitting in the back, me and Kenneth in the front.

Every bump and jolt caused Les to groan in agony. Kenneth tried to slow down over every obvious rough patch, but it really didn't matter. When we finally arrived at the emergency room, the staff rushed Les inside. We all sat in the waiting room, hoping that he wouldn't be too badly messed up. After a couple of hours later, one of the doctors came out to talk to us about Les.

He had mostly second-degree burns, but at least partial third-degree burns on his leg. The fact that he was drunk may have actually helped him not be in severe agony, and he was lucky that he didn't spend any more time struggling in the fire, because it could have been much, much worse. They got him patched up and led us back to see him, much to our surprise when we walked in,

He actually laughed and said, "Yo guys, am I the biggest dumbass or what?" We spent the rest of the weekend visiting Les to make sure he was recovering. They kept him over the night to make sure that his severe burns, which were only about 5% of the entire area, didn't get infected and were tended to properly. The next morning when he finally sobered up, Les mentioned that he was definitely in a lot of pain

but that he was probably going to be okay. He was apologetic for ruining our little camping trip, but we were just glad that he was fine. Surprisingly, that was the last time I ever saw Les drunk. He definitely was more controlled with his drinking. He has some pretty bad scars on him now from it, but I think he took it as a lesson. Don't get drunk and play with fire, no matter how funny you think it'll be.

I have a scary story that takes place not that long ago, when my girlfriend and I were moving into our first nice place. It wasn't our first place, but it was the first place that wasn't a third floor apartment in a cheap part of town. It was a townhome in what was a pretty decent community. It wasn't like gated or secured or anything, but it was nicer and the rent was more expensive for what it's worth.

It was a pretty typical move at first. Stressful, but manageable. My girlfriend and I had been planning it for about two months, and while we were tired, we knew what we had to do, and we knew that it had to get done. And we worked our back ends off getting things packed and ready. The morning was pretty much a blur. Last minute packing up, coordinating with the moving company, we'd hired a well-reviewed local crew to help us move.

We could have done it ourselves, but we had the extra money and I like to support the local economies, so why not, right? It was worth it for the peace of mind. By about 11, the truck was fully loaded and we were on to our new place, which was about 45 minutes away, just outside the city. This is where things got a bit sus, as the kids say. First, the truck kept falling behind us on the highway.

We would slow down and they would catch up, but then they would disappear again. I tried calling the driver, but the calls kept going to voicemail. My girlfriend told me that it wasn't that big of a deal, that maybe they were having some car issues. Or maybe the driver was just paying attention to his cell phone or something. I had a nodding feeling in my gut, but I just kind of accepted what she said. They had the address and they knew where we were going. So we got to the new place and we waited.

and waited. We unloaded what we had fit into the car and then stood outside just waiting for the moving truck, and after about an hour and a half, I was beyond livid. I called the moving company and they said that they would get a hold of the driver when I heard the sound of a moving truck coming down the road. I ended the call and then looked up to see a different truck coming down the road toward our place. It was older.

A bit rusted. And it had a different company name painted and faded off on the side. They pulled up in front of our place, and two guys got out. Neither of whom we recognized from earlier. They claimed that they had to take over because of a mechanical issue with the other moving truck. Said that they tried to call us, but the calls weren't going through. There were so many red flags that were going off in my mind, but what could we do? All of our stuff was in that truck.

The new driver was insistent on unloading the truck immediately, saying that he had another job he had to get to. I opened the garage door and told them to go ahead and just put the boxes in there and that we would take care of the rest. As they started moving the boxes, I noticed that they weren't anywhere near as careful as the first crew. One of them tossed a box that was marked fragile onto the floor causing something to crash and possibly break. And when I said something to him like "Hey, could you be careful?"

He said, "What? You paid for insurance, right?" After a while, I saw one of the boxes that they had dropped into the garage and was a bit confused. I noticed that it said "Hernandez" on the top. That wasn't our box. I told the guy to stop unloading that this stuff wasn't ours and then started walking toward the truck saying I needed to look at all the stuff in the back because it seemed like they had stuff that wasn't ours.

As soon as I started walking toward the truck, the big guy that was driving pulled out a pocket knife and pointed it right at me, saying, "Back the f off. Just go back inside. This doesn't have to get messy." I threw my hands up like, "Whoa!" and asked, "What the hell are you doing?" Thankfully, my girlfriend had seen this happen from inside, and she called 911.

It was going to be a few minutes before they got there, but at least she was aware enough to do that. I backed up more into the garage, and the guy started to put his knife away before turning to walk back to the truck. I'm not proud of what I did next, but I was in a bit of a way at that moment. I actually grabbed a shovel that I had sitting against the wall and swung it at the guy. I don't even know why we had a shovel.

It had sat in the closet with the broom at our old place, like it was an important tool, and we could use it at this new place, sure. I'm getting off point here. Sorry. I grabbed the shovel, stepped forward, and swung at the guy. He went down, and he fell hard. The other guy saw what happened and bolted for the truck. I chased after him with the shovel in my hands. He started the truck and took off down the road, not even bothering to close the back of the truck.

several more boxes marked as Hernandez fell out onto the road, and he disappeared down the street. I stood over the unconscious guy as the cops finally showed up. I had a lot of fun explaining the situation to them, telling them that this guy had pulled a knife on me, which he thankfully still had in his hand when they arrived. He was hurt and unconscious, but not dead.

They got him up and had to call an ambulance to check on him, but he was absolutely being arrested. The officers were talking to me about the whole thing while he was being checked out, and they told me that this was likely what was called a moving day scam. They explained what would happen. The movers would help load the truck and work like legit movers, but then they would claim that they were having truck issues and would tell the homeowners to just go and that they would change trucks and catch up.

They would use this time to quickly go through the items that they had loaded into the truck, take some valuables, and then reload it as quickly as possible, sending a second truck to make it look more believable. Unfortunately for these scammers, they messed up and either left boxes or put boxes in the trucks that weren't ours, the boxes that were marked Hernandez's.

When I called him out and went to confront him, the guy panicked and pulled out the knife, which led to where we were at that moment. The officers assumed that the Hernandez's were likely their last victim, and they had just missed some boxes. The officer said that they would try to track down the original truck to see if they could find the other guy as well, but we weren't holding our breaths though.

The odds of them getting anything these guys had swiped, which we obviously hadn't noticed yet, was minimal. We were actually lucky, all things considered. We had most of our stuff. They ended up taking all of our nice plates, and that's about it. The moving company wasn't aware of what was happening, apparently. We spoke with them about the whole thing, and they said that the original truck had actually returned to the building as normal, which was the other part of their scheme.

The company wouldn't have known about the whole thing because the trucks were coming back on time. The second truck was privately owned, so they didn't extend the jobs at all. Obviously, their drivers were investigated, and it was found that it was just the two of them that were pulling off the scheme. Well, two of them and the two guys that showed up at our place. It's been about six months now, and the moving company did their best to try and make it right, but...

Outside of getting our nice dishes back, dishes that were antique and belonged to my grandmother, there really isn't much they can do. The guys responsible were all arrested, and I would guess that when they get their day in court, they'll get some pretty harsh sentences, depending on what they can prove. Moving is stressful enough without having to worry about con artists stealing your stuff, or having to hit a dude with a shovel. If there's a lesson here...

Well, I guess it's just be careful who you have help you move. It's hard to really parse a proper lesson from this, since there wasn't much we could have done outside not hiring these guys. It's left me fairly untrusting of movers, that's for sure. And now I keep checking Facebook Marketplace and Craigslist for the dish set, thinking it's going to pop up eventually. And when it does, I'm gonna have some questions for the seller.

Hello Raven. I've been a subscriber since 2021 and I want to thank you for everything you do. Well, thank you. Moving day was one of the most stressful days I've ever experienced because of a single encounter. My family and I were moving to one of the neighboring suburbs into a larger house since the needs of the family has changed. My grandparents moved in with us and there are five kids in the family, not including myself.

Needless to say, we have a lot of stuff. There was a U-Haul out the front that would need to make multiple trips back and forth to deliver all the furniture and boxes. Since I'm one of the older siblings, and my parents trust me to be alone to get things done, I stayed behind to clean and get things ready to hand the keys back to Jeff, our landlord, who was also a family friend, who helped the family out during a rough time.

Basically, we were homeless, and he gave us a place to stay. Jeff is pretty cool as far as landlords go. If we had any issues, he would have the issues fixed quickly, nor did he randomly raise the prices, etc. I was standing chatting to him in the empty house when we heard footsteps. We looked at each other, strangely, because we didn't expect to see anyone else.

We left some larger pieces of furniture that we didn't want to keep anymore, along with a couple of boxes of second-hand clothes for the kids to use, and some other random pieces too. Everything was still in good condition, but we just didn't want or need it anymore. Jeff called out, and we heard scurrying away. The pair of us walked to see what was going on. One of the boxes was open, the one that had old baby and children's clothing inside of it.

Some pieces of clothing were hanging over the side. We called out, "Hello," to see if anyone was there, going from room to room to see if somehow somebody was in the house. In the empty side room, hiding in a small corner, out of sight if you happened to open the door, was a man whom neither of us recognized. He had a scrappy, unkempt beard, dirty clothing, and a pretty strong stench.

He was holding pieces of clothing and rubbing his greasy face on them and twitching. I don't know what he was doing with the clothing, I really didn't want to know. We pulled him out of the house, as other than trespassing and some minor theft and being gross, he hadn't done anything that bad. At least, according to Jeff. However, the man still came back to the property. I was cleaning to ensure that we got our full deposit back.

I was listening to music with my earpods in, vibing and enjoying myself. Jeff hadn't asked us to do a deep clean before we went, but it was pretty much a favor and I was happy to do it. I don't mind cleaning and any excuse to get time to myself is treasured. I was dusting and cleaning the inside windows, and I nearly didn't see him. I jumped when I realized what I saw.

It was him just squatting outside the window, staring inside. This time Jeff wasn't here with me. I told the guy to leave or that I would call the police. He stood there leering at me with a gross grin on his face, and that was when I noticed what he was doing with his hand, which was definitely inside of his pants. I'm trying to say this in the most polite way possible, and in a way that won't get you in trouble with YouTube.

Let's just say his hand was wrestling with the one-eyed trouser snake. I remember the gross look on his face. He knew that he was freaking me out, and he had said something to me, but I didn't understand it, and I didn't come back to ask him to explain himself. I ran to another room, locked the door, and called the police. They didn't find him, but they told Jeff about what happened,

He told me that he was going to install some security cameras since some of his family was moving into the house. I kept cleaning, but I was never there alone after that. During this time, I never saw him again. I took one final look at the old house, got in the car and half expected to see him through the window or something equally out of a horror movie, but I didn't see anything. When I was settling in and unpacking in the new house, and I told the family about what had happened,

The local grapevine warned people about the man and his creepy tendencies. He had apparently taken children's clothing off of clotheslines, and was found with it by the police. So far, he hadn't tried to touch any children or do anything weird with them, thank god. I wasn't physically hurt by this experience, but I was definitely creeped out.

This happened over ten years ago, so unfortunately I can't remember all the details or what exactly was said, but I do remember how terrifying the experience was. To explain why I acted, or more accurately didn't act, I'm autistic and suffer from situational mutism. It was a bonfire night, and I was at a fireworks display with my family.

I went outside ahead of everyone else and sat in my mom's wheelchair, waiting for the fireworks to start. A little while later, a woman I had never met before left the pub and made her way over to me, carrying two drinks and speaking as though she knew me. So, me being me, I just assumed that she must have been a friend of my mom's.

I smiled as she handed me one of the drinks, but I didn't start drinking it. It was beer, which I don't drink. So I continued my habit of assuming and guessed it was for a family member. Then things got weird. Instead of telling me who she was, and that my family were on their way to join us, she began saying and doing some really unsettling things. Like I said at the beginning, I can't remember exactly what she said,

But I remember her commenting on how shy I was, and then she began hugging me and kissing the top of my head. Even if I was someone who was okay with physical contact, which I'm not, I would have still found her behavior disturbing. After a while, she noticed that I hadn't touched the drink, that I now realized was mine and she told me to drink it.

By now I was certain that she wasn't a friend of my mom's, and there was no way I was drinking something handed to me by a stranger. I began pretending to drink and considered my options. Looking back, I could have gotten out of the wheelchair and run back inside, but at the time, I was frozen where I was. It was crowded, and the woman was acting so strangely.

All I could think to do was call my mom, so I began fumbling for my phone whenever the woman wasn't watching, and leaving missed calls to my mom hoping that it would get her to come outside. Unfortunately, it didn't. By this point, a man joined the woman, and I felt completely closed in by both of them. The entire time, the woman's actions and mannerisms made me think that she might have taken something stronger than alcohol.

but the man seemed completely sober. All I could think was there was something in this beer. I was still pretending to drink it, and thank god this wheelchair is an electric one and they wouldn't be able to try to push it away with them. I left my mom constant missed calls and tried to look around for someone to grab the attention of when finally my family came out of the pub to join me. At that exact moment, both of the creepy strangers vanished into the crowd.

If their behavior hadn't been enough of a red flag, this definitely convinced me that they were up to something shady. I never saw either of them again, but as we were leaving and I explained why I had left so many missed calls on my mom's phone, one of my brothers said that a woman matching the description of the creep had made some creepy comments to him too, earlier on when she was still inside.

I don't know it for sure, but I genuinely wonder whether those people were looking for a vulnerable girl to kidnap or even traffic. They never saw me stand up from the wheelchair, so I doubt they knew it wasn't mine, and my appearance and mannerisms unfortunately sometimes make me look like an easy target. I like to think that I've learned how to handle myself a bit better since then, but fortunately,

I have not had another experience quite so terrifying since. Please, consider doing so.

Those ratings push the podcast into the algorithm, and we all know how the algorithm controls everything, so... Yeah. I also do have a Patreon. If you go to patreon.com slash astheravendreams, you can support the channel further. For as little as a dollar a month, you can get early access to all of my content in audio format.

The content's a little different, as it's based on what I upload to my YouTube side, but it's the same stories, just in different collections of stories than how they're presented here. Speaking of stories, if you have one you would like to submit to me, please go to astheravendreams.com and click the button in the middle of the screen that says Submit Your Story.

These stories are mostly sourced by listeners, so let's keep the podcast alive. If you've got one, I'd love to read it. Anyways, friends, I hope you're all having a beautiful day and a lovely week, and I hope I see you again very soon. But until then, remember you're loved, you're valid, you're important. You're the best you can be. Never forget it. And until next time, much love and sleep well.