Vol. 234: Disturbing True Stories from Reddit
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My girlfriend and I, both in our early 20s, decided to take a road trip to Vancouver, Canada, and then stay at Golden Ears Provincial Park. We liked camping, had spring break, and wanted to do something different just to make the most out of our vacation. Neither my girlfriend nor I had been out of the U.S., and it seemed like a crazy, fun, new experience. It was a six-day trip with Airbnbs in each state, and the grand finale was a reserved campsite at Golden Ears.

and it was going to be near the water, Alouette Lake. We packed terribly, had a giant tent, brought a bunch of fruit and veggies to eat healthily, stored them in a cooler that was too small, and brought a cutting board and knife to break up the snacks while driving. We started our trek in California, switched off driving our bright red Ford Fiesta. We drove through Oregon and Washington and made it to Vancouver. We spent a day or two in each state, drank just a little too much, and stayed out way too late.

Canada was the best part, and Alouette Lake felt like walking in a painting. We walked barefoot on the rocks with our toes in the freezing cold waters. We hiked around, saw a beautiful waterfall, where we saw a couple taking pics of each other for almost an hour. And we started modeling the same poses from far away. Everything was just about perfect, and the campsite was empty, except for one single other couple. We went to bed early that night. It was quiet.

until I woke up to crackling outside the tent. My girlfriend was still asleep and snoring away. While I heard noises, I tried not to panic. It was night time out and likely just an animal running through our camp. But the crackling continued closer to the tent. That's when I sat up and grabbed my phone. As I picked it up, the blast of my screen on full brightness overtook the tent. I did my best to turn it off quickly, but I almost blinded myself with the light. In those two seconds though,

I could make out the silhouette of a person right outside of our tent. I sat up and froze. They weren't moving anymore, and they were close enough to unzip the tent. I started poking my girlfriend because I had no idea what to do. She woke up, and I said that there was someone outside of our tent. That's when I hear the footsteps. Quiet footsteps, walking away from our campsite now. My girlfriend starts loudly saying, "What?" repeatedly in a sleepy haze.

When we fell asleep that night, there was no one near our camping site. The other couple that I alluded to were more than a mile away. But now, I hear the sounds of a car engine start up, what sounds like it's merely feet away from our camp. I hear the sounds of it starting to drive off, and I can't help but notice that they didn't turn their lights on until they turned a corner and were nearly out of our view. With that said, even now that I was outside of the tent, I couldn't make out much, but it did look like a truck.

Now, at this point, I'm shaking, and my girl can't put together what's happening. I want to leave, but Golden Ears locks the gate until 6 or 7 am, and it's only 2 am at this point, so whether we want to or not, we're going to be here. I make us move into the Ford Fiesta and sleep in the tightly packed car. "Couldn't it have been a park ranger?" she posed, but it seemed too weird of some behaviors for a park ranger. I sit there wide awake in the driver's seat for about two hours.

The car's locked, and I want to sleep, but I know I can't. I look over at my co-pilot, and she's fast asleep in the passenger seat. It's nearly 3am at this point. I'm sitting here, half awake, when I hear a car slowly driving up the road. Lights off as it rounds the corner nearest to us. It had to be the same truck, and I was scared, but my adrenaline was also pumping. It slowly rounds the corner and pulls up directly in front of our campsite once again. I feel like I'm going to puke.

I had no weapon but the single kitchen knife that we brought for fruits and vegetables. So I grabbed it and tried to make myself look angry, crazy, and big. I sit straight up in the seat, holding the kitchen knife at eye level. I keep it straight and stare deadpan out at this truck in the pitch black, just like the father in the American Gothic painting. The truck stops and shuts off. A light shines directly onto my face coming from inside the truck. I stare back.

And as mad dog as I'm trying to be, I'm terrified, and I'm sure that it shows, while I'm sitting in my bright red Ford, holding up a large knife, not blinking. The truck starts back up, turns on its lights, and they stay on, blinding me as the truck pulls out and turns back around towards where it came. My heart is still pounding. That's when I wake my girl up and say that we need to get the hell out of here. We do a rush pack job by just throwing things into our car and sit there awake until 6am.

We drive all the way home, I don't even think we made a stop. We just kept rehashing and trying to make sense of the situation. But after that went round and round with ultimately no conclusion, it was pretty evident that we just needed some sleep. I think back on that night quite often, the first time the truck drove through, I didn't get a good look at it. But when they came back, even in the dark, it was obvious that it wasn't a park ranger, it wasn't authorities of any nature. Whoever it was,

had been in the campgrounds since the night before. Because, like I said, the gates get locked. It wasn't the couple from down the way. I remember seeing their Subaru as we pulled through. Not a truck. So that just leaves me wondering even more. Who was that? Why were they in our campsite? And had I not woken up when I did, what would they have done to us in the tent?

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This story is from way back, the summer of 1987. I remember that I was nearly five years old at this time. I remember it like it happened yesterday, to borrow an old cliche. I used to live in a small town in Indiana back in '87. The schools were shut for summer break. Me and my cousin, who'd frequently visit us from another city almost 100 miles away, went out to play for hours during those scorching summer afternoons.

We had found this massive pile of construction sand at a nearby site, where we'd spend most of our time making sand castles and such. Right next to this massive tower of sand was a large water tank, built with poured concrete and filled to the brim with water. Me and my cousin, when we'd be bored with the sand, would sometimes sit by this large tank and look at the tadpoles, which my older cousin convinced me were small fishes. Neither of us could swim, and being cautious, even at that age,

We never ventured too close to the tank. That day, for some reason that I don't recall, my cousin had to head home rather abruptly, cutting his stay with us short. I, being the only child in my family, feeling lonely, and with nothing else to do on this boring summer day without my cousin, decided to head back to the construction sandpile. That's where I saw this other kid, a bit older than I was, one who I'd never seen there before.

He was sitting by the water tank and chucking a piece of rope with a stick tied to one end into the water before pulling it back, almost like a juvenile form of a fishing pole. I simply loved this toy that he'd fashioned out of rope plus a stick and asked him if I could join in on the fun. "Sure," he said. He quickly made up the rules for a new game right there on the spot. He told me, "You sit at the other end of the tank. I'll chuck the stick end of the rope at you, holding the rope end.

If you manage to catch it, then you win your turn. If it hits the water, you'll lose a point. Deal? Who could say no to this? So yeah, we started the game. I think I caught it a few times. Some other times, the stick landed in the water. As I remember it, the other kid was losing, and in turn, he kept shortening the throws, so that I'd have to keep on reaching further and further to catch the stick. Well, with one fateful throw, I reached, lost my balance,

and landed in the water. It was too sudden, I didn't realize what was happening, but I was now inside the tank, struggling to get out, trying my best to hold my breath and flailing my arms. Luckily, I managed to get hold of a rung on one of the corners of the tank before finally being able to hoist myself onto the edge and climb out. As I caught my bearings and my breath, the other kid was nowhere to be found. I looked around the tank, looked down in the sand pile, no sign of him.

I linger around the tank for another 10 minutes maybe, just trying to catch my breath and wrap my head around what had happened. That's when he comes back. Oh, you managed to get out? When I heard those words, I all but lost it. While five-year-olds may not have a firm grasp on all the emotions they're experiencing, I knew at that point that what I was feeling was rage. I said, where did you go? Did you get lost? Angrily. He said, oh, I just went to pee. Rather nonchalantly.

I never thought you'd make it out though, that water is deep, as composed as I could but ultimately near tears. I ask, did you try to go find a grown up, tell him that I was drowning? He just shrugged, before plopping down into the sandpile and continuing about whatever things he was doing. I remember storming home at that point, still angry, unsure why that kid did that, but also feeling incredibly lucky that I was able to make it out of that tank.

For a long time, I remembered this incident in every excruciating detail, down to what I wore that day. But later on, something else came to light, rather unexpectedly years later. While I was discussing this with my dad, I told him everything I could. Playing in the sand, the fishing pole game, falling into the tank, and feeling like that would be the last thing that I'd ever get to do. When I get to the end of the story, he says, Yeah, I can imagine how that would have bothered you so much.

feeling so betrayed by your own cousin when you needed him the most. Yeah, it wasn't until years later that I realized I had processed every bit of that incident and changed one crucial aspect in my head. There was no strange kid that day. It was my own cousin, my partner in crime, every summer break, that for some reason, only known to him, decided that he would just let me drown or fend for myself. Throughout the rest of my childhood,

I'd still see him at my family barbecues or our grandparents' anniversaries, and I don't recall feeling fear, worry, or hatred at any point towards him, but it lines up time-wise where I can remember our relationship shifting. He'd still come and visit for summers, although we'd hang out less and less. When finally around the age of 13 or 14, I pretty much made a decision, either conscious or not, to not associate with my cousin even while he stayed in our home. I thought that we had just grown apart.

We're perhaps interested in different things, but I think it came from a much deeper depth than just that. Our last reunion, which came back in 2019, I saw my cousin for the first time in years. During one of the times where there was little going on and not many other family members around, I asked him if he remembered the water tank that summer. With little hesitation, he acknowledged that he did. He remembered the game that we played, but he also, plain as day, stated, "I remember you diving into the tank for some reason."

and pretending to flap around like you were drowning. That ruined the game for me. So I left. In his mind, I decided to go into the tank. I pretended to breathe in water, all in order to bring our game to an end. I vehemently told him that that's not how it went, that he had caused me to fall in, didn't offer any help, but agreed that he left. He gave me the same shrug in 2019 that he gave me in 1987. I'll admit that the human memory is a strange thing,

We misremember things all the time, and it doesn't work like a recording device, playing back what actually occurred, while I'll go to my eventual grave thinking that my cousin almost caused my early demise. The fact that he doesn't remember it so, makes me wonder if he actually believes that, or if he's simply trying to put distance between himself and something dark that lies within. I doubt that I'll ever know for sure. Hey everybody, if you'd like to directly support us as a channel,

please consider joining our Patreon. Your support allows me to dedicate more time and effort into creating the content that you enjoy. And by becoming a patron, you'll be able to interact with me directly, be listed within our content as a backer, assist with content creation, and even gain early access to all of our upcoming releases. Find me at patreon.com/malevolentmischief or simply click the link in the description. I look forward to bringing you even more creepy and unsettling content.

Now, let's get back to the stories. This is an incident that occurred when I was around 9 years old. Even today, I still find myself thinking about what could have been. As a child, both my parents worked full time and sometimes they couldn't afford or find a babysitter for when I was off of school. Think winter, spring, summer breaks. So oftentimes, I would be home alone until one of them returned from work. There were two main rules. One,

Never answer the door. Two, don't play too close to the windows, just in case someone is watching. Well, I was 100% guilty of hanging out near the window. I like the lighting, and I was a bored kid when I was home alone. Come on, no one had ever knocked on the door before while I was alone, so I expected that pattern to always persist. One day, my father leaves for work, and he goes over the rules once again, things that I've heard a hundred times before.

Well, after a few hours of playing near the window, someone knocks on the door. I freeze, all but hit the deck, and I don't answer, but shortly thereafter, they knock again, and at this point in my little mind, I'm thinking that it has to be someone I know. That's the reason they're knocking twice. So I walk my little self over to the door, unlock it, and answer. I open the door to an intimidating woman standing there. She's about my parents' age, tall like my dad.

broad-shouldered, wearing a hat with an American flag on it and holding a clipboard. She looked very official to a child. Before even greeting me, she asks how old I am. I lie and say that I'm 12. She says that she's from some institution that I can't remember. And she tells me, you're a liar. You're home alone. And it's illegal. You're going to have to come with me now. Let's go. Before grabbing me by my arm and yanking me from my doorway.

I immediately start crying loudly because I'm scared to get my parents in trouble. And after all, this woman is an adult. She must be right, right? I almost went with her. I have to be about five steps out into the hallway of our apartment when I start crying even louder. I'm not sure what it was, but at this point, we both hear a noise coming from one of my neighbors down the hall.

This sends a jolt through the lady. She lets go of my sleeve and says, never mind, it's okay, you don't have to come with me. Before she gave me a light shove back towards my house and walked off down the hall towards the stairs. The stairs in my apartment were set up like this. Six stairs going down, a landing where you'd have to spin a 180 degree turn to get to the next six steps. The last that I ever saw of this woman was when she was making that 180,

She sent a final cold glare right through me. It felt like her eye beams knocked me firmly back into my apartment. I slammed the door shut, locked it, and found myself cowering behind our couch. At this time, my parents weren't doing well financially, so we didn't have a landline at home. Cell phones? Not in 1996. I couldn't call my family. Couldn't call 911. I waited the entire day for my dad to come back home. Looking back,

I can only assume that that woman knew that I was alone because she had been watching me, whether it was just from a few hours that day or whether she had been scoping me out for a longer period of time. I don't think I'll ever know. I never really spoke on the incident because I felt like it was my fault for breaking the rules, and I often find myself thinking about just how lucky I am that she didn't get me down the stairs and force me to leave with her. Moral of the story, and I know that times have changed,

But all of us 90's kids out here can certainly attest to this: respect rule #1: never, ever answer the door.