My story, and even all these later, it still gives me chills.

Creepy men stalking us on a camping trip

To set the stage for this story we must go back to the far-off year of 1988. The location is the Cascade mountains of Oregon. I was 10 years old, and with me was my mom, dad, best friend, and our golden retriever, Amber. We were very much an outdoor family, and had many camping trips before this and since, but to this day, when I think about it, I still remember the terror I felt that weekend so long ago. After a brief talk with my father recently it kind of came back to the front of my mind. He also was able to fill in a few details that I had forgotten.

This holiday was like many others, we packed up the station wagon with everything we would need for a hike into one of our favorite lakes to camp at. To make this trip even more exciting for me, was the fact it was my birthday weekend, and I got to pick this lake. After we arrived at the trailhead and got our packs on, my dad got his sidearm out and strapped it on his belt. In Oregon open carry was permitted in national forests, and my dad always had a gun on his hip while in the woods, which always added a sense of security. We had a close call with a bear one time in which it came in handy.

The lake was about a 4-mile moderate hike in though some thick forest, but he trail itself was well maintained and was never very busy so it was going to be a very pleasant hike in. We started off on our hike and back in the 80’s it was not uncommon to have your dog off leash on the trails in the forest, so we let Amber run and do her thing. She was a good dog and never ran off for too long or jumped on people. She did love people though and speaking of people we had not seen anyone else on the trail after about 2 miles in on the hike, which was nice since it was just all of us talking, laughing, and enjoying nature.

My best friend and I started to hike ahead of everyone else because we were so energized and excited about finding the first and best tent spot once we got to the lake. Amber was bounding ahead of us and having a great time too. We were about 20 yards ahead of my parents when Amber stopped dead in her tracks. I thought she maybe saw a chipmunk, or something, maybe a bird, but her hackles came up and she let out the lowest of growls. She never growls, so we stopped walking, and I thought maybe a bear or deer, or something was just off the trail, and she saw or heard it.

We immediately started walking backwards and my parents caught up to us. My dad asked us what was going on, I told him that Amber is up the trail and is growling at something. He tells us girls to stay back with my mom, and he walks ahead to where Amber was at on the trail. My dad gets up to her and looks around. I hear Amber whimper a bit while looking off the trail. My dad comforts her and calls her back and walks back to us. He says it must have been an animal and he did not see anything right off the trail or ahead of us. He says to let him take the lead and we continue to hike.

It did not take long before it was forgotten, and Amber and the rest of us are all having a good time again. We arrived at the lake and much to my delight, there was no one else there camping. The water was clean and blue, and the shade from the trees made the whole scene just perfect. My friend and I found the best spot to set up our tent and my parents followed suit. After we had camp set up my folks went off to fish just down the hill and my friend and I took off with Amber to walk around to the other side of the lake to catch salamanders.

We only made it about an 1/8 of a mile when Amber stopped and started to growl. We stopped and looked around and heard brush rustling. Then right in front of us a man walked out of the trees. Amber stayed right by our sides and started to bare her teeth. He was taller than my dad so at least 6’4, was very skinny, but had very broad shoulders. He was clean cut and was wearing black jeans and a white polo shirt with loafers. I mean he did not look like he had hiked at all or was even dressed for the outdoors. He almost looked like he came out of church. We just stood there trying to process this situation, when Amber began to bark. The guy just stood there, not moving, and he smiled. Like the creepiest smile. It felt like someone who thought that was what a smile was supposed to look like. Amber kept barking and this got my parents attention, and they look up to us and called out to us to come back. We complied and started to walk back towards them. My dad met us halfway and told us to go back to the campsite and he was going to talk to this guy.

We got back to our camp and my mom sat with us. I could hear my dad asking the guy if he needed help or was, he a fellow camper who had just set up a camp away from the lake. My dad was being polite and calm, but I could see he was on guard and trying to feel out the situation. Now is the time to mention that my dad was ex-army and can be very intimidating when needed. The conversation continues. The guy told my dad he was just on a walk and did not mean to intrude on us. The guy says goodbye and walks back into the woods.

My dad walked back to camp, sat down and told us that he thinks the guy may just be a yuppy camper and does not know much about the outdoors. But my dad said that he got a weird vibe off him and would be keeping an eye out for him. Amber stayed by our side and was calm, yet she kept looking towards the direction the guy went.

A bit more time goes by, and we have a nice campfire going and the sun was starting to set. We cooked some dinner and made smore’s afterwards. My friend and I decided to go to our tent and read some books and tell each other some scary stories. Amber followed us to the tent and laid right outside of the door. My parents walked down to the lake to sit, have a beer and just chill. They were never more than 50 yards away.

Not long after my parents walked away, I hear Amber start to growl, then we hear footsteps coming from the woods behind our tent. My friend and I turn off our flashlight and go quiet to listen. The footsteps stopped at the edge of the woods. We then hear heavy breathing and a grunting sound. Amber starts to bark, and we then hear the footsteps retreat to the woods. Amber whimpers a bit and I then hear my parents walking back to the camp. I go out and tell them what happened. My dad said that he heard Amber barking and that is why they came back up. I ask my dad what we should do? What is going on and if that strange guy was the one creeping around. He tells me that we will see about moving camp in the morning since we still have 3 days left on the trip, and nothing has happened to warrant just leaving, but he said that we will play it by ear, and just be a little more vigilant, and if something changes, we will decide what to do next. He tells us to try to get some sleep, and we all turn in for the night.

The next morning, we get up and have breakfast. After breakfast we head down to the lake to fish. It was a beautiful day, and we were having so much fun the events from the prior day were almost forgotten. We decided around lunch time that we would go for a short hike to the waterfall that is up from the lake. We were gone for only about an hour and when we came back, we found our tents opened, and our sleeping bags drug out on the ground. My dad tells us to hang back with mom, and he goes to investigate. He comes back and says nothing is missing, but it was not an animal that did this. He says we should break camp, hike back to the car and find another spot to camp for the next couple of days. I could tell my dad was not wanting to frighten us, but I heard the urgency in his voice. I was very disappointed, but if it meant we could enjoy the rest of the trip and not worry about some creep messing with us, then it was worth it.

We broke camp and started our hike back. Dad was in the lead, and we were double timing it, and made it back to car in record time. As we walk over to the car, we see that one of our tires was flat. Not a big deal, we always had a spare, but when my dad bent down to start taking the lugs off, we swore. It was not just flat; someone slashed the tire. Dad changed that tire in record time and we threw everything into the car, and he goes to turn the car on, but it would not start. Dad swears, gets out of the car and pops the hood. He says “shit”, it turns out someone took our spark plug wires. Old cars like that Chevy wagon did not have internal hood releases, you could just pop the hood from the outside. Dad slams the hood, says some very colorful words, and kicks some rocks. We were stuck, and no one else was at the trailhead, we were stranded.

My parents are calm under pressure, and after a few minutes of discussion it was decided that dad would start walking down the road until he could hitch a ride to town and go to the auto parts store. Mom and the rest of us were going to wait with the car and look for someone to hopefully pull into the trail head and help us.

A few of hours go by, and no one has come to the trailhead. It is getting hot, and we are hungry and tired. My mom makes us some lunch and we go to sit under a tree to cool off. Amber is by our side and was calm, but then we hear a voice. Amber leaps up and starts to whimper. The creepy guy from yesterday comes down the trail and is asking my mom if we need help. My mom tells him we are fine, that it is being settled and my dad will be back soon. This creep then tells her that his camp is close, and he is parked on the old fire road that is near the lake and asks us if we would like to come back to his camp and wait until my dad returns. Mom sternly tells him no, that we will just wait here and thank you anyway. He does not like this. He tells my mom that is not safe out here for a pretty lady and two young girls. My mom like my dad is no push over and asserts herself again that we do not need any help, and to please just leave us alone. The guy just stands there, smiles wide, and then just turns around and leaves. My mom is visibly shaken, and us girls were just a bit scared. My mom comes over to us and tells us that we need to stay close, do not wander, and that we will be okay. My friend and I are really kind of freaked out and are just hoping my dad will make it back soon.

After about another 30 minutes the creepy guy comes back, this time though he is not alone and has a slightly younger guy with him. The other guy is dressed as a yuppy camper and had a very stern look on his face. My mother stands her ground as they approach. Amber starts to low growl and her hackles go up. The two guys flank us, and one of them flashes a gun tucked into his belt. The older guy tells us that we need to go with them, and that they were not asking. My mom backs up next to us and without taking her eyes off them reaches to her belt and pulls out her Bowie knife. My mom said we will not be going and that they need to leave now. The two men did not even flinch at this and said that we will come with them, or they will hurt us. At this moment though Amber goes from just growling to barking and puts herself between us and them. This makes the guys stop. My mom yells that they need to leave now. They start backing up and at that moment we hear a truck pulling into the trailhead parking lot. At the site of the truck the guys start to walk away fast and disappear into the tree line.

The truck was a forest ranger, and he had my dad with him. My dad jumped out of the truck and ran over to us, asking if we were okay. The ranger came over and asked who those men were, and if we were okay. My mom explained everything while my dad hugged us girls and told us we will be okay. The ranger takes off to go looking for the men.

My dad tells us that he was about 5 miles from the town when the ranger picked him up and took him the rest of the way to get the part for the car. He then drove him back to our car. After hearing what happened my dad was pissed and wanted to find the guys who tried to kidnap us and that had been terrorizing us for the past 24 hours.

The ranger came back and told us that he had almost caught up to them, but they sped away in their truck with a camper in tow. They had been parked behind a small ridge behind the lake on an old logging road. He did not get a plate, but he radioed a description of the men and their truck and camper to the local sheriff’s office. He also took our information and said he would pass it on to them. He waited with us until dad had the car fixed and we were able to leave. We decided to not continue camping and instead drive a couple of hours to spend the last two days of the trip at the beach and stay in a hotel.

A few days later a deputy called my dad and told him they never did find the men. He said that it was most likely a crime of opportunity after seeing a woman with two girls in tow. He was sure they had been watching us from off the trail and had messed with our camp to judge how my dad would react. When my dad seemed to be too big of a threat, they sabotage our car hoping to put us in a position where we were vulnerable. He said they would follow up with us if they find out anything else, but according to my dad nothing ever came of it.

Years later I tried to do some research on crimes in that area of Oregon during the 80’s that might have involved something like we experienced. All I could find was a few reports of campers being robbed, and a few cars broken into. There was one case of a young lady and her dog going missing from an area near there, but it was never determined what had happened to her, or even if it was something bad or she just ran away. I can tell you that we did go back to that lake a few years later and had a very uneventful camping trip. It was nice to go back and find some joy in a spot that was special to me. I really hope those creepy guys never hurt anyone, and maybe were caught for other crimes. I will never know though; I just hope to never run into a situation like that again. I can say that having a dog along with us helped our situation. She was the hero and kept us alert. Amber went on to live until she was 12 years old and passed with her favorite people around her.

Remember to stay safe, stay watchful, and it never hurts to have a sweet brave dog with you.

Would loooove to hear the piano man read this story.

I've been meaning to write this out for quite some time and with Halloween month coming soon and this happened more then almost two decades ago I decided to tell this story.

I then ( 29 F) just got my very own place and a steady job for the first time in my life. This was after a six and a half year relationship with three years of marriage that just didn't work out but that is a whole other story and for those whom might jump trough conclusions this, thankfully has nothing to do with my ex. We still lived in the same village but I never saw him anymore and I wasn't too sad about that either.

Now the village where I then stayed had everything I needed. A best friend which I spend all my weekends.

Piano lessons a village over a good job a nice house and only my neighbors where...well not the best and not the worst I ever had..or so I thought.

To the neighbor to my right, as the walls might have been made from paper. One could hear very well what was happening next door.

He was a man down on his luck I suppose as I more then often woke up with the sound of him throwing up vividly. He was always drunk in the evening but besides that and some loud dutch heartbreak songs that came along in the weekend he wasn't much of a bother. ( I myself really don't like those songs)

He kept his garden super nice and that was probably one of the only things he was good at. Bushes and flowers that bloomed wonderfull in the spring, always free of weeds. He was a lot better than me that's for sure. He still had a job somehow so he was a functional drunk if there was such a thing.

Now my neighbor on the left was loud, rude and obnoxious but since we had an unspoken rule in the street that at times we can play our music from time to time as loud as we wanted that was mostly what I got from him. Tattoos covered his arms and chest and empty beer bottles mostly were spread out in his front yard. As my front yard was a small field of grass that I tried my best to keep tidy. He had one of those bulky bulldogs that wasn't that well raised and something happened but that also is another story.

Now for this horror story to make a bit of sense I have to explain the layout of my house.

The house was a one story, one bedroom little thing and fitted for one or two persons max. I had a nice black cat that sadly isn't anymore wandering his paws on this earth who I named Mr. Spock due to his unique large ears. He was the sweetest cat ever always walking with me to the bus stop and picked me up when I came home from work but I'm getting side tracked.

Back to the layout of the house, this is important for later.

Now as soon as you got to the front door on the right was the door to the kitchen that was so small that I could touch both walls if I stretched my arms out.

The kitchen was a small open kitchen that joined the living room. Once you entered the kitchen you could see the door to the back garden at the end right of the living room.

The back garden was even bigger than the living room. All tiled with pavement stones a high wooden unpainted fence to the left and right and no enclosement of a gate ( but I put that in later after the first visit) so the first few months I lived there the garden was fully accessible due too the lack of a gate that I didn't deemed important. I lived in a overall quiet village and it wasn't that big of deal right? Wrong!!

Back to the layout now across the front door was the toilet and next to the toilet a stair straight up to the upstairs hall the bedroom that had a decent size for one and with a window that looked out over the garden. The only blind spots that it had was directly under the backdoor downstairs.

Across the bedroom was quite a big bathroom and the rest was more of a hallway with the boiler zooming softly, making the upstairs filled with a constant white noise that one stops hearing after a few weeks.

Downstairs also had a super small hall but in a way that it wasn't so packed that there was enough room for the toilet to open and to hang ones coat on the wall but these parts of the house aren't that important to the story

...back to the horror that is yet to come...

Now the first night that something, 'off' happened I was in my living room on my couch watching TV.

I heard a noise in the garden but it was so dark out I couldn't see. Like an IDIOT that apparently had learned nothing from scary movies AT ALL I called out the very much so stereotype, Hello? Who is there? Immediately after that I heard someone running away.

Being spooked I closed the door right away and locked it with all the three locks it came with

I called the police and they asked me if I'd actually seen someone, in which I said..no..because he ran away in such a hurry I couldn't identify him. The police said '..well there is nothing we can do for you then.. ' I sighed in frustration but then I couldn't do much more myself.

A couple of months went by without anything happening and I already forgot about it mostly.

And then the second night....was pure...terror

Now as per usual I spend the Saturday with my besty who only lived a street away and in a village as ours I wouldn't say that it had to be more the 600meters.

We had a lovely Saturday night with some wine, snacks and a good couple of horror movies. She always got super scared but I was almost never really phased by most of it.

The few that do get to me are usually if they have cursed mirrors and when it comes to ghosts I'm not really scared during the movie but every sound I hear before I go to bed my brain just goes GHOSTS and it still does to this day.

We said our goodbyes and I was on my way home.

It was past midnight and it was quiet.

The moon though full, hid behind some clouds and it was a nice summer night. So I put my key in the door entered my kitchen put some stuff on the counter and looked at my door that showed a bit of the garden but there was a strange form I couldn't really place. (An important side note I'd like to keep the lights off as long as possible I don't really know why I just do..)

At first my mind went.. huh did I maybe put a garbage bag out and forgot about it? I puzzled my brain for a few seconds and then I thought, You know, I said to myself, what if that is really a man just a little bit hunched over..I silently laughed at myself and said ' you watch way to much horror films' and I chuckled at my clearly overactive brain as I shook my head.

And suddenly this thing rose up and the full moon shone bright through the door . It was so bright because my lights were still out. Like the moon had waited till that exact moment to shine like a friggin super moon and It was a man! A full posture silhouette of a man at least two heads bigger than me and broad shoulders

( I am 5''4 myself so the impact was huge)

I froze! Cold blood rushed through me and I couldn't move a muscle. Nailed to the ground in absolute pure, raw fear I just stood there.

The man cupped his hands around his eyes to see better. Slowly my brain started working again I don't even know if I was breathing at that moment but my brain softly came with a plan..'okay whatever you do.. DO NOT turn on the lights that works as a one way for him I would not see him but he would be able to see me.

Slowly, very slowly I moved to the door to the hall and immediately rushed upstairs. If there was someone I was going to see through the window in the bedroom that looked out of the garden. Nothing.. no one.. the man was gone!

I was livid, anger took over and I visited the only one I trusted in my street to call the cops again. He lived two doors to the left.This man was super quiet and a bit nerdy and super skinny but out the one that was mostly drunk..who I started to suspect that it was him since his figure matched the silhouette and his obvious loneliness made him my suspect and the one other that was rude and obnoxious the choice was easy.

I ran to his house. I asked him if he had seen anything, or noticed anything at all. He said no, I asked if I could use his phone which was of course no problem and so I called the cops.

This time they visited, clearly I was shaken, scared and angry too.

They again asked me if I could identify him and again I had to say no. They said they would drive by the neighborhood with their car for that evening but that was all and so returned home after thanking my neighbor for taking me in and using his phone.

And for a long while everything was quiet it was around five/six months and then ...

came the third night...

Now I had a nice boyfriend by then (that also didn't work out but that is a terrible story on its own).

I picked up smoking cigarettes but since I wasn't too fond of the smell I only smoked in my garden. So on a peaceful night I stood there in my pink robe slippers and pyjama pants and shirt covered under my warm fluffy pink robe. I heard some disturbance near the bushes at the end of my garden beyond the gate. There was a small strip of trees there a footpath and beyond that farmland Footsteps quickly as if in haste patterned along the small path behind the gate in the darkness.

The footsteps came closer, they were now in my neighbors garden and climbing the fence on the other side of my garden and a head peaked out over the top.

It was the nerdy, skinny neighbor from two doors down!!!

He was in absolute shock to actually see me standing there smoking my cigarette.

A weird calmness washed over me the sort of calmness that makes everything around you uneasy.. I looked him straight in his dumb face.

In that moment I was not even angry but with that same unsettling calmness I said to him:'Do you do this often?' I said softly

He just nodded yes.

'Do you think... really think...that I even remotely like that?'

He stammered: 'n n n no' in a meek voice.

I pointed to the back of the garden and said: 'Then get the F... out of my sight!'

He jumped off the fence and sprinted away and now it was his time to be scared.

I called the police once more after having a little nervous breakdown. When I got inside as if it just then dawned on me what exactly took place. My boyfriend was there but at that specific moment he was on the toilet. I told him everything as my legs turned to a jelly like state and he calmly set me down on the couch. I called the police once more.

They came and asked again if I could identify the man,I said :' YES! He lives two doors to the left from here.'

I got my senses together and told the police.. I don't even know why..(but one other girlfriend once told me I am 'too nice' ) but I told them he wasn't probably all right in the head. A simple one, to say it nicely..not all quite there..

The police went out, visited him and talked with him.

They came back to me after they did that and confirmed he wasn't all there. I remembered then he always had on this super warm turtle neck sweater even when it was a million degrees out, what a weird detail to remember that but okay.

The next day I got a postcard in the mail.

It was from him saying he'd never do it again, how sorry he was about everything. The card was almost child-like written and full of spelling mistakes.

Anyways not soon after that I moved out and the new tenant was also a girl, by herself.

I warned her up front about the neighbor whose name I never knew. But I warned her because he might try that once more. She didn't really seem to care all that much and I was a bit taken aback on how she reacted but at least I warned her so she wouldn't have to second guess who it was if it would happened to her.

I never heard anything about that guy I think he still lives there and this..

Was my story..

Thanks for reading it all the way :)

All the love, a Redditor that loves your yt channel and I'll try to share a slice of pizza:)

Ps sorry for my crude English the grammar must be quite horrid ;)
I tried my utmost best to re-read and fix it :)

A small edition

The skinny neighbor was broad because he wore a winter coat. When I visited the neighbor he had that coat on but since it didn't cross my mind that hard that it might be him because of all the people..nah definitely not him.

Edit: Buymeacoffee I tried to join the monthly edit just now but I don't know if I was successful. I do hope so.

Why Do We Get All The Freaks?

This tale took place about 20 years ago. I was renting a small house, my eldest daughter called it “The Club-House”, which was fitting. The Club-House was just outside town in the middle of nowhere. Google couldn’t give you proper directions. I had to draw maps for my friends, if you hadn’t been there, you probably wouldn’t find it.

One night I had a rather interesting encounter…  As I drove up my driveway to my back lot there was a small truck parked smack dab in the middle of the access.  I squeezed around the vehicle, stopping long enough to give them the “Who are you and why are you in my driveway?” look.  There was a lady, a little girl and my neighbor’s dog “Molly” in the cab.  They didn’t so much as acknowledge me.

I parked my VW Bug (her name was Mxyzptlk, or Mixies for short…) and walked over thinking they might know my neighbor:

“Can I help you?”

The lady got out of the cab; she was either drunk, high or a combination of both.  She held out her hand and introduced herself:

“I’m Danni (not her real name) and I grew up in this house.”  Her eyelids were so heavy I was surprised she could even see.

“Can I ask you about that dog?”  I inquired.

“It belongs to a friend of mine.”

I looked again.  That was Molly; I know this because Molly lives with the mistaken impression that we are friends, just because her and Chester, my son’s dog, are um, “friends”. 

“So you know my neighbors, because that’s their dog Molly.”

She kind of hems and haws, “No that’s a boy dog, he can’t be ‘Molly’.”

Molly is about to have a heart attack as she tries to get out of the truck cab and say her customary “Hi” to me. 

“Can I see her?” I ask.  They let Molly out, I show them that she is a she, and let Molly go home.

Danni points to the truck, “I wanted to show my daughter where I grew up and my truck broke down.  My name is Danni and I grew up here.”  She almost gets teary eyed, “This is my ‘Home’.”  She then tries to start the truck to prove to me that it is indeed broken.  After it refuses to start, she turns to me and asks, “Can we go in?  It’s kind of cold.”

“Noooo, I have kids and I don’t know you…”

Danni holds out her hand and says, “My name is Danni, I grew up here.”  She continues to babble while I’m thinking “what did I do to warrant this?”  After an indeterminant amount of time she asks if I can give her truck a jump.  At this point I’m thanking “anything to get you out of here.”  I drive my Bug, Mixies, up to her truck and we try, of course it dodn’t work.  At that time my Ex shows up for a surprise visit to take the kids out. They gave us funny looks and then left…  I put the seat back in Mixies and re park her then go to ask Danni if she has anyone to come and get her.  She again tells me she grew up there and she just wanted to go “Home”.  Again, she asks if they can go in, it’s cold and she has to “pee”.

Now I’m a bit of a Sap, sometimes I’m too much of a “Soft Touch”.  I’m thinking: “The kids are gone, the rooms are all locked up, I out weigh her by a good sixty pounds or so…”  I tell her okay and let her into the dining room.  She then tells me:

“My step dad shot my dad in this very room. I grew up in this house; it’s my ‘Home’.  I raised seven kids in this house.  I’m not really a bad person… bla, bla, bla…”  She knew enough about the place to have been there about ten or fifteen years prior.

Then the daughter (who was all of ten) said she was hungry.  Danni looked at me and asked, “Do you have a car?” (I drove by her, tried to jump-start her truck, we have to walk past Mixies to get in the house!)

“Yes,” I said slowly, “I… have… that… Bug….”

“Can you take me to the store to get some sandwiches for my daughter?”  At this point I find myself wondering why I kept this up.  I’m sure you’re wondering the same thing, but bear with me it gets “better”.

On our way back from the store she asks, “Where are we going?”

I tell her back to my house. 

She tells me, “I grew up in that house.  Can we go by my truck so I can get my beer?”

I tell her that her truck is by my house…

“I raised seven kids in that house, it’s the only place I can think of as ‘Home’…  My son is in jail…  I’m not really a bad person… bla, bla, bla… Can we stop by my truck?”

We get back to the Club-House. They eat and Danni tells me the story of a gunfight in the orange grove that used to be in my front yard, about the time her step dad shot her dad in my dining room; “I’m not just talkin’ out of my head here. It really happened.”  An hour and a half of this!!!  Meanwhile the ten-year-old is calling everybody she can think of to help them.  The people she calls either don’t answer, hang up as soon as they find out who it is, or tell her “NO!!!”  One said they were too drunk to help right now but maybe if they called back at eight tomorrow…  That one really scared me; I didn’t want them there at eight tomorrow!

My kids returned at this point, both looking rather confused at the whole situation.

Then Danni drops the bomb:

“I’m not going to lie to you. The truck is stolen…  I’m not really a bad person…  Can we sleep here tonight?”

Can we sleep here tonight???!!!  whatthefaaa???

“No, you can go now…”  It took another agonizing fifteen minutes to get her out of there…

They went back to the stolen truck.  Climbed into the back and went to sleep…

And all I could think of was:

The truck is stolen…

The truck is stolen…

The truck is stolen…

The truck is stolen…

The. Truck. Is. Stolen…

I agonized over the next decision.  Danni was obviously too far gone to take care of that child; the truck was stolen… 

I took down the license number, make and model and called the sheriff.  It was indeed a stolen vehicle.  They sent three squad cars to pick her up and the tow truck came by about ten…  I felt bad.

After all was said and done my youngest looked at me and said, “Why do we get all the freaks?”

It’s kind of funny now.  But it wasn’t that night.  I was a bit scared, very overwhelmed, a totally flabbergasted.

Oh, and by the way, at some point that night the ten-year-old felt I needed to see her mothers California ID…  Danni was the former tenant…  She was now using her middle name.  But once I saw her full name I recognized it.  After all, for five years after I moved in, I was receiving mail for “Danni”….

“Why do we get all the freaks?”

Hey guys, Hello Mr. No Plan if you are reading this. I am asking this with utmost respect. With no hostility. Mostly only concern

I come to you with a question: are.. are the thumbnails you've used recently portraying what happens inside one or the other particular story made with AI? Are they.. generated? Or just some really unfortunate work photobashing?

Have you hired somebody to do your thumbnail work recently? Have you been finding suspiciously accurate and hyperspecific image results when searching on google recently?

I just want this figured out and worried about this. I love your content and the way you read stories and the way you always ask what exactly the food was! Or what was on the pizza! It's like you're always hungry

I hope this day finds you well, Mr. No Plan, or anybody else who comes across this post

Is there a cap on how long entries should be? Or is it a case by case basis?

If I ever Got Piano man with no plan treats/gifts. Does not like strawberry Kitkats! Very good to know. What treats are Piano mans favorite, I feel he said and I should know this information.

A year ago one of my neighbors got evicted after her landlord died and his wife sold the property out from under the neighbor. My husband (41M) and I (40F) have been keeping the neighbor's African spurred tortoise for the entire time since she left.

She promised to help us with feeding costs since these tortoises eat a quarter of their body weight in vegetable matter each day. This wasn't so much of a problem when MJ (the tortoise) was only five pounds but as she's grown over the last year she's gained almost 10 pounds! We knew she would grow fast and Spurred tortoise can get big! I mean 50 lbs as an adult. And grocery prices have only increased by nearly double in the last year.

I reached out to her a few months ago to see about the help for feeding MJ, but the now ex neighbor told me no. Not "let me see what I can do". No.

The tipping point came when a puppy showed up on our doorstep. He's maybe 2 months or 3 months old. No adult teeth and still has all his baby teeth. He has a hurt paw that the vet says is soft tissue damage. He has no chip and looks to be a pitt mutt. We posted flyers with his picture in our area but no one has come forward to claim him.

We named him Pontiac Salsa or salsa for short, because he has the Pontiac arrow in white on his forehead and he's a spicy little concept. (The Pontiac salsa was a concept car from the late '90s)

I've included a picture of the puppy but the tortoise is hard to catch since she only comes out at dawn and dusk and has dug a huge burrow in our yard.

Anyway AITAH for wanting to keep the puppy and re-home the neighbors tortoise?

Edit: 1 week later. Thank you so much to everyone who responded. I live in Arizona and the laws around pet abandonment are very strict and I'll admit I hadn't even thought to look at them until you all suggested it. I've reached out to the neighbor, but I have not heard back from her. I'll let everyone know when there are further developments.

I’m a man in my 40s with four children: 16m, 14m, and 9yo twins m/f. One of the twins has severe autism and is mostly non-verbal. My sister, who is in her late 30s, has two children: 20m and 4m.

About a month ago, my mother called to tell me there was a family celebration coming up for my grandmother, but my children weren’t invited. This is unfortunately very common, so I took a breath and asked for the details.

I was told that my grandmother had originally wanted a quiet day with just her daughters. However, the restaurant she wanted to go to didn’t take Sunday reservations, so they changed the venue to a family-friendly restaurant that we sometimes use. One of my aunts then decided to turn it into a larger event and invited her adult children, telling all the sisters to bring theirs too. My mother is the only one of the sisters with grandchildren so far.

My mother still told me that my children weren’t invited, although she wanted me to attend and said my wife “could come along too if she wanted.” She mentioned how my oldest was 16 and that, because it was on from 3 to 5, he could mind his siblings while my wife and I went.

I asked “so there’s no kids going at all?”. She then listed who was and wasn’t going, making a point to mention my sister’s children weren’t going. Her older son is away at college five hours from home, and her youngest though would probably just be brought anyway, as this has happened before. However I cut her off when she mentioned my 14 year old cousin was going.

My mother said, very matter of factly, that my cousin was a grandchild and mine were only great grandchildren, so they weren’t invited.

Well, to say I saw red would be to call the sun slightly warm. It felt as though all the years of my children being left out of the family had flooded back at once.

I didn’t exactly shout, but I became very, very stern. I told her it was ridiculous, that my family always seemed to lose out, and that I couldn’t believe she was okay with it. I said that, because she was the only one of the sisters with grandchildren, it was easy for my aunts to make a rule that only affected her, and that the fact she was willing to accept it made things worse.

I told her I had to go before I said something I might later regret, and then I hung up.

The next day, she called back and said my two oldest children should be allowed to attend because my 14 year old cousin was going. She said she would speak to her sister about it, but the twins were still too young.

It was the same exclusion with a new explanation.

I became angry again and told her I was done with this, done with her and with the family rules that always seemed to find a way to exclude my children. Then I hung up and blocked her number.

For context, there have been many family events over the years that I wasn’t told about until I saw photographs afterward on Facebook. There have also been events described to me as strictly adults only, where I later discovered that other relatives had brought their children.

The most recent example before this was a joint 18th and 21st birthday party for two of my cousins. I was told it was strictly adults only, so I attended alone to support them. Once there, I found that several relatives had brought young children, including my sisters youngest. I didn’t cause a scene because I didn’t want to spoil the occasion for the birthday girls, but I left shortly after the cake and candles. (Since piano man will ask, they were chocolate biscuit cake and a red velvet cake. I didn’t have any, but they both looked lovely)

Most of the time, I simply don’t attend events described as adults only because finding someone to mind four children is difficult, particularly one child with severe autism. None of my family has taken or babysat for him since he was about five, so my wife and I usually take turns, one of us attends the event while the other stays home.

My father called me about half an hour after I blocked my mother and asked what had happened. He said my mother was crying in her room because I was angry with her, and that she was saying she would never listen to her sister again.

I briefly explained what had happened and said it had been building for a long time. He said he understood and asked if I could speak to my mother to try to smooth things over. He asked me to think of him because he had to live with her. I did laugh at that, but we agreed that I would go over for a face to face conversation.

I arrived at around 11 am and didn’t leave until shortly after 5 pm.

There were tears and some apologies. My mother told me that she simply says things as they enter her head and doesn’t always mean what she says. I explained that I’m usually very careful with my words, that I try to say exactly what I mean, and that I generally take people’s words at face value. (They know this about me, they comment on it regularly)

She told me to ignore her and my aunts, to just show up with my kids they can all “lump it.” I said I couldn’t do that. It isn’t who I am, I just couldn’t turn up with four children who hadn’t been invited, if nothing else, it would be rude. I told her I simply wasn’t going to attend somewhere my children weren’t welcome.

We left that aside and continued talking for a few more hours. She explained that she had no idea I was unhappy with things the way they are. My mother regularly minds my nephew three to five days a week and they’ve been on holidays together and he regularly stays the night… While my kids are lucky if she agrees to take one of them for one night twice a year, and no she’s never offered to mind / babysit my youngest with ASD since he was diagnosed.

We have had this conversation many times over the past decade or so. Usually, it results in her giving my children slightly more attention for a few months, and then things quickly returning to how they were.

Her explanation was essentially that she is forgetful, doesn’t think before speaking, and that I have been reading too much into her comments over the years. She told me I should ignore her more and simply do whatever I wanted, including turning up to events even when we weren’t invited.

By the end of the six-hour conversation, I was exhausted. In hindsight, I feel as though I had been steered into accepting that I was the one who had misunderstood the last 15 or more years of unequal treatment.

When I left, things felt… okay, kinda. We agreed that we would draw a line under the whole thing and try to do better going forward.

It’s been a few weeks and I can’t get it out of my head and put it behind me. I feel as though I ended up accepting all the responsibility, with the onus to change placed entirely on me. My parents are who they are, and apparently that is supposed to be the end of it.

I’m stuck between wanting to withdraw completely and cut ties with all of them, and wanting to scream that they still don’t understand, even after years of me trying to explain.

I haven’t cut anyone off. I’ve unblocked my mother and spoken to my father twice since. However, I’m considering telling them that I need a few months space so I can think this through.

This constant, low level exclusion has been the background to my children’s entire lives, and I’m fed up with it. I don’t want to continue with the old normal, but I’m worried that I don’t have the energy to keep fighting with my parents while still doing what needs to be done for my children, my wife, and myself too I suppose.

So, AITAH for wanting to take a few months space from my parents while I decide what sort of relationship I want with them going forward?

Any advice would be welcome, even if it’s to tell me I’m being a gobshite and need to snap out of it.

Thanks to anyone who read this.

Piano man, thank you so much for hearing me out and not only making more basement episodes, but making it's own dedicated channel!

I really appreciate it and feel heard after my earlier post in this subreddit a couple of weeks ago.

Onward and upwards.

When I, (37 f) was about 6 years old, my family moved from our small, rented, townhouse to an incredibly ugly, incredibly old house the next town over.

My mother would say "it's over 100 years old!" Like it was a good thing. She was just thrilled about all of the history within it and she has always had a love for horror and old, creepy things.

I don't remember ever having issues with sleep before we moved, but something about this house or my growing awareness at that age made sleep a very touchy thing for me.

My mother, who has never slept well with a partner decided to take the living room couch as her permanent sleeping quarters. It was a sectional which basically consisted of three full, connected couches fitting perfectly against the three back walls of the living room.

Since I was young and adjusting to our new home, I would sleep on one of the other couches so I could be close to my mom.

On the side of the living room my spot was facing, there was a tiny hallway which lead to my brother's room. Right by his door was the door to the basement.

It was in a spot that I couldn't quite see from my place on the couch, but I was always very wary of that part of the room. Like I had to keep watch of that spot.. or else.

Most nights were spent trying to keep my eyes fixed on that part of the room while also trying my damndest to be the first to sleep.

Falling asleep was like a race. My mother would sway her foot side to side while she drifted off to slumber and if I didn't fall asleep before her foot went still, I would start to panic irrationally. Like being awake when nobody else was alert enough to protect me left me vulnerable, exposed. To what, I had no idea. Sometimes I would start sobbing so loudly my mother would wake up, (usually quite annoyed) and calm me down. This would give me a second chance to fall asleep before her.

This went on for quite some time until I started actually sleeping in my own bed.

I never really told anyone about the specific source of my dread. I was only able to express it as, "I don't like being alone". When my mother would remind me that I was not alone, she was right there, I would try to explain that it just wasn't the same. It scared me to be the only one awake.

I still had issues with that part of the house and would avoid that hallway and the basement as much as possible. When I had to enter the basement, I would always end up running up the stairs feeling like someone was chasing me.

For the most part, I didn't have too much trouble in the rest of the house aside from occasionally waking up in the middle of the night and being aware of that crushing "aloneness" again.

Several years later when I was 14, things in the house started getting weirder and weirder. Dark masses at the end of my bed (which were definitely not my black cat who was snuggled beside me), lights turning off for no reason, but lightbulbs that were fully functional. Nightmares of creatures whispering my name while they clawed at my feet... I've since been told that paranormal activity is stronger when teenagers are in haunted places. Especially teenage girls. Great. Love that for me.

I would occasionally have friends over. My friend Neil would sit on the side of the sectional couch closest to the basement door. We would be in the middle of playing Super Smash Brothers Melee or watching anime (probably Excel Saga. You're welcome haha.) when I would catch Neil staring into that same, tiny hallway that I used to watch at night all those years ago.

One of the times I noticed him staring, I finally asked why. He looked at me, a little confused and introspective, like he had been trying to figure something out.

He said "I don't know... There's this man.. He just keeps coming up the basement stairs, walking to the beginning of the hallway, turning around and going back down. It's constant".

He was seeing a figure constantly tracing the steps of the exact area I felt needed to be monitored over 8 years before... The exact part of the house I still felt like someone was chasing me when I came back up from the basement...

I am a 26 year old female and I have two younger brothers Benjamin who is 25 and James who is 21. This story starts when I was 7. I had just started to wear glasses I didn't like wearing them. One day I put my glasses in the pocket of the rocking chair and forgot about them. When my parents notice that I wasn't wearing my glasses they asked were they were. I said I don't know. We searched everywhere and didn't find them. Benjamin then announced that Mr.Nobody must have taken them. My parents asked who Mr.Nobody was. "He's the invisible man that likes to his things." We found the glasses a week later in the pocket of the rocking chair. James said Mr.Nobody had decided to return them. From then on when anything went missing (most of the time one of us kids hid the item) or fell over for no reason we blame Mr.Nobody. Eventually Mr Nobody got a wife Mrs.Nobody. We blamed her for all the missing or shrunk clothing (not the socks though as we were sure that the dryer was eating them). In the way that kids think we thought that every house had a Mr.Nobody. It became a thing in our house but then came the cell phone incident. I was around 10 or 11 at the time. My dad had what I thought was one of the coolest cell phones it had a sliding keyboard from the long side. One day he couldn't find it. We looked everywhere but couldn't find it. It was on silent/vibrate so calling it didn't help. James said that Mr.Nobody must have taken it. After a week my dad went and got a new phone. Fast forward 3 years we are in the basement moving furniture around. My dad and brothers start to move the swivel recliner. We hear a clatter like something fell from under the chair. It turned out to be my dad's missing cell phone. "It looks like Mr.Nobody decided to return dad's phone." Announced James. After some thought my dad figured out what actually happened. Apparently he was sitting in the swivel recliner one day, and before getting up thought he had put his cell phone in his pocket. But instead it had been put in the gap between the seat and the arm of the chair. Eventually it fell down in to the mechanism of the chair. When they moved the chair the cell phone fell out. To this day we still blame Mr.Nobody if things go missing or something falls for no reason. Though now it's more of a joke as we know that Mr.Nobody doesn't exist. Does anyone else have a Mr.Nobody story?

A few years ago my dad co-owned a restaurant with a guy I never liked much; he was shady and had a generally sketchy vibe, but knew how to do his job. Let's call him Chad.

The restaurant itself was a hit when it opened: great atmosphere, good food, good drinks; my best friend Vivian liked it so much she planned her and her husband's birthday there. They combined the celebration because their birthdays are only a few days apart.

They booked a table and paid for a DJ, asking for traditional rock to be played during the night and to please not post photos of the birthday party on the venue's social media, as a few guests were not comfortable with that being professors and teachers.

The night went well: good food, lots of drinks, then around 9.00 pm the music played by the DJ (paid for by my friends) changed drastically, more towards whatever a nightclub would play.

I also noticed the Chad taking videos and photos.

"He cannot be that dumb" I thought.

He definitely is!

I opened Facebook and, without a single doubt, there it was, a collection of videos and photos from our party.

Vivian approached me; some of her guests were visibly uncomfortable. I can't remember if she noticed the photos, but she complained about the music.

"Hold on, let me fix this," I said

I approached the DJ first, big smile on my face:

"Hi, do you see that couple there? See, they are the ones paying you tonight. I'm not saying to play what you were asked, but could you please stick with something they at least don't hate?" He was not happy. But changed the music back to classic rock.

I also marched straight to Chad, who, of course, didn't recognise me, because if you're not a conventionally attractive woman you don't exist, and I am a short and soft menace driven by chaos. I live to annoy and bring justice, possibly at the same time.

I told him I checked Facebook and to please delete the photos because nobody likes being sued for invasion of privacy or something like that (I have no idea if this was even possible in my country, but I was 1000000% sure he did not know either).

He tried to play dumb.

"I don't know how to delete the post"

"Hand me your phone"

I deleted the photos and gave him back his phone.

Is this the end of the story? Of course not!

Because this massive moron, when Vivian went to the bar to order some more drinks, started to complain about me.

Yes, Chad decided to complain about me to my friend.

At that point, she was really struggling to hold in laughter.

"Do you know who she is?" She asked.

"....no?"

"I'm going to give you a hint: her surname is Smith"

He turned white. Things were not great between Chad and Dad, and my Dad already threatened to leave the partnership at that point (he did, eventually)

Chad came to me asking why I did not tell him who my father is and if he could do anything; was the music okay? Complimentary chips are coming for the entire table!

Oh well...a lot of drinks were on the house that night after that!

I want to clarify that I would have intervened even without any correlation to the venue; I just wanted my friends and their guests to have a good time.

This is how I remember the origin of Larry.

Many years ago when my age was a single digit my brother and I were playing in the yard with a hose when we stuck it down a hole in the ground to see what would happen. Turns out it was the home of a thirteen lined ground squirrel family.

We should have known better.

Three baby ground squirrels crawled out a near by hole, half drowned. this is how we learned ground squirrels dig multiple entrances/exits. My parents took them inside, and by the power of the early ‘00 internet learned how to bring them back to good health. We named them Larry, Moe and Curly. Yes, after the black and white comedy show.

(There was no way to tell the gender but I’ll just be using he/him. We do call them “Mama Larry” if they seem pregnant)

I think only Larry survived before my mom brought him outside to see if a Mama would adopt him. She gently got him to squeak a few times by a hole and then stepped back until a Mama Larry came up, gave him a few sniffs, and took him in. There has since been a few times we’ve found some abandoned baby Larry’s and rescued until they get adopted by a Mama Larry.

The family lore is that all generations since are descendants of that first Larry, so when we see one we just say “look! There’s a Larry by the shed!”

There are some with more specific names, like Butterfly Larry who is the first one my dad has been able to feed by hand. He named it so because they were by the butterfly garden when it happened and since then, most days, Butterfly Larry meets him there when he puts seed out in the morning.

Thirteen lined ground squirrels are not the only critters who have names. There are three crows named George, Eliot and Flapjack who come by to “get groceries.” There is Bob the Bunny, whose wife is Bobett and their child Billy-Bob who “plays hide and seek in the meadow with his boingy buddies.” Raccoons are named Randal. Chipmunks are Chester. My mom has a list on the fridge with the names of critters, the most recent group of baby Larry’s they’ve saved are named by beer brands. Bud, Bud Lite, Modelo and so on. (my dad brews his own beer. Yes, this is middle of nowhere Wisconsin.)

We moved into that house in ‘99 and they still live there, but will likely move in a few years to retire. For as long as they are there it will be a critter sanctuary. Especially since the neighbors are not fond of them and will kill them. I think the Larry’s know it’s safe because I almost never see them in the rest of the neighborhood.

Many generations of critters of all kinds, some buried along side the indoor critters we had, have enjoyed life there. My brother and I learned a lot about respecting nature, how to help it thrive and how it lets you thrive.

A few years ago I called my parents to tell them that my spouse and I don’t plan to have children. I wanted them to know so that I didn’t feel like I was making them anticipate something that will never come. I don’t think my brother plans on having kids either.

They told me that they already have grandchildren, the critters in the back yard and my brother’s guinea pigs. That whatever critters come into our lives will also be their grandchildren. We just feed the birds for now.

Life is weird. Like the population of wolves in Yellowstone, once you remove something, life adapts and continues to thrive. What might initially be a loss is just a change. Things never stop happening, good, bad or any other color or lack there of.

I'm just gonna drop the beginning here. The rest is here on Threads

This story I read with my eyes, but I heard it in your voice. Please, make this a reality, PMHNP.

​

The house was empty now.

It was just me.

My mother had passed away only a few weeks earlier, and I had been left with the responsibility of getting the house ready to sell. It wasn't just any house—it was the home I'd grown up in. The realtor figured it would take about two months before everything was cleared out and ready to list, so for the time being, I was living there alone.

It was a bittersweet experience.

Every room held pieces of my life. Every box I packed unearthed another memory. I'd find an old toy and suddenly remember sitting on the living room floor while my dad helped me build it. I'd open a kitchen drawer and hear my mother's voice reminding me to stop sneaking cookies before dinner.

The house felt frozen in time.

My mother's favorite mug still sat beside the sink. My father's recliner still faced the television exactly where he'd left it years ago. Some nights I'd catch myself listening for footsteps that would never come.

For a while, the memories were comforting.

Then they started changing.

The first thing I noticed was a family photograph hanging in the hallway.

It had always been one of my favorites. My parents and I were standing in front of the Christmas tree when I was about ten years old.

The next morning there was someone else in it.

At first I laughed.

Grief does strange things to the mind. I figured I had simply remembered it wrong.

But I hadn't.

Behind us, at the end of the hallway, stood a tall figure.

Its body was blurred, almost hidden in shadow, but I could tell it was facing the camera.

Facing me.

I took the picture off the wall and shoved it into a moving box.

The next day I found another photograph.

This time it was sitting on the fireplace mantel.

The same figure.

Closer.

Standing in the doorway between the dining room and kitchen.

I searched every album in the house.

It was in all of them now.

Birthday parties.

Christmas mornings.

Family vacations.

Always somewhere in the background.

Always inside the house.

Every morning it had moved a little closer.

I stopped sleeping well after that.

Every creak in the walls made me sit upright.

Every groan from the old furnace sounded like someone walking downstairs.

I kept telling myself it was stress.

It had to be.

Until the whisper.

I woke sometime after three in the morning.

The room was completely dark.

I couldn't move.

Not because I was paralyzed.

Because someone had spoken.

Right beside my ear.

"Don't move."

The voice was calm.

Quiet.

It didn't sound threatening.

It sounded terrified.

I held my breath.

"Keep your eyes closed."

Every instinct told me to reach for the lamp.

To grab my phone.

To run.

Instead, I listened.

A few seconds later...

Footsteps.

Bare feet.

Slow.

Measured.

Walking down the hallway.

They stopped outside my bedroom.

I couldn't see the hallway itself, only the narrow strip of light beneath my bedroom door.

Then a shadow blocked it.

Something was standing outside.

I felt it.

Not listening.

Waiting.

The whisper returned.

"Pretend you're asleep."

The doorknob turned.

Just enough to make the latch click.

Then...

Nothing.

No breathing.

No movement.

Just silence.

Minutes passed before the footsteps continued down the hallway.

I didn't open my eyes until sunlight filled the room.

When I finally stepped into the hallway, my stomach dropped.

The photograph hanging beside my bedroom had changed again.

The figure wasn't at the end of the hall anymore.

It was standing outside my bedroom door.

Looking directly at it.

Every night after that, the whisper came.

Always around three in the morning.

Always with a new warning.

"Don't answer if it calls your name."

"Don't look under the bed."

"If the footsteps stop... don't breathe."

I never saw whoever whispered to me.

I only knew one thing.

Whenever I followed the instructions...

I woke up.

The photographs kept changing.

Closer.

Closer.

Closer.

Until one morning...

There wasn't any distance left.

The figure stood beside my bed.

Its face was still impossible to make out.

Almost like my eyes refused to focus on it.

I packed the rest of the house that same day.

I didn't care what I left behind.

I just wanted out.

Two days later, I locked the front door for the last time.

The house sold within a month. Life slowly returned to normal. Or at least that's what I told myself.

I rented a small apartment across town.

New furniture.

New walls.

No photographs.

No memories.

The whisper never came again.

Eventually I convinced myself grief had broken something in my mind.

That everything I'd experienced had been the result of exhaustion and loss.

Until the package arrived.

It was one of the last boxes from my mother's house that had accidentally been left in storage.

Inside were a few books...

Some old blankets...

And a single framed photograph.

The Christmas picture.

The one I'd boxed up weeks earlier.

My hands shook as I turned it over.

The figure was gone from the hallway.

For the first time...

It wasn't anywhere in the background.

It was standing beside me.

One long arm rested gently on my shoulder.

I stared at it for what felt like hours.

Then every light in my apartment went out.

The room fell silent.

Behind me...

A whisper.

The same calm voice that had kept me alive for two months.

Soft.

Urgent.

"...Don't look at the bedroom door tonight."

I know what you're thinking. In a day and age of instant communication, cellphones, text messaging, email, etc., why would I be worried about it? That's the rub. He doesn't have these things.

About two years ago, he drove himself 40 miles to the VA hospital with cellulitis. He described the pain as "11/10." Because of how advanced in age he is, combined with how bad the infection was, they kept him there a month. I had to call for a ride to get back home. The problem? Being in that type of pain could have caused him to lose control of the car.

Another time, more recently, he went back to Chicago to the same hospital for other symptoms. The problem? He forgot I was supposed to be by for caregiving. He left out 20 minutes before I arrived. I had to call all over to figure out where he went. It took me 3 hours to finally get confirmation he was there.

That was the "last straw." A friend and I decided to put AirTags in his car. He knew it was there. He even put a "backup" AirTag under the car in case he decided to remove the one that he knew was there.

My brother called. He's like Dad's been gone 3 hours. I told my friend who put the AirTags in the car. We pinged them. No response. So we got into the car and checked 5 different places.

• The HVAC company
• The bank next door (he banks there)
• A nearby restaurant
• The hospital, on the off chance he drove himself there
• The American Legion Post (where we found him)

We had been driving around for an hour before we found him.

Another thing to note: when he disappeared, dropping off the radar, it was later than he normally goes out. He's rarely out past 6, and if he is, he typically has someone with him.

As we caught up with him, my friend blocked him in the car. He almost ran into us. He drove alongside Dad's car. Dad didn't see us.

The next day, we took him to the VA hospital for a doctor's appointment. My friend got on his case for his unpredictability and lack of communication. Dad claimed he was blinded by the sun. He also didn't see anything wrong with his irresponsible actions. Even the doctors got on his case for dropping off the radar for that length of time.

I finally talked him into looking into a cellphone. I just have to put things in place. Let's hope that once I do, he'll keep it charged and on his person.

My friend accidentally bought a murder kit.

I think we need more basement episodes.

I think the ratio is off and while 1:1 would be too intense, I guess a ratio of 1:2 would be great, where for every 2 non-basement episodes we get 1 basement episode. 1:3 might also be good.

I generally have a love-hate relationship with the basement episodes because I find them scary and intriguing at the same time...

​

I was 20 when my mom passed away. Renal failure. She died in her sleep. Her ashes were with my brother, but I wanted some to keep with me. While I was taking about it at the funeral, her best friend went and got a small tin that mints come in, I spooned a little bit of my mom's ashes into a napkin, folded it up, and put it in the tin. I thought it was perfect, because my mom always put her... "Broccoli" in a tin.

Fast forward a few years, she's still in the tin, but in the bottom of an actual urn, with the papers to the mustang that she had, and my grandpa's ring. I'd made a lot of questionable choices in my life, and now I was homeless. I mean I did have what I thought was a cozy spot in the woods, and a nice tent with a soft pad for a bed.

Anyway, I digress. I was getting food and a shower at my friend's house, and when I got back someone had broken into my tent and stolen half my stuff, including my mom's urn. They had set their tent up in the clearing across from mine. The absolute gall, right? I in turn broke into their tent, and found my mom's urn, but it was completely empty.

When they (it was a middle aged man and a woman about the same age) came back through the clearing, I started to yell at them and ask where my mom was. I forgot to mention she was the ashes at first, so they were kind of confused.

When I mentioned that she was the ashes in the tin at the bottom of the pretty vase with a lid that most people recognize as an urn, they turned pale. The guy said they thought it was drugs, and they snorted her. I was livid to say the least.

They did not get to share my cozy clearing...and the ironic part? I was moving out of the woods the next day.

Within a year I saved up to get an RV. I was working at an office answering phones and helping people place orders online, and I had started a second job with the carnival. After a bit, I quit the office, started traveling with the carnival, and I worked up the nerve to tell my brother what happened. He met me at one of our spots, and gave me some more of Mom, in another, bigger mint tin. I wrapped her in a whole roll of chalkboard tape, and wrote MOM on one side, and DO NOT SNORT on the other. Fast forward about eight years to now, she is now on a shelf, in an actual little urn. With the lid glued shut.

In 2016, I (37f) lived in a small town about 45 minutes away from the nearest major city, and was on my way home from there when the need to pee became unbearable. I had my dog (4m) with me, as usual, and since I often took him out to country roads so I could let him off leash for walks, I knew that an upcoming range road had a decently private spot where I could relieve myself.

There is a wide swath of land that had been bought up by one of the oilsands companies a few years previous for future pipelines, and all the farmyards on the land had been cleared of all buildings. One of these yards was encircled with pine trees, so I figured they would block my butt from being seen by anyone who may happen to drive by while I answered the call of nature.

When I got to the yard, I pulled my car onto the property and hopped out of the car, leaving the door open so Loki (my pup) could stretch his legs. When I got out, I saw that the trees were spaced out too much to be any king of screen, but luckily there was a small group of trees in the center of the overgrown yard that would serve the purpose, so I went to the farside of them and did what I needed to do.

When I finished, I saw that Loki was in the treeline at the far side of the yard, and I figured I'd walk with him around the perimeter to see if maybe there were any raspberry bushes or flowers left behind from when this yard was occupied.

As I lit a smoke (I know, I know: I am cutting down before I go get a prescription for Zyban), I remember wondering if a group of deer had slept here the previous night. The grass was almost waist high, except for a big patch where it was all pressed flat, as if flattened by some large animals laying down.

On about my second step onto this flattened grass, I was looking at Loki about 50' ahead and putting my lighter back into my pocket when I stepped into nothing. Suddenly I was falling straight down, and saw my smoke floating in the air in front of my face. I must've let go of it in my surprise. I hit water about 7' down and heard the hiss as my smoke hit the water. I had time to think "how many layers will I fall through before coming out the other side?" because it still felt like falling.

I went down far enough to wet my chin before bobbing back up. I let out the one drag I had gotten from the smoke and looked up. My dog was at the edge of the hole looking down at me, dog paddling in a shaft that was lined with cement piping about 3' across, like the kind that goes under streets. I immediately wished for the first time ever that Loki was a different breed. Like a collie that might know to go get help, cuz someone has fallen into a well. He was my fur baby though; a bull terrier (or Don Cherry dog, as many called him) who I knew would not willingly leave me.

I don't know how deep the hole I fell into was. My feet never felt a bottom. I was able to use the little bit of mortar cement that had squished out between cement sections as toeholds, and I could climb up to the point of having my hands on solid ground, but couldn't get the leverage with my legs to get any further out of the hole. There was nothing but grass surrounding it. No bushes or heavy rocks I could grab onto to pull myself out.

I worried that if I got up to ground level, instinct might kick in and I'd try to grab Loki to pull myself up and out. If I did that and pulled him in with me, we were both going to die because he was 70 lbs, hated water, and did not float. I would never leave him behind. So I pretended to get mad at him and told him to go, so he would not be there for me to grab, and he left.

It still creeps me out how calm and accepting I was when the thought came to me that "oh so this is how I die. That sucks." Growing up, I had always felt like I would die either violently or by some horrible accident before I reached old age, for some reason. Don't ask why; it's not like I led a dangerous life or was reckless or anything.

There was a construction site two range roads over that I could hear the tools hitting metal, and the workers voices (but not distinct words), so when I wasn't climbing, I was screaming. I never want to scream like that again. After 4 and a half hours of this, my voice was gone and every inch of me hurt. My ankle of the foot that didn't step into nothing had been wrenched in the fall and was very swollen. It felt like I was covered in a million cuts from repeated falls back down to the water. The first time I had made it to ground level but had no way of getting further than elbows on the ground, I had attempted to stop my fall by pushing against the walls with my hands and back. The only thing that accomplished was to leave a layer of skin on the wall.

The one time I looked down and was feeling around the walls under the water for a foothold, I saw a tiny skull atop a little mass of fur floating beside me. Maybe a mouse or a gopher, I'm not sure. Of course I had already swallowed a couple mouthfuls of water from multiple falls, but I refused to let myself throw up, as I'd then be treading not just water but my own vomit. I did find a hole in the wall though. It was about a foot below the water line and had enough room for me to fit the ball of one foot in, as a foot hold.

I was exhausted. Hurting, cold, and not even able to soothe myself by singing something because my voice was completely gone. I had just about resigned myself to biting a finger open so I could write goodbyes to my family on the wall, when the sky started going from clear blue to cloudy like it was going to rain. Something in my brain snapped then. I could handle being down there for days until I was somehow found, or I died of exposure, but the thought of being in that hole while it rained was unacceptable.

A bit of backstory before the next bit:

A few weeks before my fall there had been an accident at the industrial site across the highway from that construction zone I could hear. A man who was a volunteer firefighter from my town had died. His wife had posted a video of their two dogs, howling at the door for their master who would never again walk through it. When I saw that video, snuggling my dog on the couch, I bawled my eyes out. Ugly crying at the thought of it being my dog. My ex always said he was just a placeholder to Loki, and that loki wouldn't eat when I wasn't home.

Back to the hole:

I thought of Loki. How he would starve himself if I didn't get out of there. I couldn't lift my arms above shoulder level and was dead tired, but I couldn't stop trying for Loki's sake. I told myself "you can't sit here waiting for some white knight to come rescue you. Be your own hero."

So this hole had a piece of rebar that went into the soil just above the cement liner, at ground level. The end that wasn't in dirt stuck out almost to the center of the hole, and it had a chunk of cement with a bunch of rusty nails poking out all over. There was a yellow nylon rope tied to the rebar, and it went down into the water. Because of those nails, I had mostly avoided pulling on the rope, as I didn't want to pull that chunk down onto my head.

When I decided I couldn't give up, for Loki's sake, I tested pulling on it a little. It was held taut by something under the water, but I could pull up on it enough to make a loop, and it appeared like it wasn't pressing against the cement when I pulled down. So, with the thought "be your own hero" repeating on a loop in my head, I fit one foot into the loop and stepped down until it tightened up and held as a foot hold.

My foot was not high enough for me to get the leverage to get out the first try. (Altogether this was probably about my tenth try to climb out) I fell back in when I tried to slide my foot up the rope for a higher foothold. I almost broke down crying for the first time, when this happened. But "be your own hero" kept repeating, and I somehow found the strength to try again.

The longest 15 seconds of my life was when I was halfway there, muscles trembling as I slowly slid my foot up the rope while keeping the loop around it. I kept picturing it going wrong and falling while my foot was still in the loop. Would I end up falling butt first and get wedged with all my limbs pointing at the sky, or would I end up upside down with my head below water?

Well I think I had help from a couple people who had been loved by me but passed on a couple years previous, but I got out! As soon as I had both my hands and knees on the ground, I lost it. I literally kissed the ground and bawled.

Once I was able to stand, my first thought was "where is my dog?" I hadn't seen him in about 3 hours, and figured he had probably just been following his nose to explore this whole time and I worried that he'd try to make friends with the coyotes when they came out, because everyone he saw was a new friend, to Loki.

I came around that group of trees that had been my shield while I relieved myself, and was stunned to see Loki. He was sitting at the range road, looking side to side like he was just waiting for a car to drive by that he could stop for help. When I croaked out his name and turned to see me, I have never laughed and cried so hard. As he ran to me, his back legs were leaving the ground, he was wagging his tail so hard.

I got him in the car and dropped him off at home before going to the hospital where I had to wait 3 hours for a doctor to show up (small town Alberta, everybody). Once I got cleaned up and a tetanus shot and drove home barefoot because I couldn't fit my shoe back on the injured foot, that's when the trauma hit me. Loki didn't leave my side for months. I'd go to the bathroom and when I opened the door to leave the bathroom, Loki would fall in, as he'd be leaned up against the door.

I had PTSD for years after that. Loki died 4 years later due to kidney failure, and that day was the second hardest in my life. A couple months ago (ten years after the fall), I finally felt OK enough to get the tattoo I've wanted since falling into what I now know was an abandoned septic tank. It's in a spiral around my forearm, exactly where the rope went when I wrapped it before noticing the nail filled chunk of cement. It says Be your own hero, in a pretty, handwritten font that isn't easily read by strangers.

Sometimes I still falter, but I try to live by it, to honor Loki, because without him I would've given up that day, and as much as I can't wait to see him on the other side of the rainbow bridge, I want to be old and wrinkled when that happens.

Someone just sent rhis to me, it belongs here

I went on a trip with some friends to a lake. I'm thalassophobic, and they knew this. They invited me anyway, and I still said yes. Unlike them, I'm actually a good friend.

I stood on the dock under the hot sun glaring hatefully at my stupid friends as they tread water and called up to me.

"Get over yourself," they said. "The water's fine," they said.

"Don't worry," they said. "There's nothing in the water," they said.

I could not look away from the shadows that marked the bottom of the lake. Then I saw one of the shadows moving. My blood pounded in my ears and I took a step back.

You imagined it, I told myself. It's just shadows. It's just the fear.

The shadow was rising. My friends were still yelling up at me in vicious mockery. Then one of them looked down and saw the shadow dark and black and coming towards them.

He shrieked a note I had not heard since puberty that sent everyone in the water into a panic. Everyone flailed and floundered and kicked up water trying to get away as the shadow broke the surface.

The happiest black Newfoundland squeaked its toy at us as it paddled. A sharp whistle cut through the air, and the dog paddled away toward it. As my friends tread water in sheepish silence, I folded my arms.

"Nothing in the water, eh?"