I've been a police officer for my county for almost a decade.
Over the years I've encountered my fair share of crazy and
disturbing incidents that have made me question why I ever
chose this career path. However, there's one night that
still haunts me more than any other.
It was nearing the end of winter, and in the area where
I'm stationed, the cold weather persists until mid spring.
On this particular night, I was scheduled to patrol the major
highway for most of my shift. Typically my nights on patrol
were uneventful. I'd pull over a few speeding
cars and maybe respond to a backup call, but nothing too out
of the ordinary. I was cruising along the
highway, doing my usual rounds. When it was approaching 2 in the
morning, I passed by a car parked on the side of the road,
a sight I hadn't seen earlier in my shift.
Its headlights were off and it was positioned far on the
shoulder of the highway, so I didn't notice it until I had
already driven past. Curiosity peaked.
I decided to exit at the next ramp and make a full circle back
to where I had seen the car. I assumed it was just an
abandoned vehicle that I hadn't noticed earlier, so I wasn't in
any hurry. Parking about 15 feet behind the
car, I left my headlights on and radioed in to report that I was
investigating A presumably empty vehicle on the southbound
highway. I stepped out of my patrol car,
flashlight in hand, and approach the mysterious vehicle.
My initial impression was of how old and decrepit it looked.
It appeared to be something straight out of the 90s, covered
in rust, dents and scratches. As I moved closer and peered
inside, my unease deepened. In the back seat, there was a
pile of clothes that seemed to belong to a young woman, but the
way they were scattered about didn't sit right with me.
I decided to check the other side of the car, but then a
faint sound from behind me made me freeze in my tracks.
I quickly swung around, pointing my flashlight into the dense
woods that flank the highway. The noise stopped instantly, but
I had heard enough to know that it was the sound of footsteps.
Someone was out there, possibly watching me, with adrenaline
coursing through my veins. I yelled out, ordering whoever
was in the woods to step into the light with their hands
raised. A moment passed, and then I
shouted again, but there was only silence.
My heart pounded in my chest as I updated my situation over the
radio and requested backup. I continued to stand there, my
flashlight fixed on the tree line, fear gnawing at my
insides. If something sinister had
occurred here, there was every reason to believe that whoever
was lurking in the darkness would do anything to prevent me
from uncovering the truth. I raised my firearm cautiously
and moved further behind the car, maintaining A vigilant
watch over the ominous woods. The next 5 minutes felt
excruciatingly long, each second a tormenting reminder of the
danger that lurked in the shadows.
Finally, the sound of another patrol car pulling onto the
scene provided a glimmer of hope.
As soon as the backup officer arrived, we began searching the
vehicle for clues. It became clear that something
ominous had transpired, and my unease intensified.
We found signs of violence inside the car and an empty
ammunition package suggesting the presence of a firearm.
The knowledge that someone had been watching me, perhaps even
targeting me with a weapon, was chilling beyond words.
The following day, we conducted a more thorough investigation,
but the car was untraceable, and any shoe prints found in the
woods quickly faded without leading us in any specific
direction. The truth of what transpired
that night remains an enigma, an open case with no leads on
suspects or victims. It's an unresolved mystery that
continues to haunt my thoughts, leaving me unable to shake the
feeling that something truly sinister occurred.
On that fateful night When I was around eight or nine years old,
my family suddenly stopped visiting my maternal
grandmother. It took me a while to realize
that we weren't seeing her anymore.
However, when the realization finally hit me, I didn't
question it much. I understood, even at that young
age, that it was a sensitive and painful subject.
It was inconceivable for me to think that my mom had just
stopped talking to her own mother.
The idea frightened me deeply, so I pushed it aside, as kids
often do. As I grew older, I learned the
reason behind their estrangement.
They had a vicious argument one day and decided to cut ties.
Their relationship had never been great during my mom's
childhood, but I didn't want to delve into the painful past.
As I matured, I felt a growing contempt for my grandmother.
Whatever she had done had left my mom heartbroken, and there
was no other word for it. I was more than willing to
forget about a person who had hurt my mom so much, regardless
of whether she was a blood relative or not.
Then, one day around Thanksgiving of 2016, my mom
called me with shocking news. Grandma was dying, and if I
wanted to see her before she passed, I needed to visit her
That week. Knowing she was on her deathbed
changed everything for me. I seriously contemplated going
to visit her, but when I asked where she was, the answer I
received stunned me. I had been somewhat surprised
that Grandma was still alive, but what shocked me even more
was when my mom revealed that Grandma was in Burlington at a
place called Chittenden. The name meant nothing to me at
the time, and it still doesn't now that I reflect on it.
I asked my mom if Chittenden was a residential home or something
similar. Her reply sent a chill down my
spine. Chittenden RCF.
Honey, your grandma is in prison.
Sometimes people ask if you're sitting down before delivering
bad news. I understand why now.
While I didn't come close to passing out, I felt as though I
had retreated into myself. I couldn't find the words to
speak for what felt like a full minute.
It was as if my mind had become a psychic bottleneck. 1000
questions trying to escape all at once, but not a single one
making it out of my mouth. I briefly considered driving to
my mom's place for an in person conversation, but my curiosity
got the better of me with each passing 2nd.
It burned brighter and brighter until I couldn't wait any
longer. I sat on my couch, cradled my
head in my hands, and asked my mom to tell me everything over
the loudspeaker. My mom had endured a rough
childhood and my grandmother was at the root of it all.
I wouldn't go so far as to label her as a psycho, as it would be
an insult to psychos everywhere. According to my mom, grandma's
cruelty wasn't chaotic, it was calculated.
I won't delve into every instance of abuse as that would
take all day, but take my word for it.
She was possibly the worst mother one could imagine.
Mom endured it for years, but she eventually realized that
just because it was her mom didn't make it OK.
This realization coincided with my birth, and Grandma
surprisingly attempted to change her ways.
She knew that if she didn't, there would be no chance of
developing a relationship with her grandkids.
This change led to regular visits until I approach double
digits in age. Then one day, out of the blue,
Mom received a call from a man claiming to be Grandma's
attorney. Grandma was in jail and the
charges were serious. Mom thought it might be DUI
related, that maybe Grandma had been driving drunk and possibly
caused an accident. But when she inquired about
bail, the attorney dropped a staggering bombshell.
Bail would cost in the region of half, $1,000,000.
Mom's stomach tied itself in knots upon hearing that number,
indicating the severity of the crime.
Grandma hadn't been caught for a simple DUI.
She was facing a lengthy prison sentence.
What could she have done to warrant such a punishment?
When the answer came, it left Mom in disbelief.
Grandma was charged with four counts of solicitation to commit
murder, 4 counts of conspiracy to commit murder, and one count
of being an accessory to murder. In short, she had attempted to
hire a hit man to kill her neighbors.
Grandma had been in an ongoing dispute with a neighboring
family of young professionals with two young children.
We never found out the exact cause of the feud, but instead
of finding a peaceful solution, Grandma resorted to a shocking
plan. She went online and attempted to
hire a contract killer to eliminate her neighbors.
She didn't just want the two parents dead, she wanted the
entire family to suffer a brutal and gruesome death.
As it turned out, the person Grandma was talking to wasn't a
hitman, but an undercover cop. It almost felt like a scene from
a dark comedy movie, a sweet old lady trying to hire hitman over
a dispute about dog poop. But the reality was far from
funny. It revealed the true nature of
my grandmother, who was anything but sweet.
She might have had an undiagnosed mental illness, but
that didn't excuse the hell she put my mom through.
For the 1st 20 years of her life, she was willing to spend a
significant portion of her life savings to ensure the gruesome
demise of the neighboring family all over some perceived slight
that they were barely aware of. I chose not to visit her, and
about a month later we heard that she had passed away.
Her final words involved bequeathing her possessions to
an old cellmate with no mention of her family.
Sometimes I wonder if she would have even recognized me if I had
visited, but that's OK because I wouldn't have recognized her
either, especially not after learning the true depths of
darkness within her. I own a janitorial business that
specializes in cleaning office buildings for mid to large size
companies. Due to the nature of the job, we
start our shifts at 6:00 PM on weekdays because most offices
didn't want us inside during business hours while their
employees were working. On this particular day, I
arrived at the scheduled office building at 6:30 PM, punched in
the keypad passcode, and donned my janitorial gear.
After locking the doors securely behind me, I was ready to begin
my night's work. The building was only two
stories tall, which was smaller than most, but both floors were
unusually long and there was a smaller basement level.
I decided to start on the 2nd floor and work my way down.
As was my usual routine, my first task was to collect all
the trash and pick up anything that might obstruct my cleaning.
After tying up the bags, I hauled them out to the dumpsters
at the back of the building to dispose of them properly.
As I was outside, in the dimly lit back area, I noticed two
parked cars. Neither of them was running,
which struck me as odd. This building was the only one
nearby, and nobody was supposed to be here at this hour.
I couldn't fathom why these cars were parked in the shadows, or
where their occupants could be if not inside their vehicles.
Returning inside, I double checked to ensure that all the
doors were locked before continuing with my work.
However, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something
was amiss. Periodically, I glanced out the
windows to see if there were any developments with the parked
cars, but they remain stationary.
Finishing up the top floor, I made my way down to the first
floor, repeating the same cleaning process.
This time, when I went outside to toss the trash, I noticed
that a single light had come on in one of the cars.
Almost as soon as I stepped out, however, it abruptly switched
off. This sent a shiver down my spine
and I quickly disposed of the trash.
Anxious about the situation. Returning inside, I couldn't
ignore the unease that had settled in my gut.
The realization that someone was inside one of those cars made
the situation even stranger. Determined to finish my work as
swiftly as possible, I completed the first floor by 11:00 PM,
which was significantly quicker than usual.
All that remained was the small basement level, which was mostly
used for storage. While I was working down there,
I heard a sudden thud echoing through the building.
The sound came from one of the floors above, but it's exact
source or location was unclear. I set down my cleaning equipment
and began climbing the stairs to investigate, but halfway up I
froze. Voices, two men talking in
normal conversational tones, echoed down the upper hallway.
Their casual chatter suggested they had No Fear of encountering
me. Fearfully, I retreated down the
stairs and concealed myself behind some stacks of boxes.
My trembling hands dialed 911 as I listened to the approaching
footsteps. Before I could even say a word
to the dispatcher, the footsteps began descending towards the
basement. I could only see the shadow of
one of the men on the wall, but it was enough to make my heart
race. He walked around, appearing to
search for something, then called out to his companion
upstairs. No, I don't see anyone.
I think we're good. He ascended the steps, and I
dared to peek out one last time, catching a glimpse of him
holding something small in his hand.
That sight sent a fresh wave of terror coursing through me.
I reconnected with the 911 operator and provided as much
information as I could, then huddled behind the boxes,
waiting and agonizing silence. Several minutes passed, and I
believe the men were mostly on the upper floors, but then they
returned to the first floor. Panic surged within me when one
of them exclaimed their van is still here.
Both of their footsteps began rushing around, but they did not
leave. They were searching for me,
struggling to control my breathing.
I listened as they ran through the building, moving objects
above me. Eventually, their heavy
footsteps hurried down the basement stairs.
One of the men started tossing boxes around, searching every
corner but the distance. Sound of sirens approaching
caught the other man's attention, and he alerted his
companion in a frantic scramble. They fled the scene.
I remained hidden until a police officer arrived to rescue me
from my hiding place. It took only two hours for the
two suspects to be apprehended. They declined to disclose their
motives for breaking in, but some stolen items were found in
their cars. It's safe to say that they
weren't the brightest criminals, as they seem to rely on guessing
whether I had left instead of checking for my van.
Nevertheless, the chilling experience of them not leaving
after discovering I was inside is something I will never
forget. Thankfully I never had to find
out what would have happened if they had found me.
In July of this year I finally decided to move out of my
parents apartment as I had secured a steady job and yearned
for some semblance of independence.
I embarked on the search for an affordable apartment within my
city and luck was on my side when I found one just a two to
three minute walk away from my parents place.
It seemed perfect. I'd get to live alone while
still having the comfort of knowing my parents were nearby
for visits and the occasional breakfast together.
The apartment itself, though nothing extravagant, suited me
just fine. It had a long corridor that
connected each room with my front door at the very beginning
of the hallway. My bedroom was the 2nd room on
the left. Unfortunately, the walls in the
building were quite thin, making it easy to hear the voices and
activities of other tenants. Last week, after a casual night
out at the pub with a few friends, I returned home around
10:15 or 10:30 in the evening. Given that I had the day off the
next day, I decided to take a shower and then settled into my
bed to watch some Netflix. It was around midnight when I
first heard a faint, gentle knocking sound coming from my
front door. I paused the show I was watching
and listened intently for a minute or so thinking that my
mind might be playing tricks on me.
Convinced it was nothing, I resumed watching Netflix, but
once again the sound of A2 motion knock reached my ears.
This time it was a bit louder and more deliberate.
I sat up in bed, puzzled and slightly on edge.
I got out of bed and approached the front door, peering through
the peephole. To my surprise, all I could see
was pitch blackness outside. I shrugged it off, assuming it
was just my imagination, and returned to my room.
However, before I could even sit down properly, I heard a
slightly louder knock, knock, knock.
At this point, I thought it might be one of my friends
playing a prank on me. I dialed my friend's number and
asked him if he was the one knocking on my door.
He paused for a moment and replied.
Dude, I'm at home. I've got an early morning
tomorrow at 7:30. I believed him and hung up the
phone. I had been speaking rather
loudly on the phone, so if it were my friends pranking me,
they would have likely heard me. As soon as I ended the call, I
heard another knock. This time I was irritated.
I walked back to the door, glanced through the peephole,
and saw nothing once more. Determined to catch the
prankster, I unlocked the door and quickly swung it open, but
there was no one there. I stepped outside, scanning the
empty hallway, but there was no sign of anyone.
Feeling angry and a bit intoxicated, I decided to stake
out and wait for the person responsible.
I remained silent and peered through the peephole for a solid
10 minutes. Suddenly I was startled as I
watched a hand cover the peephole from the outside,
followed by yet another knock. My heart raced and I immediately
began unlocking the door again. Without thinking, I ran out into
the apartment hall. I could hear someone hastily
descending the stairs, and the sound of their jacket brushing
against the wall echoed in the dimly lit corridor.
I chased after the mysterious intruder, taking a few steps
down the staircase before realizing that he had stopped
behind a corner waiting to ambush me.
Panic surged through me and I quickly retreated back into my
apartment, locking the door behind me.
My heart pounding, I dialed the police and explained the
situation. They arrived within a few
minutes, conducting A thorough search of the building and the
surrounding area, but they couldn't find anyone.
The officers reassured me, suggesting that it might have
been some mischievous kids pulling a prank.
They advised me never to chase after someone in such a
situation. To put my mind at ease, they
stationed a patrol car near the building for the rest of the
night, and the knocking ceased. It could have been a simple case
of juveniles acting foolishly, but what gave me the creeps was
the fact that the person had stopped behind the corner, not
fleeing entirely. It seemed more like an
intentional act of intimidation. Now, a week has passed since
that unsettling night, and the knocking has not returned.
Still, I can't help but remain on edge, always expecting the
unexpected when I walk into my apartment.
The lingering feeling of unease keeps me cautious and vigilant,
wondering if there might be more to this eerie experience than
meets the eye. I'm a 23 year old guy, and a few
years ago I found a job at a local grocery store while
juggling Community College. My main goal was to earn some
extra cash to cover my expenses and enjoy the occasional outing
with friends. As the months passed, I became
accustomed to the regular customers who frequented the
store. Most of them were friendly or
just average, but there was this one customer who always struck
me as peculiar. This mysterious man would visit
the store nearly every night around 9:00, which was just an
hour before closing time. His routine was strange.
He'd wander aimlessly through the store for what felt like an
eternity before selecting only a few items and heading to the
checkout. I couldn't fathom why he spent
so much time perusing the aisles only to purchase so little.
His behavior coupled with his unkempt appearance and
perpetually dirty clothes. He left me with the impression
that he might be homeless or living out of his car.
Weeks turned into months, and this strange pattern continued.
I'd grown somewhat accustomed to his odd presence, chalking it up
to the idiosyncrasies of working in retail.
Then, one fateful night, everything changed as usual.
He strolled into the store, but instead of his usual meandering,
he made a beeline for my register.
I greeted him with a friendly smile and asked if he needed
assistance. For a moment he simply stared at
me, his expression unreadable, before finally breaking the
silence by inquiring if I drove the old Toyota parked in the
lot. I felt a shiver crawl up my
spine at his question. How did he know that?
Despite my unease, I confirmed that it was indeed my car,
hoping to discern the reason behind his inquiry.
Without uttering another word, he maintained his poker face and
walked away from the register, leaving me bewildered.
Something felt off, so I asked my Co worker to keep an eye on
the register while I ventured to the front of the store to
observe the parking lot. My car appeared normal without
any visible issues. Puzzled but not alarmed, I
returned to my post, planning to question the man when he reached
my register. However, the minutes turned into
hours and the man never came to check out.
The store closed, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of
foreboding as I left work that night.
I meticulously inspected my car from every angle, but nothing
seemed to miss. I was left with a gnawing sense
of confusion. The next day, I anticipated the
man's return, eager to confront him about his odd behavior and
the question about my car. However, he remained absent from
the store for an entire month, leaving me with lingering
questions and an eerie feeling in the back of my mind.
Then, one fateful Saturday night, I clocked out of work as
usual. This night in particular was
unique, as I was the sole cashier on duty and I would be
leaving the store alone at closing time.
As I walked through the parking lot towards my car, an
inexplicable sensation washed over me, a gut feeling that
something was terribly wrong. Maybe it was hindsight, or
perhaps it was genuine intuition, but I couldn't shake
the sensation that something was amiss.
I quickened my pace, my heart pounding in my chest, and
reached my car. The parking lot appeared empty.
With nothing out of the ordinary to justify my unease.
I started the engine and was about to put the car and drive
when I heard the faintest noise. From directly behind me.
In the dimly lit interior, I caught a fleeting glimpse of
movement in the rearview mirror. Panic surged through my veins
and I acted on instinct, abandoning the car and sprinting
several spaces away. My gaze remained fixated on the
back seat, where I saw a shadowy figure shifting.
I didn't hesitate. I bolted back into the store,
frantically dialing the police. When they arrived, my car was
empty, and there were no signs of forced entry.
It was as if the intruder had vanished into thin air.
I couldn't shake the feeling that it was the strange man from
weeks ago. Had he been lurking waiting for
the right moment? Did he possess an illicit key to
my car? Or had I carelessly left the
doors unlocked one fateful night?
While I believed I had locked them that night, the possibility
of a momentary lapse in judgement nagged at me.
It was chilling, to think that I had come so close to driving
away that night, oblivious to the presence in my back seat.
Who knows what horrors awaited me?
Had I left the parking lot? The unanswered questions and the
unsettling encounter haunted me for a long time, a chilling
reminder of the dangers that can lurk in the most unexpected
places. I've always said that plumbing
is more than just a job, it's a calling.
Most folks think of it as a low level trade, something not worth
a second glance. But I know better.
Without plumbers like me, the world would be a much messier
place. No clean water, homes flooded
with sewage. We do The Dirty work that most
would rather forget. My name is Bob, and I've been a
plumber for as long as I can remember.
I work for a big land development company now,
overseeing the plumbing for large projects.
It's tough work, but someone's got to do it.
And honestly, I love it. There's something about solving
complex problems and seeing a building come to life that gets
my blood pumping. I wouldn't trade it for
anything, or so I thought until that one fateful night.
We were working on a huge project at the base of a dam in
California. It was an ambitious undertaking,
to say the least. The area used to be a
floodplain, but after years of drought, it was redrafted as
potential housing land. With the change in status came a
lot of interest, and the bidding for the contract was intense.
My firm landed the job, but it came at a cost.
We had to hire a bunch of outside contractors and keeping
track of everything was a nightmare.
The land itself was a beast. We faced landslides, sinkholes
and severe soil erosion. It felt like nature itself was
against us. The construction schedule turned
into a minefield of delays and unforeseen problems.
It was, to put it bluntly, a mess.
As the plumbing supervisor, I was in charge of overseeing the
water, gas lines and drainage systems for the entire
operation. The last few months had been
particularly taxing. I took the job mainly because of
my disability. Years of hands on plumbing had
taken a toll on my body, especially my back.
Two herniated discs later, I had to step back from the labor
intensive part of the job. Thanks to my company's
insurance, I could manage my condition, but I transition more
into a supervisory role. That was all well and good until
you get a call in the middle of the night about a plumbing
emergency that only a supervisor can handle.
One night, that's exactly what happened.
I woke up to my phone ringing off the hook.
I had missed 4 calls. Grumbling, I rolled out of bed,
the pain in my back a sharp reminder of my physical
limitations. Tony, one of the new guys on my
team, was on the other end of the line.
He was shouting so loudly I had to pull the phone away from my
ear. What's the situation?
I asked, trying to rub the sleep from my eyes as I got dressed.
He finally calmed down enough to explain a storm drain had
collapsed because of the recent heavy rains, creating a huge
chasm in the ground. It broke through a wall,
flooding two of the three subfloors.
And of course, it had to be the wall where most of the gas lines
and water lines were anchored. The pumps were struggling to
keep up with the influx of water.
I let out a deep sigh as I resigned myself to what was
ahead. It was going to be a long, hard
night. I grabbed my gear and headed out
into the dark, rainy night, unaware of the nightmare that
awaited me at the construction site.
The clock read 123 in the morning.
When I pulled up to the construction site, the rain was
coming down in sheets, turning the ground into a slippery mess.
My headlights cut through the darkness, revealing A chaotic
scene, Puddles everywhere, equipment scattered around.
And in the middle of it all stood Anthony, the new guy on my
team. Anthony was pacing back and
forth, his face a mix of anger and panic.
I could hear him muttering to himself, even over the sound of
the rain. It was his first big emergency
on the job, and it looked like he was losing it.
Next to him stood Rick, a giant of a man with a reputation for
being calm under pressure. He was just standing there,
staring at the flooded basement entrance, looking like he'd seen
a ghost. I got out of my truck, pulling
my raincoat tighter around me. The cold wind bit at my face,
but I was more concerned about the disaster in front of me.
Tony, what happened? I shouted over the rain.
He spun around, his eyes wild. The whole damn system collapsed,
Bob. The storm drain gave way, and
now the basement's flooded. It's a disaster.
I nodded, trying to keep my own frustration in check.
This was bad. Really bad.
The collapsed storm drain meant that the water had nowhere to go
but into our construction site, and with the gas lines and water
lines damaged, we were looking at a potentially dangerous
situation. OK, Tony, calm down.
We need to assess the situation and figure out what to do next.
I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
Tony just shook his head, throwing his hands up in the
air. I'm done, Bob.
This is above my pay grade. I'm out.
And with that, he stormed off, leaving me and Rick in the
pouring rain. I sighed, watching Tony's tail
lights disappear into the night. I turned to Rick, who was still
standing by the basement entrance.
Rick, you all right? I asked, concerned.
He was usually the rock of the team, but tonight he looked
shaken. Yeah, I'm fine, he said, but his
voice was off, like he was holding something back.
It's just a mess down there, Bob.
I've never seen anything like it.
I nodded, trying to push down the uneasy feeling growing in my
gut. All right, let's take a look and
see what we're dealing with. We made our way to the basement
entrance. The water was already up to our
knees and the sound of it rushing into the basement was
like a roar in my ears. The emergency pumps were working
overtime, but they couldn't keep up with the sheer amount of
water. I shown my flashlight into the
basement, the beam of light cutting through the darkness.
What I saw made my heart sink. The flood had reached critical
levels, and with the damage to the gas and water lines, we were
looking at a major repair job. OK, Rick, we need to shut off
the main valves and try to contain the damage.
Can you handle that? I asked, hoping to give him
something to focus on. Rick nodded, A determined look
on his face. Yeah, I've got it, Bob.
I watched as he waded into the water, moving with purpose.
I knew I had to stay and deal with the mess, but part of me
wished I could just turn around and leave it all behind.
This was going to be a long, long night.
The basement was like a scene from a disaster movie.
Water everywhere, the sound of it rushing in a constant
overwhelming drone. I waded through the icy water,
my flashlight beam bouncing off floating debris.
My mind was racing with what needed to be done, but my body
was screaming from the cold and my aching back.
I started with what I could control, the main valves.
The water was waist high and I had to fight against the current
to reach them. Turning them off was a struggle,
but it felt good to do something tangible, something that stopped
the chaos from getting worse. At least the gas was now off,
reducing the risk of a bigger disaster.
The emergency pumps were working hard, but they weren't enough.
I needed to clear the debris, clogging the drains to give the
water somewhere to go. It was a grueling task, made
worse by the cold water numbing my legs and the constant fear of
what else might be lurking beneath the surface.
As I worked, a strange sound caught my attention.
It was a splash, distinct from the noise of the flooding water.
It came from the direction of the collapsed wall.
My heart raced. Was it just the building
settling, or was there something more to it?
Curiosity got the better of me. I had to know what caused that
sound. I made my way toward the
collapsed wall, the sense of foreboding growing with each
step. The flashlight beam revealed A
gaping hole in the wall, opening into what looked like a cavern.
I hesitated for a moment. This was beyond anything I'd
seen in my years of plumbing. The opening seemed to beckon me,
a dark, gaping maw leading into the unknown.
Was I really going to do this? Was I going to step into this
unknown darkness? I took a deep breath and decided
to push on. Maybe this cavern was the key to
understanding the flooding. Maybe it was just a natural
formation. Either way, I had to know.
The water grew colder as I approached the hole.
I could feel the air change, a chill that seemed to come from
within the cavern itself. I shown my flashlight into the
darkness and for a moment I was struck by the eerie beauty of
it. The light revealed a large space
with water carved tunnels leading off into the darkness.
It was then that the full weight of the situation hit me.
We were dealing with something much bigger than a simple
plumbing issue. This was a force of nature, a
reminder of how small and insignificant our human
endeavors can be against the might of the earth.
I backed away from the opening, a mix of awe and fear churning
in my stomach. I had work to do, a job to
finish, but the sight of that cavern stayed with me, A
haunting image that I couldn't shake off.
I turned back to the basement, ready to tackle the next
problem, but part of me was still lost in that dark,
mysterious cavern, wondering what secrets it held and what
dangers it might bring. The basement was a maze of
darkness and rushing water. I was neck deep in the job,
literally and figuratively cutting away damaged lines and
trying to reroute the water flow.
My body ached. My mind was foggy from lack of
sleep, but I had to keep going. The job needed to be done, and I
was the only one there to do it. Then everything changed.
In an instant, the generator sputtered and died, plunging the
basement into complete darkness. Panic gripped me as I fumble for
my headlamp. The only sound was the water,
which now seemed menacing in the pitch black.
I tried to stay calm, telling myself that I just needed to get
the generators back up. But deep down I knew something
was very wrong. The generators had enough fuel.
They shouldn't have died like that.
A cold chill ran down my spine, and for the first time that
night, I felt truly scared. I moved towards the generators,
my feet unsteady in the rushing water.
That's when I heard it a splash. Different from the sound of the
water around me, something had moved in the darkness.
I froze, every nerve on edge. Was someone else down here with
me, or something worse? I shook off the fear and focused
on the task at hand. I had to get the lights back on,
but as I reached the generators I stumbled.
My foot caught on something and I fell forward, my headlamp
flickering as I hit the water. Pain shot through my arm as I
felt something sharp pierced my skin.
I struggled to push myself up, but my arm was caught on
something. Panic set in as I realized I was
trapped, impaled by a piece of rebar from the collapsed wall.
The water rose around me, cold and suffocating.
I fought against the rebar, but it was no use.
I was stuck and the water was getting higher.
I couldn't believe it after all these years of hard work, after
surviving everything the job had thrown at me, Was this how it
was going to end? I was struggling to keep my head
above water, each breath of battle.
The pain in my arm was unbearable, but it was the fear
of drowning that truly terrified me.
I thought of my family, my friends, the life I still wanted
to live. I wasn't ready to give up, not
yet. Just when I thought it was over,
When I was about to succumb to the darkness, I felt strong
hands grabbing me. I was pulled from the rebar and
dragged through the water. I couldn't see who it was, but I
knew it had to be Rick. He had come back for me.
As we reached the stairs, I felt the cool air of the outside
world. I was alive.
Rick had saved me, But as I lay there, gasping for breath, I
couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right.
Why had the generators failed? What was that splash in the
darkness? And how had Rick found me just
in time? Those questions haunted me as I
slipped into unconsciousness, the pain and exhaustion finally
taking their toll. But one thing was certain.
I was alive, and I owed it all to Rick.
I woke up in a stark white hospital room, the sterile smell
of antiseptic filling my nostrils.
My arm throbbed with a deep, unrelenting pain, and my whole
body felt like it had been run over by a truck.
Tubes and wires were attached to me, monitoring my every breath,
my every heartbeat. The events of the night came
back to me in flashes, the flooding, the darkness, the
feeling of being impaled, and Rick's strong hands pulling me
to safety. But as I tried to piece together
the memories, a nurse walked in her face somber.
How are you feeling Bob? She asked gently.
Like I've been through a wringer, I replied, trying to
force a smile. Where's Rick?
I need to thank him. He saved my life.
The nurses expression changed, a look of deep sadness replacing
her professional demeanor. Bob, there's something you need
to know. Rick.
He didn't make it. They found his body in the
basement, on the other side of the breech in the wall.
I felt like I've been punched in the gut.
That's impossible, I said, shaking my head in disbelief.
He was the one who pulled me out.
He saved me. The nurse sighed, her eyes full
of sympathy. Sometimes when we go through
traumatic experiences, our minds play tricks on us.
It's a way of coping with the shock and the pain.
But the truth is, Rick was already gone when the rescue
team arrived. I couldn't accept it.
It didn't make sense. Rick had been there.
I had felt his hands heard his voice.
But as the nurse continue to explain about hallucinations,
about the effects of blood loss and trauma, I began to doubt my
own memories. The next few days were a blur of
doctors, police officers, and endless questions.
Everyone wanted to know what had happened, but I couldn't give
them the answers they were looking for.
My story about Rick saving me was met with skeptical looks and
gentle explanations about the tricks the mind can play.
I felt lost, adrift in a sea of confusion and grief.
But then something happened that brought everything into sharp
focus. As I was getting dressed to
leave the hospital, I noticed something on my arm.
A set of bruises, distinct and unmistakable.
They looked like the imprint of a large hand gripping my arm
tightly. In that moment, I knew Rick had
been there. He had saved me.
Whether in body or spirit, I couldn't say.
But those bruises were proof that I hadn't imagined it.
Rick had been my guardian Angel in those dark, terrifying
moments. I left the hospital with more
questions than answers. But one thing was clear to me.
Rick had been a hero, and I owed him my life.
I didn't know how I would ever repay that debt, but I was
determined to try. As I walked out into the
sunlight, the events in the basement still haunted me.
But I carried with me the memory of Rick's bravery and the
knowledge that sometimes the line between the living and the
dead is thinner than we think. It's funny how life can turn
upside down in just a blink of an eye. 14 years ago, I was
living a life that, though not perfect, was mine.
I had a loving husband, a stable job and dreams.
But in what felt like a heartbeat, everything changed.
It started with my husband, the man I thought I'd spend my
entire life with. He blindsided me one evening,
his words cutting through me like a knife.
I'm leaving you for someone else, he said, cold and distant.
I remember standing there, unable to comprehend the earth
shattering revelation. He left and with him he took a
piece of my heart. Worse, he demanded that I leave
our home, the one we had built together with love and dreams.
Reeling from the shock, I sought solace in my work, But
misfortune had become my shadow. The company I had dedicated over
a decade of my life to faced financial ruin.
I was one of the first to be let go.
The pink slip felt like a betrayal.
My career, which I had nurtured with hard work and dedication,
was gone in an instant. I wish I could say that was the
end of it, but life had more in store for me.
One night, exhausted and lost in my thoughts, I fell asleep
behind the wheel. The screeching of tires and the
jolt as my car veered off the road are sounds and sensations
I'll never forget. My car, a symbol of my
independence, was wrecked beyond repair.
I spent my last dime fixing it, not knowing it was just the
beginning of a deeper financial abyss.
The world felt like it was closing in on me.
I moved into a small drab, apt, a far cry from the warmth of
what used to be my home. Nights were the hardest.
I'd curl up in a corner, tears streaming down my face, mourning
the life I'd lost. Friends, or those I thought were
friends, turned their backs on me.
Loneliness became my constant companion, along with a
crippling depression that gripped me tight.
But there was a moment, a defining 1, when I realized I
couldn't let this be the end of my story.
I was on the brink of homelessness, and the thought
terrified me. It was then I decided enough was
enough. I had to pick myself up.
I didn't need anyone. I had to be my own saviour.
I lived in a small, dying mining town where job opportunities
were as scarce as rain. In the desert, my options were
limited, so when a job offer came from a nearby dairy farm, I
grabbed it without a second thought.
Preparing and taking cows for milking wasn't a childhood
dream, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
The farm was a new world, a stark contrast to the corporate
life I was used to. The smells, the sounds, the
entire atmosphere was alien to me.
But it was a job, and more importantly, it was a lifeline.
As I adjusted to my new reality, I often found myself reflecting
on the twists and turns of life. Little did I know, my journey
was about to take an even more unexpected turn, one that would
challenge everything I believed about the world and myself.
Life on the dairy farm was a world apart from anything I'd
known. The days were long and grueling,
but there was a rhythm to them, a simplicity that brought a
strange kind of peace to my heart.
Maybe it was the way the cows looked at me with their gentle
eyes, or the endless green fields that stretched out under
the open sky. It was hard, but it was honest
work. Then came the day my boss, Mr.
Thompson, a stern man with a heart of gold, called us all for
a meeting. He needed someone to cover the
night shift temporarily. Before I knew it, my hand shot
up. The idea of extra pay was too
tempting to pass up. Plus, working at night meant
less physical labor. All I had to do was ensure
everything was in order, that the cows were safe and sound.
Simple, right? The first few nights were
unsettling. The vast farm, so lively and
bustling during the day, transformed into a different
world after sunset. The darkness seemed to swallow
everything, and the usual farm noises took on a sinister edge
in the stillness of the night. But I needed the money, and fear
wasn't a luxury I could afford. To make my night shifts more
bearable, I created a little haven for myself.
With a stack of hay bales, I built a cozy fortress.
It wasn't much, but it was mine. Here I'd sit with my back
against the soft hay, a small headlamp lighting up the pages
of my book. It was during these quiet hours,
lost in stories, that I found a sense of peace I hadn't felt in
years. But it wasn't all reading and
relaxation. Every once in a while, I'd take
a walk around the farm, a flashlight in hand, making sure
everything was OK. The cows usually slept soundly,
and seeing them, so peaceful, somehow made the darkness less
intimidating. One night, while I was nestled
in my hay Bale fortress, an idea struck me.
Why stay cooped up in the small office when I could enjoy my
book in the fresh night air? So that became my new routine.
Wrapped in a warm jacket, I'd lose myself in novels, the soft
sounds of the farm, a comforting background melody.
It was on one of these nights, while I was deep into a new
thriller, that I first heard it. Footsteps.
They were distinct, heavy splashing through the mud near
the barn. My heart skipped a beat.
Thieves, maybe. I had read about small town
thefts in the local paper. I peered out from my fortress,
trying to spot the intruder. The fog that night was thick,
blanketing the farm in a ghostly haze.
I crept closer to the source of the sound, my flashlight cutting
through the mist, but when I reached the spot, there was
nobody there. The mud bore the marks of recent
activity, but it was as if the person had vanished into thin
air, confused and a little spooked, I called my brother.
He was always up late, lost in his world of video games.
His voice was a welcome anchor to reality.
He laughed off my fears, assuring me it was probably
nothing, just my imagination running wild.
I wanted to believe him. I needed to.
So I returned to my fortress, convincing myself it was just a
trick of the mind. But deep down, a seed of unease
had been planted, A nagging feeling that something wasn't
quite right. Little did I know, that feeling
was just the beginning. Back in my hay Bale fortress, I
tried to shake off the eerie feeling from the mysterious
footsteps. I told myself it was just a
stray animal, or perhaps my tired mind playing tricks on me.
My brother's words echoed in my head, trying to offer some
comfort. You're just tired, he had said.
I wanted to believe him, but the unease clung to me like a second
skin. I opened my book again, trying
to lose myself in its pages. The words blurred before my eyes
as I constantly glanced up, half expecting to see someone lurking
in the darkness. The farm was silent, too silent,
and it did nothing to calm my jitters.
Every rustle, every Creek seemed amplified in the stillness of
the night. Then it happened.
A sound unlike anything I had heard before sliced through the
silence. It was a guttural slurping sound
mixed with what seemed like a gurgle.
My heart raced and a cold sweat broke out across my forehead.
The sound was getting closer, moving towards my little
fortress. I turned off my headlamp,
plunging myself Into Darkness, hoping whatever it was wouldn't
notice me. The sound stopped right outside
my hay Bale wall. I held my breath, too scared to
move, too scared to even think. It was right there, on the other
side of the hay bales. The silence was suffocating.
And then I heard something that chilled me to the bone.
It was my voice. The same words I had spoken to
my brother on the phone earlier repeated in a mocking, distorted
echo. Maybe we can hang out tomorrow.
I love you. The words were unmistakable, but
they were twisted, as if coming from a broken speaker.
My mind raced, trying to make sense of it.
Was someone playing a cruel joke, or was it something else?
Panic seized me. I couldn't stay there, not with
that thing, whatever it was, mimicking my voice.
Adrenaline surged through me and I bolted from my hiding place,
running blindly into the night. The fog was thick, a white
blanket that made it impossible to see more than a few feet
ahead. I stumbled towards where I
remembered parking my car, praying I was going in the right
direction. The farm was a maze in the fog,
and every moment I expected to feel a hand grab me from the
darkness. Finally I saw the outline of my
car. Never had I been so relieved.
I fumble with the keys, my hands shaking uncontrollably.
As I unlocked the car and slid inside, I heard it again, That
same slurping sound now accompanied by a soft scratching
on the car roof. I started the engine, the sound
of it roaring to life, the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard.
I wanted to speed away, but the fog forced me to crawl at a
snail's pace. All the while I felt light taps
and heard soft whispers trailing behind me, as if the thing was
following, taunting me. I don't remember how long I
drove, only that I was sobbing, my tears mingling with utter
terror. When I finally felt safe enough,
I called my boss, stammering through my fear, trying to
explain the unexplainable. That night changed everything.
The farm. Once a place of refuge, I now
felt tainted, haunted by an unseen terror that spoke with my
voice. I couldn't shake the feeling of
being watched, stalked by something that was not just a
figment of my imagination. The terror of that night
lingered, a constant shadow over my heart.
The morning after that terrifying night, I was a wreck.
My hands still trembled, and every shadow seemed to hide A
lurking horror. I couldn't shake off the image
of the thing that had mimicked my voice that had followed me in
the fog. Sleep was a distant memory.
Every time I closed my eyes, I heard that eerie, distorted echo
of my voice. I expected a call from Mr.
Thompson, my boss, thinking he would be furious.
I had left the farm unattended, fled like a scared child.
But when my phone finally rang and I heard his voice, there was
no anger. Instead, there was confusion,
concern. He told me he had gone to the
farm after my panicked call. The fog had been so thick he
could barely see. But he did a quick check of the
barns. What he found in one of them
sent a chill down my spine. One of the pregnant cows was
dead. Not just dead, but something had
torn open its belly. The details were gruesome.
No calf, no organs, no blood. It was as if everything inside
had been scooped out, leaving an empty shell.
And the strangest part? No signs of a struggle, no
footprints, nothing. It was as if whatever did it had
vanished into thin air. Mr. Thompson didn't fire me.
He didn't even scold me. He just asked if I was OK, if I
needed any time off. But I couldn't go back to that
farm, not after what happened. The thought of being watched by
something unseen, something that could mimic my voice, filled me
with an unshakable dread. I went back to my day job at the
farm, but things were never the same.
The once comforting routine of milking and tending to the cows
now felt like a walk through a minefield.
Every noise made me jump, Every shadow seemed to hide A threat.
I was constantly looking over my shoulder, expecting to see
something, but there was never anything there.
The incident at the farm changed me.
I had never been one to believe in the paranormal, in things
that go bump in the night. But now I couldn't deny that
something unexplainable had happened, something that defied
logic, that defied reason. I tried to talk to people about
it, but who would believe such a story?
It sounded like something out of a horror movie, not real life.
So I kept it to myself, this heavy secret that weighed on my
soul. Months passed, but the fear
never left me. It lingered like a bad dream,
always at the edge of my thoughts.
The farm, once a sanctuary, now felt like a prison.
I knew I couldn't stay there, not with the memories of that
night haunting me. So I left.
I packed up my few belongings and moved away, hoping to leave
behind the terror that had gripped me.
But even as I settled into a new life, the questions remained
unanswered and unanswerable. What had I heard that night?
What had happened to that cow? And the most chilling question
of all, had it been watching me all along?
I don't know if I'll ever find the answers, but one thing is
certain. That night on the farm changed
everything. It opened my eyes to a world
beyond understanding, a world where shadows whisper and unseen
things walk. And though I've tried to forget
to move on some nights when the darkness is heavy, I can still
hear that distorted echo of my voice calling me back to a
mystery that remains unsolved. I've contemplated sharing this
story for what feels like an eternity, because, to be honest,
it sounds like something straight out of a horror movie.
But since I cherish this community so much, I finally
mustered the courage to recount this chilling experience.
Back in high school, I had a job as a closing server at the local
Pizza Hut. My shift typically ended quite
late, and my nightly ritual was to text my dad when I was nearly
finished, not only to let him know I was on my way home, but
also to gauge whether my parents were still awake.
If they weren't, I'd often opt for the longer route home along
the old country roads. You see, I lived on a dog
breeding farm that was a good 20 minute drive outside of town.
These country roads were my escape from the daily grind, a
place where I could unwind and enjoy a joint or two while
listening to my favorite tunes. It was on one fateful night,
during one of these solitary drives, that things took a
terrifying turn. I was cruising down a back Rd.
I knew, like the back of my hand, a route my school bus had
taken throughout my entire childhood.
This part of East Texas was known for its dense woods, so
most property owners built their homes about 1/4 to half a mile
deep into their land, leaving the woods as a natural buffer
and barrier. This meant that while you'd come
across plenty of driveways and mailboxes, actual houses were
rarely visible. Just the ominous woods with
sporadic clearings. As I continued driving, my
headlights illuminated an unexpected obstacle in the
middle of the narrow dirt Rd. It was a toolbox, the kind you'd
find in the back of a work truck, opening my car door just
enough to step out while keeping a cautious distance.
It was at this moment that I realized my headlights were not
the only source of light on that road.
Further down the road, there were other headlights, much
smaller, approaching from a driveway that ran parallel to
the toolbox. A creeping sense of dread began
to wash over me and I quickly retreated back into my car,
closing the door with just a slight crack, ready to act at a
moment's notice. My heart pounded as I watched a
small riding lawn mower emerge from the trees.
The person riding it was dressed in a full clown suit, complete
with a mask that concealed their face.
What was even more horrifying was the shotgun resting casually
across their lap. As the clown turned his gaze
towards me, our eyes locked and a shiver ran down my spine.
With eerie calmness, he brought the shotgun up to his lap.
I'm a true country boy, and I can sense when I'm not welcome
somewhere. Before he could even raise the
gun any further, my car was already in gear.
Speeding into the side ditch of the road, I jumped out of my
vehicle, discarded my joint, and sprinted for home.
Not looking back. That night, I crawled into bed,
shaken to my core, vowing never to speak of this horrifying
encounter again. I couldn't fathom what the clown
was up to, especially considering the whole killer
clown craze had largely subsided by 2018 or 2019.
Whether it was some misguided kid or a deranged backwoods
dweller, I hope to never cross paths with Mr. Clown ever again.
Back when I was in my late 20s, I found myself in the most
unexpected twist of fate. I had started dating my all time
biggest crush from secondary school, Jamila.
She had always been the prettiest girl in our whole
secondary school. But by the time we all got off
to you and I, she had transformed into something truly
stunning. We had stayed connected on
Facebook, but our interactions were sporadic at best.
I mostly just watched and admired her from afar, never
daring to think a girl like that could be in my league.
Then, during the summer, when I turned 27, fate threw me a
curveball. I was out drinking at a swanky
bar celebrating a friend's birthday when, to my utter
disbelief, I spotted Jamila. Over the years, I had undergone
a significant transformation myself, losing weight and
getting into shape during junior officer training in uni, I had
become more confident in athletic, making it easier to
talk to girls and secure dates. However, when faced with my old
crush, my newfound confidence seemed to vanish into thin air.
Despite the initial awkwardness, we began to catch up, engaging
in casual small talk that soon turned into flirtatious banter.
We agreed to meet up for a drink sometime, and I couldn't believe
my luck. It was like I was living out
that cheesy walking on Sunshine song, and this feeling of
euphoria lasted for almost six weeks as we dated.
But then, as if from nowhere, the affair took a dark turn.
On our final date, a minor disagreement spiraled into a
heated confrontation. I won't bore you with the
details, but the girl of my dreams turned out to be a
complete psycho. I found myself storming out of
her apartment, angry, upset, and wearing nothing but a thin shirt
in the freezing winter weather. I didn't stop to think about the
consequences. I just needed to be out of there
for everyone's safety. As I walked away, the reality of
my situation started to sink in. The cold weather was biting and
my outdated iphone's battery was nearly dead.
I was facing a three mile walk home in near freezing
temperatures. I began sticking my thumb out at
passing cars, desperately hoping for someone to stop.
At first, only cabs passed by, none of them empty or with their
lights on. I even resorted to holding out a
$20 bill trying to entice someone into stopping, but to no
avail. My desperation grew as I
contemplated jogging home and dress shoes just to avoid
freezing. And then, in a stroke of luck, a
lone car approached. I stuck my thumb out one last
time, hardly daring to hope. To my astonishment, the driver
put on the indicators, pulled over and honk the horn as if to,
say, get in. I couldn't believe my luck.
It felt like a Christmas miracle.
I looked into the open window and recognize the driver.
It was one of my old uni mates, a guy named Matt, who had
returned to town to visit his family for Christmas, He said.
I thought that was you. Hop in.
Gratefully, I got into the car and we started driving towards
my place, chatting along the way.
Matt had been driving all day and I just rolled into town when
he spotted me on the side of the road.
It was a pleasant surprise and we talked about our lives, my
roller coaster relationship, and plans to meet for a pint or two
around the New Year. But then, out of nowhere,
tragedy struck. Another car crashed into the
driver's side door, sending us spinning out of control.
It might sound cliche, but everything happened so fast that
I could hardly process it. We were driving through a green
lighted intersection when we were suddenly blinded by
headlights and hit. The impact was beyond
description, like a powerful force had struck not just the
car but my very being. I closed my eyes, holding on for
dear life, feeling the world spin around me.
When we finally came to a stop, I opened my eyes and gasped.
The car was wrecked. The front windshield looked
ready to shatter, and the driver's side dash was crumpled.
Panic surged through me as I noticed smoke rising from under
the bonnet. Fear gripped me.
The car could catch fire. I turned to Matt, telling him to
get out before it exploded, but when I looked at him, my heart
sank. There was blood everywhere, his
face unrecognizable, blood oozing from his mouth.
His one good eye was wide open, but he wasn't breathing.
I knew he was dead. I managed to crawl out of the
car, limping to the curb as far away as possible.
I just waited there in shock until the emergency services
arrived. Paramedics checked me over and
although I had a bit of whiplash and some cuts and bruises, I was
mostly OK. They took me to the hospital
where they kept me overnight because of the shock.
The next morning I officially learned that Matt had died, but
truthfully, I already knew it. Having seen his condition in the
car, I nodded as the hospital staff went through the motions,
despite knowing I had been in the bloody car with him.
The following days were filled with police interviews and a
lengthy legal process. The driver of the other car, who
had been drinking after an office party and was driving
recklessly, ended up going to prison for manslaughter.
He pleaded guilty to everything, issued a prepared statement
expressing his remorse, and even wished it had been him who died.
But to me and Matt's family, he was a murderer, not just an
arrogant idiot who killed someone by mistake.
I hoped he would carry the burden of his actions for the
rest of his life, just as we would.
Our lives had been forever altered by that fateful
collision, and it was a pain that would never truly heal.